Chapter 16
Despite its flaws, Blaze had to appreciate her brain’s capacity for multitasking. She processed Anson’s arrival at her Thursday night show without missing a note.
He chose a table and sat alone.
As far as she could tell, he’d been a recluse for the three weeks since she’d cornered him after Rooted.
She hadn’t seen him talking one-on-one with anyone for more than a minute or two.
Any interactions with her at Rooted or church had been strictly business, like the Sunday he gathered all of the youth leaders—including Sydney—to ask about the sleeping bag.
Sydney appeared as surprised as everyone else, suggesting Anson hadn’t told her about it previously.
Had they broken up?
Blaze’s song wound down, and she took a swig from her water bottle to camouflage a peek at her watch. Anson once said he couldn’t attend Thursday shows because of a work meeting, but that might have wrapped up. It was after nine.
She kept tabs on him through her last set.
Song after song, he stayed planted. His former high school coach’s widow, Gabby Voss, stopped at his table for a while.
Then, he played on his phone. He watched the stage.
When Blaze smiled directly at him, uncertainty shifted across his features.
She ought to dedicate a song to him to get a reaction, but she couldn’t risk him running before she could satisfy her curiosity.
As she bade The Signalmen good night and gathered her things, she figured he’d disappear.
He did not.
She crossed the deserted dance floor and took a seat at his table, leaving one empty chair between them. “How are you coping with the breakup?”
His lips tightened. His Adam’s apple bobbed.
That was all the confirmation she needed. “You want to talk about it?”
“I don’t.” His glass was empty, save for some brown-tinged water at the bottom. Still, he stared at it like it held the mysteries of the cosmos.
Music streamed over the speakers. Everyone else in the venue left their tables, likely headed home or to the bar. Yet Anson stayed.
“How’s the situation with Eric Newsome going?”
He exhaled long and slow. “I shouldn’t have told you about that.”
“Why not?”
“Because telling people about it could stir up dissension.”
Dissension? She was one person, and she hated the rumor mill more than most. “I haven’t repeated what you said, but I don’t understand why he blames your leadership for Carter’s issues. And the attendance goal started long before the canoe trip.”
“He wants to grow the church. With families leaving, the budget is tight. The idea is that the more kids who have fun at our youth group, the more parents will choose to join us for Sunday morning.”
The church was in financial trouble? Between her habitual tardiness and her wandering mind, Blaze might’ve missed some details at the last church business meeting.
“Youth group can’t carry all the pressure of increasing attendance.
” She sifted through hazy memories of weekly announcements and bulletin notices. “How else is the church reaching out?”
“We’re raking leaves for people in the community in two weeks.”
Now that announcement she remembered, but not from a Sunday morning. “I thought that was a youth event, like the corn maze.”
“Adults aren’t invited to the corn maze, but there’s a sign-up sheet for the whole church to help with raking. We’ll see who volunteers.” He turned his glass. “So. Mercy got her ADHD diagnosis. Does it feel good to be right?”
He remembered? Her heart did a giddy twirl.
“It does.” About the diagnosis and about Anson and Sydney. Not that she wanted or expected them to break up, but at least she no longer had to feel guilty over her wayward feelings.
“But?” he asked.
“Huh?”
“You said you were happy you were right about Mercy, but you don’t look happy. Why not?”
“Once we had the diagnosis, we tried lifestyle changes, but Mercy was still struggling in school, so I …” She drew a deep breath.
Anson watched her, attentive. “I took the doctor’s suggestion to put her on meds.
The trouble is, the non-stimulant can take months to make a difference—if it’s even going to—and in the meantime, Mercy isn’t sleeping or eating enough.
She’s always been a scrap of a kid, you know?
I don’t want to see her lose weight. I’m torn between seeing it through, giving in to see if a stimulant makes a quicker difference, or going back to the way things were.
She’d hate me for that last one, of course.
She still believes medication will solve all her problems.”
The corner of his mouth pulled down. “A kid doesn’t know best.”
“I’m not sure I do either, but I’m trying.
It’s just hard.” This was a lot to dump on an acquaintance, but she couldn’t stop herself any more than she could’ve saved herself from the river.
“My appointment is coming up, but if it’s this much of a hassle to get Mercy settled, do I want to deal with a second diagnosis and prescription? It’s overwhelming as it is.”
He took a measured breath, studying her. “Sometimes things have to get worse to get better.”
She waved her hand. That saying was peskier than a housefly. “The doctor said that too. I’m just not sure better’s in the cards for us.”
He chuckled. “Since when do you consult cards?”
She sighed. Of course she’d said something theologically wrong.
“‘I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.’ Psalm 27:13.” Gentleness marked Anson’s voice. “God’s goodness doesn’t always show up in the form of an effective treatment, but, then again, He does answer an awful lot of prayers through modern medicine.”
But her prayers? The few answers she’d seen lately didn’t outweigh the years of unanswered pleas. Most of those involved her mother’s alcoholism, though—did that count as many disappointments or one big one?
“Seriously.” Anson rested his arms on the table and leaned closer. “Have a little hope.”
“I have a little.”
“But not a lot?” He was one surprise after another tonight. Even at their friendliest, he hadn’t shown this willingness to linger with her and discuss hard topics.
Her silly, dancing heart tugged with the desire to leap into his arms. She twisted her ankle around a rung of her chair to keep herself from acting on it. “I usually have to fend for myself. Not that God’s not there, but people fail. All the time.”
He tapped his thumb on the table, and she imagined how that strong hand could cover hers. “You’ve had a lot of disappointments.”
“You were one of them.”
His eyebrows furrowed. “When?”
She pressed her tongue against the back of her teeth.
Maybe she shouldn’t have said that. If he wouldn’t acknowledge his mistakes, this fledgling friendship would fail, and they’d be back to mostly ignoring each other.
But better to find out sooner than later whether the safety she felt around him was real.
“You were friendly my first day of high school and too good for me the next.”
He winced. “You’re right. I was young and immature.”
She considered pressing until he told her which of the rumors had changed his attitude, but she didn’t want to hear again the worst of what others said about her.
Especially not from him. Instead, she posed a question that had haunted her almost as long.
“What about the time my mom forgot to pick me up after that game, and I asked you for a ride home?”
His jaw shifted. “I was the team captain, and you reeked of alcohol. I couldn’t get in the middle of a situation like that.”
She rolled her eyes. “Why? Giving me a ride would not have gotten you in trouble.”
“Probably.” He shook his head. “As a kid, that didn’t occur to me. But I’ve always been against drinking, so I wasn’t going to make your choices easier on you.”
A harsh laugh rose, and she didn’t suppress it. “You wanted me to learn from the consequences, huh?”
He barely nodded as though concerned about where this was headed.
“A friend poured a beer on me because I was trying to get her to stop drinking.” Saying the words felt like lugging a heavy suitcase onto the table. At least she wasn’t carrying them anymore, but the consequences still had to be unpacked.
“Oh.” He rubbed his mouth and dropped his gaze.
“After you refused to help me, I had to walk in the sleet with just a jean jacket to keep me warm. Guess what happened on the way home.”
His eyes cut back to her. “What?”
“Some older man—thirties or forties?—circled past a few times, then stopped and told me to get in. When I didn’t, he followed me until I hid in someone’s bushes.” On occasion, the stranger still rolled through her nightmares, ever pursuing her.
Anson grimaced. “I’m sorry, Blaze.” The sincerity in his voice crashed through her memories and brought her back, safe and sound, to the present. “I made a bad call. I should’ve helped.”
The grudge lifted. She squirmed. She hadn’t realized how defenseless she’d be without it. “We were kids. You maybe even more so than me.”
“What’s that mean?”
“As we’ve established, I’ve been taking care of myself from a pretty young age.”
He leaned back in his seat and lifted an eyebrow. “And my life has been all roses?”
“I’m sure losing Coach Voss was traumatic.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” If it weren’t for the quiet way he spoke, as though more to himself than to her, she wouldn’t believe him.
“So tell me.”
“You tell me the story of your nickname, and I’ll tell you a story about me.”
This was becoming a habit, him changing the subject away from himself. “I already told a story. It’s your turn.”
The tendons at the corner of his jaw flexed. “All right. One story, but don’t believe this is the only one I have.”
He had the perfect parents. Excellent grades. Athletic ability. And now the exact jobs he’d set out to land. Not exactly a life of difficulty.
“We lost a game we should’ve won.” His voice slowed and deepened. “Piers Overton refused to pass a few times, and most of us blamed him for the loss. On the bus ride home, Nolan got into it with him.”
“Nolan?” The friendly, happy-go-lucky Rooted leader? “I forgot he’s a Lion too.”
Anson’s hand curled into a fist on the table, then relaxed.
“He and Piers started shoving each other, so Coach moved to the back to break up the fight. Minutes later, a semi blew through a stop sign into the side of the bus. One second, everything was normal. The next, we were thrown into seats, walls, windows, equipment. Two or three seconds of chaos changed everything.” He massaged his shoulder.
“The bus landed on its side. My arm was just hanging there. I’d never had a dislocated shoulder before.
Didn’t know it could be fixed. Honestly thought my basketball career was over.
But survival was the important thing. The other guys—everyone was bleeding.
A couple of them confused words or couldn’t see straight.
Gray couldn’t walk. Sam’s arm was …” Anson blew out a breath. “… visibly broken.”
A staff member started flipping up chairs on the far side of the room.
Anson stared in that direction, but his eyes were still, not following the movement.
“Working together to get everyone out kept us busy until first responders arrived. Then I realized how much worse the back of the bus was. Ambulances started taking us to the hospital immediately. Word didn’t reach me that Coach had died at the scene until an hour later.
I … was more upset about that than I’d been about my arm. ”
Lines etched his face, and she wondered how that moment had played out. Who’d been there to comfort him? And should she reach out now?
Probably not. She intertwined her fingers. “He meant a lot to you?”
“He was like a second father. Losing family is never easy.”
He was right. Even when the family member was troubled, it hurt. “Who else did you lose?”
“Huh?”
“You said it’s never easy, like you’ve been through it more than once.”
His mouth opened, then closed with a frown, and he studied the table. When he lifted his gaze again, his lips hooked up playfully. “You sure that’s the story you want in exchange for you telling me about your nickname?”
His sudden levity suggested it wouldn’t be worth the trade. But could she trust the change in demeanor? Or was his initial thoughtful hesitation a better clue to the significance of his story?
Before she could decide, he brushed his hand over the table as if to wipe away crumbs and stood. “Maybe next time. Good night, Blaze.”
How could he walk away so suddenly? This conversation had unlocked a whole new dynamic between them, and she longed to explore.
She rose. “You play it close to the chest, don’t you?”
She stood close enough to hear his exhale and smell hints of cedar and amber from his soap or cologne. He put his hands in his pockets and didn’t answer.
“Thank you for telling me about the accident.” She squeezed his arm in reassurance. The firm muscle under her fingers suggested he could more than look out for himself.
“I’m glad you told me what happened too.” A notch appeared between his brows. “That couldn’t have been easy.”
“Easier than carrying it longer than I already have.” She collected her purse, and he walked her out.
She hadn’t believed him when he’d said he had more stories to tell, but as she drove home, replaying their talk, she was no longer sure. Her guess? His sudden joking tone when she’d asked about who he’d lost was a defense mechanism, hiding something even more formative than the team’s accident.
Maybe the reason she’d always assumed his life was perfect was he projected that image. Tonight, he’d given her a glimpse of the truth.