Chapter 11
PRESENT
DARREN
Abbie snaps the beaded bracelet on her wrist and leans forward between the seats to snag the bag of licorice I keep in the console.
Her hair flies in the wind from the open window when she flops back in her seat.
I watch her in the rear-view mirror long enough to witness her chomp the end of a licorice and focus on the empty fields outside of town.
“What if I were saving those?” I ask, brow raised.
“You don’t like them. Why are they always in the car?”
“How do you know that I don’t like them?”
She juts her chin and rips another chunk off the licorice. “’Cause you never eat them.”
“Maybe I do when I’m alone so you can’t steal them like you are right now,” I throw back, turning off the main road.
Gravel crunches beneath the tires as I slow the car to a crawl. Suddenly, the last thing I want to do is joke around about candy. There’s no chance I can let my nonchalant mask slip without spooking my daughter, though.
As far as she knows, the drive-in was just a fun place to hang out when I was a teenager.
We’re here today to fulfill the volunteer demands Caleb placed on all of us at the station.
I had nothing to do with this idea because if Sasha heard a different story .
. . that’s simply not a situation I’d like to focus on right now.
“It’s busy here,” Abbie notes.
“Most of the town is taking part in the rebuild.”
“Do we get to come here and watch movies after it’s fixed?”
My stomach tightens, an immediate dismissal on my tongue. I swallow it. “Sure.”
“Cool!”
So easily settled, my daughter pushes up a bit higher in her seat and sticks her head as far out the window as it’ll reach. The rows of vehicles already in the parking lot take me a bit by surprise. Bryce told me there were going to be a lot of people here, but I guess I didn’t fully believe her.
I spot Brody’s pickup beside Johnny’s, and Bryce’s car a few spots down. My palms become slick with sweat as I search for the same silver car that I see in the school parking lot every morning I drop Abbie off, because that’s all I’ve convinced myself I can do for now.
Continue to watch Delaney like a fucking stalker.
Pulling into the closest empty space I can find, I rein in my nerves and tuck them away for now.
“Alright, remember not to run off on me today. The station did a good job of clearing debris, but there could still be anything hanging around,” I say.
“Like a nail?”
I hesitate briefly, running that terrible possibility through my head. “I was thinking something a little less dangerous happening than you stepping on a nail, but yes, I guess just like a nail.”
“I’ll be careful,” she swears, finished with her candy now.
I tug the keys out of the ignition and unlock the doors. “You mean it?”
“I swear it,” she vows with a grin .
“I’ll be counting on it, then. Let’s go.”
We step out at the same time, and she doesn’t take off like she would have three years ago. Instead, she pats her thighs and looks up at me for direction.
“Let’s look for your aunts.”
She hums in agreement. “I didn’t see Auntie Pops’ car.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Garrison didn’t want it to get dirty on these roads.”
“He let me use washable markers on the windows last time I was at their house.”
Pausing, I glance down at her. “He did?”
“Yep. And he helped me wash them after.”
“I guess I stand corrected, then.”
Abbie’s grin sparkles. “Can we get a Slurpee after we’re done?”
“Sure, sweetheart. Let’s just focus on finding out what we’re here to do today for now.”
I drop a steady hand to the back of her head and pat her hair. She huffs and reaches up to swat me away, her smile still locked in place.
“I’m not a kid anymore,” she says pointedly.
“You’ll always be a kid to me. My little girl, more like.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“There you are. You’re almost late,” Bryce chides.
Pivoting, I offer her a forced smile. Abbie abandons me completely for my best friend. She joins Bryce a few paces away and gives her a usual hug.
“Hi!”
Bryce relaxes the immediate tightness in her shoulders at the affection and slowly lowers her arms around the little girl. She meets my gaze over Abbie’s head and cocks a brow.
“How hard did your dad try to delay leaving the house, Abs?” she asks.
The question’s meant for me instead, but I hold back, letting my daughter answer .
Abbie pops back a step and glances at my chest. “He changed shirts three times.”
“Wrong.” It was actually four times.
“Don’t call your daughter a liar,” Bryce drawls.
Abbie pouts. “Yeah, Dad. Don’t call me a liar.”
“Don’t turn her against me, Bryce. Or it’ll be you she’s spending every night making bracelets with.”
Bryce pales, blue eyes wide. “Fu—screw off.”
“It’s okay. I know ‘fuck’ is a bad word,” Abbie says, placating Bryce with a hand on her arm.
I choke back a laugh. “Abbie. Don’t say that.”
“Say what? Fuck?” she asks, head cocked.
“Yes! Don’t say fuck, or your mother will be taking your new vocabulary up with me.”
“Eh, you can just blame me,” Bryce says.
I meet her stare. “That might be worse.”
“I won’t tell Mom,” Abbie offers.
With a long exhale, I say, “How about we just abandon the conversation and move on. Where do we go now, Bryce? Is there some sort of check-in?”
“My dad’s making a speech in a few minutes, and I already know what your assignment is.”
“You organized everyone?”
She rolls her eyes. “Your surprise is hurtful.”
Bryce and social events don’t always add up, let alone ones like this. She knows better than I do that my surprise is warranted.
“What do we get to do, Auntie?” Abbie asks.
Bryce peels her attention from me, making sure to do it slowly so I know I’m not off the hook yet. “You’re going to make some posters to promote the drive-in with the other students from the school.”
“Really? Cool! Is Dad helping?” She turns her head to look up at me. “Are you going to help me? ”
“Your dad is going to be working on a different team, kiddo,” Bryce answers.
“I am?”
She narrows her eyes, almost as if she can’t believe I’d ask her that. “Yes.”
“Great,” I say.
“Can I go help now?” Abbie asks, bouncing in place as she looks over the field for the other kids.
“We can bring you there. Then, I’ll get your dad over with his group.”
“Sweet.”
A car door closes from somewhere in the open lot, and my stomach jumps.
I haven’t spotted Delaney yet. She’s not beside the lingering pile of wood in the field or by the bright orange tent set up on the left of it.
While Cherry Peak is small, I’d be able to pick her out in a crowd a hundred times this size.
Not only that, but I’d have felt her presence the moment I stepped onto the gravel road.
Like a tickle in the back of my mind or between my ribs, I’d have felt it.
That’s why I know that it was her closing that door.
Instead of turning around to confirm it with sight rather than feeling, I meet Bryce’s waiting stare and freeze.
She’s far more confident than I am. Not only about this whole rebuild idea, but about Delaney and me too.
Maybe it’s the whole best friend thing we’ve had going on forever, but she’s always been vocal about her disappointment in the decisions I made all those years ago with Delaney.
Between her and Poppy, I’ve lost track of the number of chastising speeches I’ve been forced to endure. I’ve deserved each one.
“It’s Ms. Delaney!” Abbie cheers.
I can’t look back yet. Bryce sighs.
“Can I say hi, Dad?”
My voice sounds weird when I say, “You don’t want to go see the group you’ll be working with first? ”
“Not yet. I want to say hi to my teacher.”
Bryce breaks eye contact and glances over my shoulder. “Hey, Delaney.”
It’s habit to reach up and touch the brim of my hat. The tear in the corner of it reminds me of which one it is. My stomach becomes so tense it’s painful. Of course.
“Hi, Bryce. And hello, Abbie. I love your shorts.”
Her voice is a punch to the gut. Drawing air into my lungs is stressful.
“Darren,” she adds, my name weighed down like it’s strenuous for her to speak it.
I suck back a pained hiss when Bryce steps close to me and kicks the back of my ankle. With a wince, I shift and turn around. The toe of a cowboy boot runs back and forth in the dirt, creating a deep groove as I keep my eyes lowered.
Bryce kicks me again. I look up and immediately wish I’d just let her do it for a third time instead.
“Delaney,” I breathe out.
Nobody should look this fucking beautiful just to volunteer cleaning up a mess of burnt wood on scorched land.
Her eyes are cool despite her attempt at a smile as she stares at my hat.
They’ve always been the one part of her that she could never control.
Angry, sad, happy, her eyes always gave her away.
And right now, it’s killing me that she so obviously wants to be anywhere but here.
“Thank you. I put the gems on by myself,” Abbie announces, pride thick in her words.
“That’s incredible. I used to bedazzle my clothes when I was your age too, but my mom always found them loose in the dryer after the first wash or stuck inside my brother’s T-shirts.”
Abbie giggles. “They get stuck to my dad’s clothes.”
“Sometimes a bit of sparkle makes an outfit.”
I struggle to swallow. “Haven’t found any in our dryer, though. ”
“When’s the last time you checked, D?” Bryce asks, watching me a bit too closely.
“Never!” Abbie erupts, laughing harder now.
It’s impossible not to stare at Delaney.
Not because I want to see her reaction to my daughter’s laughter, but because I simply can’t help but steal another glance.
In the late-morning sun, her hair is brighter, almost a shade too light that it’s white.
It drapes her shoulders in loose waves that rustle in the wind but never fly into her face.
Her short frame is hugged by a plain, blush-pink long-sleeve she’s tucked into the band of a pair of high-waisted blue jeans.
There’s a plaid shirt tied around her waist that hangs behind her thighs, and with the addition of the cowboy boots that remind me a bit too much of the same pair I used to hide under my bed when we were too young to be seeing each other . . . Fuck.
I’m transported back in time too easily, and it’s damn hard to keep fighting off the memories that follow any amount of time near her.
My first instinct is to forget about all the mess and pain between us and take her in my arms. It’s been almost a decade since I’ve had her there, and I crave it more than anything else.
“Thank you for organizing this, Bryce. I should go find out where I’m supposed to go, I suppose,” she says, avoiding looking at me now.
I take that on the chin. “You could stick around until the mayor starts speaking.”
A long pause, and then the full weight of her stare rocks me back onto my heels. Delaney keeps a neutral expression, but fuck, I see through it.
“I want to say hi to a few other people before then.”
“Like who?”
The question’s out before I can stop it, and now there’s no stopping the reaction to it. I wait for Bryce to kick me again, but instead, she blows out a long breath that’s fucking worse.
Delaney narrows her stare and tightens the tie at her middle. Then, in the blink of an eye, she’s focused on my daughter with a strained yet warm smile, making it obvious that I’ve been dismissed.
“Enjoy the weekend, Abbie. I’ll see you Monday morning.”
My daughter holds her hands against her middle the way she does when she’s stopping herself from hugging someone. “Okay. See you, Ms. Delaney.”
“See you, Abbie. Bye, Bryce. Darren.”
“Try not to get a sliver during cleanup,” Bryce replies.
Delaney huffs a laugh. “You too.”
She ignores my heavy gaze as I watch her, not speaking. For some reason, that’s what strikes me the deepest. Her lack of acknowledgement. And here I go, sounding like a goddamn selfish asshole again.
“Did you remember sunscreen?” I ask.
She snaps her eyes in my direction. I see the surprise appear for a moment before she washes it out with annoyance.
“Yes. I always do.”
Not always. She used to forget it every other time we stepped outside and would come inside with pink skin.
I nod and let it go. Some things—too many things—have changed, but some never will. And I think I’m about done with trying to pretend otherwise. Not when I’ve finally got her closer than I have for way too many years.
I’ve yearned for her since the moment I let her go but have shoved it down deep enough that I convinced myself it had disappeared. That changed at Into The Shade, and now, it’s time to remind her of who I am and who we used to be together.
This might be my last chance.