Chapter Twelve
Blake
S hoving everything into my bag, I don’t stop to wrap my yarn better. It just gets thrown haphazardly into the tote like everything else.
Well, with the exception of the mango and chili lollipop I found waiting for me on the desk this morning—and a sticky note with a smiley face on it. That’s safely in my hand because it’s pretty much the only thing that’s gotten me through the day.
I don’t even know what’s wrong. It’s just one of those days. From the moment I woke up, it felt like my own brain was assaulting me with insecurities and ‘what if’ scenarios.
Like, what if Margo decides her new fashion school friends are way cooler than I am, and she moves on from my friendship? What if Meera makes it so big in the classical music world that I never see her again? What if she doesn’t make it at all because of my selfish thoughts?
And so on… and on… and on…
If my dad wasn’t my boss, I would’ve called into work today. But I didn’t want to talk to him, or my mom, about how I’m feeling.
Sometimes it’s hard to talk to them. Especially when nothing is really wrong , I just feel… desolate. It could be because I miss my friends, or that my brother never answers his goddamn phone anymore. Honestly, there’s always been this part of myself that feels lonely even when I’m surrounded by the people I love, and who I know love me. It didn’t take my high school bullies to create that crater in my heart. It’s been there for as long as I can remember.
Even if it’s counterintuitive, all I want is to crawl into my bed and be alone for a few hours.
Practically jogging to my car, wanting to avoid having to talk to anyone else, I don’t notice the two completely flat tires until I’m about to step in.
“ Why? Why, why, why?” I ask no one while I drop my head on the roof of my car.
I mean, could the day get any worse?
The day started off bad due to my own brain, but it only went downhill from there. I was stuck on a forty-five-minute call with Polly as she lectured me about the prescription my dad wrote for her cat, and something I have absolutely no say in. After that, Lela came in with her husband and Chispa for a pre-op appointment. She started crying when she told me that the operation is scheduled for five days from now. Then the system crashed, and we lost almost all of the appointments scheduled today. And it was just one thing after another.
So, even though it may seem like an easy answer, I pull out my phone, thinking about my options…
Tears build in my eyes, but I bite my lip, fighting them off as much as I can.
I will not cry until I’m in the comfort of my own bed , I mentally repeat for the hundredth time today.
I could call either of my parents, of course , and they’d be here in ten minutes, but they were really excited about cooking tonight. My dad got a new Blackstone, and he’s been thinking about fajitas all week. It’s kind of adorable when he gets in these moods. Plus, I need all the time I can get to pull myself together before I have to face them. They’ll know I had a shitty day before even seeing my face.
The towing company is only about five minutes away, and Mr. Bennett wouldn’t charge me full price, though still more than I’m willing to pay right now.
I’m about to say fuck it and call for a tow when I hear Adrian and one of today’s mid-shift veterinarians walking out. I turn around to find them both looking at me with concern. Adrian turns to say something to her but motions in my direction, then he’s walking to me while she reluctantly goes to her car. I cross my arms and wait, not having any other choice.
“That sucks,” he observes.
“No shit,” I mutter under my breath.
He chuckles easily and sticks his hands in his pockets. “Is your dad on his way?” I shake my head. “Your mom?” I roll my eyes and shake my head again. His features grow worried and a little frustrated—something I’ve never seen before. “What are you going to do?”
“I was just about to call a tow truck.” Pulling out my phone again, I watch from the corner of my eye as he timidly leans forward on his toes and looks around.
“I’ll take you home.”
I snort, but there’s more and more butterflies taking flight, by the second, in my stomach. “No, thanks.”
He snatches my phone and holds it away from me. Not far enough that I couldn’t reach it if I tried, nonetheless it gets my attention as he wanted. “You’re not going to pay a hundred bucks just to get a ride home. It’s like ten minutes, I’m sure.”
Just about everything is within twenty-five minutes, at most, if it’s within Amada Beach’s limits.
“Your car will be fine overnight,” he pushes on.
“I’ll call an Uber then.” It’s nothing personal against him. I have a hard time accepting help from people, especially ones I barely know.
He lets out an exasperated sigh that finally brings my gaze to his. He’s shaking his head at me, but it looks more helpless than anything else. He takes a small—almost minuscule—step toward me. It somehow feels like everything and not enough.
“You’ll have dinner with me, but you can’t let me help you?”
I have to fight my expression from cracking open. “I’m just… not having a good day, Adrian.” I twirl the chili lollipop between my fingers. “You don’t want to spend time with me right now.”
With two strides, he closes a foot of space between us. It’s close enough that he reaches forward and gently tilts my chin up, but not enough that we’re touching anywhere else.
“I get to decide how I want to spend my time. And if you’d just pay attention, you’d know I want to spend more of it with you, Storm Cloud.” I’m surprised by the nickname. He’s never called me anything other than my name before. But before I can comment on it, he adds, “Your feelings don’t scare me.”
I roll my lips between my teeth, feeling closer and closer to breaking down by the second in Adrian’s presence. And the scariest part is I kind of want to.
I shut my car door without saying anything. It’s a silent answer, and he smiles in understanding and victory. “Are the doors locked?” he nods toward my old black Jetta.
I click the key fob and hold out my hand. “Can I have my phone?”
He hands it over and waves me toward his green Durango. It looks a bit older but still in good condition. We don’t say anything as we walk toward his vehicle, and I don’t know if I could talk even if I tried.
Underneath those emotions I’m a little scared. There’s a tension between us that I’ve never felt before. It isn’t uncomfortable but it’s… new—electrifying even—and feels a hell of a lot more than just a lift home.
He holds the door open for me then walks to the driver’s side. I watch from my seat and try to steady my breathing.
Glancing at him as I buckle myself, his gaze is focused as he rounds the hood, a satisfied tug playing on his lips. The way his muscles move when he opens the door doesn’t help my heart rate.
He’s still quiet as he starts the car and shuffles through his Spotify. The music is set to a low volume, and he doesn’t push me to talk, so I don’t either. It’s not what I expected but I appreciate it. It grants me a moment to gather my bearings, and in a way, I guess it does feel something like what I assume companionship would.