Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
My brilliant idea deserves some credit.
Zero points for execution.
The day begins hot and grows hotter with the promise of an early-fall storm. By lunchtime it’s sweltering, too hot for Lovie to even bother with her gardening. Sometimes when it’s this warm and humid outside, you just have to accept your fate.
I’m still not very good at that.
It’s been a week since Adam agreed to stay full-time. A week of awkwardly avoiding each other in the hallway every morning. He showers before me; the bathroom is steamy, enough warm water left for me to shave my legs. Any puddles mopped up to avoid hazards for Lovie.
A week of smoothies on the counter after my runs, the blender clean and put away, apple cores and banana peels in the trash. A week’s worth of scrub colors: light blue, royal blue, light green, dark green, navy, black, and burgundy.
(And no, I’m not jealous of Petite Blonde getting to see his ass in scrubs. That would imply I care what others think about a man whose ass I have no claim to and haven’t even thought about all that much.)
Adam’s at his other job now, and I’m jealous, if only for the fact that it probably has functional air conditioning. Which makes me wonder if Rita the train conductor and Isaac the mechanic have gone on their date yet. That episode is scheduled for a few weeks from now.
I adjust the thermostat to seventy, then turn it off altogether when it just moves the sticky air around the house instead of cooling it. It’s not broken; it’s just that hot.
I throw open the windows instead.
That doesn’t help either, and by the early afternoon Lovie and I are both grumpy and rude. At my wits’ end, I offer the only thing I can think of, even if it’s the last thing I want to do.
“How about we take a drive?” I’m willing to add more anxiety to my plate if it means getting out of this furnace, go somewhere the walls aren’t closing in on me. “We can get something greasy for dinner and something cold and bubbly to drink.”
We’ve earned our cheat meals today. Lovie’s Hard Love Rule Number Fifteen: Calories don’t count unless you count them.
To my chagrin, she picks Subway for dinner. It’s not a Double Quarter Pounder, but it’ll do, I guess.
She looks happier with a full belly, even as storm clouds roll in the distance. The working air conditioning in her car helps our moods some, but more so, I think, she appreciates the break from the monotony of her days, even if on a subconscious level.
My body is tense behind the wheel, the way it always is, but I take the long way home anyway, traveling backstreets to point out all our old haunts as we pass them. The civic center that hosted my first dance recital and my second cousin’s second wedding. The library where I spent my entire fourth-grade spring break, earning reading points in the hopes of attending the end-of-year pizza party. The park where my grandfather proposed. The church where they got married.
She’s lived an entire life in this town, and she’s forgetting all the pieces of it.
With that heartbreaking thought in mind, I try to navigate us to my favorite park by memory, fingers clutching the steering wheel as the rain starts. My shoulders ache, my spine ramrod straight against the backrest. I won’t claim this as a mistake. Yet.
Turns out I’ve been forgetting things too. Namely directions, and the parts of town that Public Works pretends don’t exist. Before I realize it, I’ve driven over a pothole filled with—judging by the way the front driver’s side tire is blown out—nails, screws, and spike strips. Maybe some Legos too.
Adam is the one to call me. Probably since it’s seven thirty PM , he’s home, and we aren’t.
“Where are you?” he barks.
I wince as deluges of rain pound the exterior of the car. He’s mad mad. “Funny you should ask,” I say. There’s an elephant sitting on my chest. Sweat gathers along my hairline. “Do you know what a wheel lock key is? Lovie’s is missing, and I can’t change the flat without it. I think it’s in the workshop. Probably in Grandpa Bobby’s red toolbox.”
He completely ignores my question and asks one of his own. “Is she with you?”
“No,” I deadpan, rolling my eyes at Lovie like she has any idea how much this man exasperates me. “Last I checked, she was heading toward the second strip club of the day, the one off the highway. That’s her favorite. She gets the best tips there.”
He barely manages to spit out, “Drop me your location,” before he hangs up.
“Rude,” I hiss anyway.
Lovie is, thankfully, content in the passenger seat, watching raindrops race down the window. At least this drive was a good idea for her . I cannot say the same for myself.
When Adam’s car comes around the bend in the road behind us, headlights reflecting in the side- and rearview mirrors, I brace myself.
I throw open my door as Adam exits his own car, fists clenched. The cool droplets ease some of my nausea, relax the stiffness in my neck and shoulders.
The rain dampens today’s green scrubs one Rorschach blot at a time. He seems taller, wider—or maybe that’s his anger puffing his chest, inflating his ego into one giant ball of I told you so . He thrusts out his hand. “Here.”
I grab the wheel lock key and move to the front driver wheel well, dropping down into a crouch. “Can you kill the engine? And have Lovie sit in your car. It’s cooler now, but I don’t want her without air conditioning.”
The crunch of his jaw is louder than his feet on the rocks as he stomps around me. Louder, even, than the crack of thunder that echoes from a few miles away.
After Lovie is secure in the other car and the jack stand is in place, I attach the key to the lug nuts, twisting the way my grandfather taught me. One of the life skills I was required to have before leaving home, even if I never intended to use it.
But Grandpa Bobby didn’t teach me how to do this with rain sliding into my eyes, drenching my top and making my hands slippery. With an angry hulk of a man watching my every movement.
“Let me do it,” Adam yells. Demands, really, with his clipped voice leaving no room for argument. I don’t particularly like his tone.
“I’m basically done.” With the first nut. Sort of.
“We’ll be here forever at this rate,” Adam calls.
“Just take Lovie home,” I argue, pulling the hem of my shirt up to wipe my forehead. It’s instantly wet again. “It’s getting late.”
A pained noise gets mangled in the back of his throat. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to leave you on the side of the road with a flat tire, after dark, when it’s raining.” It’s still only dusk, but him placing me among the night creatures says a lot about his faith in me and how long this will take.
I call him on it. “Does that mean you’d leave me if it were daylight?” I look up in time to see him pinch the bridge of his nose, and I swallow a laugh. “I’ll call roadside assistance.”
He scoffs, throws a hand haphazardly to the cornfield at our left. “If you wanted to get murdered, all you had to do was ask. I will do it for free.” His hand slides into the pocket of his pants. Is that the only way he can resist not taking over? Strangling me? The rain would wash away any evidence … decisions, decisions.
“Hurry up,” he shouts. The fire in his eyes matches the acid under my skin. That might be steam coming off his head. “I’m getting soaked.”
I drop the lug nut key, and it lands at my feet in a growing pile of mud. I grab it, sludge caking under my nails, and stand up to my entire height.
“ Dammit , Adam!” My voice carries even over the downpour, across the empty stretch of highway, and disappears into the trees. I march onto the road, putting some distance between us. It’s not far enough with how livid he makes me. “God, just leave me alone for two seconds! I can’t fucking think straight with you—”
Tires squeal, a massive black pickup truck rounding the bend in the road not fifty feet from me. I am right in its path. The back end swings around as it loses traction, revealing dual-wheeled tires larger than my wingspan.
My lungs freeze. My legs too. The headlights shine into my eyes. Even if I wanted to move, I couldn’t see where I was going.
I’m plucked off the road like an inconvenient afterthought, tugged into Adam’s broad and sturdy chest as the truck whirs by, regaining purchase as its tires race through the exact spot I was just standing on.
“Are you okay?” Adam’s brusqueness pulls me back to present. His hands span my rib cage, his eyebrows drawn into a single angry slash across his forehead.
“I …” My insides burn hot enough that the water should evaporate from my skin. Rain coats his face, and a single bead of water falls from his lashes to his nose, clinging to the tip. I flex my grip, surprised to find something soft under it.
I’m clutching his shirt, drenched green fabric peeking between my fingers.
He looks down at my hand, which has left a smear of mud behind. I go to apologize, but my throat won’t open.
“Elle.” He grips me around the ribs infinitesimally tighter. “Are. You. Okay.” Each word comes with a shake, and it should be a question, but it’s not. The words rearrange themselves in my head. You. Are. Okay.
It does just enough to turn my brain back on, and I manage a small nod. “Yes.” Then, louder and firmer: “Yeah, I’m fine. Um.” I blink water from my eyes and take in a shaky breath. “Thank you.”
With one quick nod and a squaring of his jaw, he reaches up and not so tenderly removes my hand from where my nails bite into his chest. In our shuffling, I dropped the key, and Adam reaches down, saving it from another puddle. He holds it between us with his thumb and forefinger. “Why does it matter who the hell changes the tire?”
His voice is softer now, less abrasive after my near-death experience.
I grit my teeth. There is dirt in my mouth and water in places that should never be wet. The rain had already taken most of my defenses, and what just happened stole the rest. I have nothing left for him but the truth.
“This day with Lovie was not easy. None of her days are easy anymore, and there’s nothing I can do about it. But this—I can do this.” I close my hand around the key, his fingers. How is he still so warm when we’re both soaking wet? “So I need you to let me. Please. ” My voice breaks, and I’m glad my face is already wet. I clear my throat. “Go wait in the car or something.”
He doesn’t fight me when I take the key. Or as I refit it onto the lug nut and try to calm my racing pulse.
He makes himself scarce, but I still feel him, just over my shoulder. I’m not sure why we both need to be out here in the rain, but to each his own. He doesn’t actively try to take tools from my hands or wring his shirt to soak me, which is more than I could say for myself if the situation were reversed. He lets me work in peace.
When I stand up to retrieve the spare from the trunk, he has it ready, so all I have to do is slide it on. I don’t thank him, but I also don’t kick him in the shin, so there is that. While I tighten the bolts, he throws the old one in the trunk.
My hair is sopping wet, hanging in clumps around my face. My light-colored shirt is translucent. I think there’s grease on my forehead. But I did the damn thing, took something back into my hands when everything since coming home has seemed to spill out of them.
Adam’s eyes are hard in the fast-fading light. Almost black, same as the night we met. They wander across me, my smirking mouth and trembling body, and shutter as he pivots to his car. His voice is hardly audible over the rain. “I’ll take Lovie home with me. There’s no need to make her move again.”
I drive to Lovie’s in silence, my muscles tight for so many reasons. I can’t stop shivering. I pull in behind Adam but give myself a few minutes to peel my hands off the steering wheel. The clock on the dashboard reads just after ten, but it’s a few minutes ahead. Lovie has set it that way on purpose for my entire life to try to counteract her perpetual tardiness. But since she knew it was a few minutes ahead, she gave herself time she didn’t actually have. I wonder if it works the other way too. If I set it backward, can I travel back in time before the horrible blowout with Adam on the side of the highway?
Through the rain-spotted windshield, I watch as he leads Lovie inside, shielding her body as much as possible. It will take hours to unwind after driving in this downpour, ease my shoulders away from my ears, get feeling back into my hands. I think my bones are soggy.
Inside, my shoes thud to the floor next to the two other wet pairs; there will be dirt to clean up tomorrow.
With Lovie taken care of, I go in search of a towel. There’s a load in the dryer from this morning, and I pull a few out. It’s too late to blow-dry my hair, and I’m too tired to hold up my arms that long anyway, so I wrap one around the sopping-wet red locks.
Adam finds me standing atop a towel in the kitchen, wringing my shirt and what I can of my shorts onto the terry cloth. “Interesting method.”
“Thank you.” I grab the last extra towel from the island and hold it out. “For earlier, I mean.”
He looks like he might refuse, but I throw a pointed look at his hair, which drips water into his eyes at that very second, proving my point. He takes the pink towel with a shake of his head, flinging water in my direction. “You already thanked me.” Adam’s gaze is heavy, and something he sees makes his mouth tip up, fighting a grin.
I frown to compensate. “What?”
“You look absolutely ridiculous.” He tilts his head in the direction of the window.
“Thank you,” I say again, because I know it will get on his nerves, and check my reflection. My makeup, alongside my sanity, was ruined in the rain. Dark mascara rims my eyes and stripes my cheeks.
I’ll give it to him this time—I do look absolutely ridiculous.
I let out a chuckle but slip quickly into hysterics. My jostling makes my hair towel flop into my face, and that’s hilarious too.
Adam is also chuckling when he grabs my hair towel and uses it to straighten my head. My laugh gets trapped in my throat, a weird gurgle coming out as he pushes the towel out of my eyes with the utmost concentration.
He ignores me. “You want the bathroom first?”
“Sure,” I murmur. “Thank you.”
“Stop saying that.” He drops his hands. “It’s weird.”
In the bathroom, I pull on sleep shorts and an oversized tee. Comb my hair away from my face and scrub the black streaks from my cheeks. I think some mindless furniture restoration videos while tucked under covers will work wonders on my psyche.
I’m pulling the blankets down on my bed, excited to have it all to myself after the weekend on the couch, when someone curses loudly in the living room.
I throw open the door, running toward the source of the sound.
Adam stands with his hands on his hips in the living room, still in his rain-darkened scrubs and gray socks. His mouth is pinched so tight his lips have no color. “Did you leave the window open?”
Shit. “Why do you assume I did it?”
He eyes the window behind the couch, still spitting rain deep into the fabric. “Because it wasn’t me, and the only other person in this house has arthritis and a bad hip.”
Okay. Fine. Maybe it was me. “The forecast didn’t call for rain.” I was so eager to get out of the house earlier, I didn’t actually check.
His jaw clicks shut. He’s going to break a tooth. “You should know better than to trust a midwestern weather forecast. I thought you grew up here.” He presses a hand into the cushion, and it comes away soaking wet. He holds it up for me to see. “Or did the big-city girl forget what it’s like after being away from home so long?”
An incredulous laugh slips free. The few seconds of tranquility we found in the kitchen are, apparently, long gone. “Chicago is still the Midwest! It’s two fucking hours away!”
I try to find a dry spot he missed. My fingers also come away wet.
“Did you really not believe me?” he mutters.
I grab the back of my neck, hoping it will cool my blood. It’s not that I didn’t believe him. It’s that I didn’t want him to be right. Because— “Where the hell are you supposed to sleep tonight, Adam?”
Color leaches from his face. “Surely it’s not that wet.”
It is that wet.
Adam and I are up to our ankles in sopping towels, my clothes are grafting to my body, and we’re no closer to a solution than when we started.
“I can sleep with Lovie,” I offer, moving my hair dryer to a different part of the sofa. The joke was on me earlier—now I have no choice but to use it. An old dehumidifier hums in the corner, working overtime.
He huffs, flipping his cushion up to dry the underside. “No, you can’t. Nobody takes kindly to waking up with a stranger in their bed.” His eyes find mine, mouth relaxing from a near-permanent smirk. “No offense.”
I brush aside my hurt at the word stranger . “What other option do we have?”
“I’ll stay in a hotel.” He lightly grabs my wrist, redirects the hair dryer. It’s as if someone dumped buckets of water directly onto this couch. The windowsill, on the other hand, is hardly damp.
I scoff. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I can sleep in my car.”
“It drops to the forties at night.”
“So I’ll leave it running.” His cushion is soaked through, and he leaves it flipped up to try to dry the middle one.
There’s no saving the one in front of me either. I let it fall to the side, turn off the blow dryer. My arms ache. The knots on my shoulders have knots of their own.
“Not with global warming, you won’t.” I thrust a hand toward his face as his mouth opens again. “Just—stop talking.”
Because of my oversight, Adam and I are, for the night, at least, an our . A we . An us .
I pinch the bridge of my nose so hard I see stars. Maybe give myself a nosebleed. And then I say the thing I feared most: “Let’s just sleep together.”