Chapter 58
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Renthrow
Once Gordie’s dropped off at school, I head to the stadium for the training camp.
Max takes me aside to ask if I’ve informed the guys yet, and when I tell him no, he decides to take the task on himself.
As much as I don’t want to do it, I definitely don’t think Max should do it either.
But it’s no use.
He sends a cold text to the entire team. It’s about as terrible a way to tell someone bad news as any, and I’m not surprised when a flood of expletives and middle-finger emojis flood the group chat.
One by one, members leave the chat.
It’s like the Lucky Strikers are crumbling before my very eyes.
I drive to The Pink Garage at lunch, needing space from the stadium. I get where Max is coming from, but his ultimatum feels unnecessarily cruel. I wish he’d give the rest of the team some slack. And the group’s extreme reactions—though warranted—leave a bitter taste in my mouth.
This is all a big, ugly mess.
I need something sweet and beautiful to perk up my day.
I need Cordelia.
Yes, she spent the night yesterday, but it wasn’t enough.
I want more of her. I want all of her.
Is that why you dreamed of being married to her?
That’s a secret I’m keeping deep in my heart. Cordelia is already so hesitant about us. And to make it worse, I previously told her—in no uncertain terms—that I will never get married again.
Now that I’m in love with her, my mind is starting to change about that. But it might be too much. Too soon.
When I park near the flood of cars waiting for repair, my eyes shift across the yard until they meet a beautiful woman in a black vest, jeans, and workbooks.
Cordelia has car parts laid out on the bumper and is testing each one with a tool. My heart feels lighter just looking at her.
No one else is around when I walk under the tent. I deduce that April is with Chance and Rebel is with Gunner. My teammates are spending as much time as they can with their girlfriends now that hockey season’s over and our schedule’s less hectic.
Cordelia bobs her head to the music in her headphones. I can hear the frantic guitar seeping out of her ears. She’s got that music dangerously loud if I can hear it so clearly.
I smile as I watch her for a second. How long has she been at the garage? This morning, I texted her to make sure she’d gotten home safe.
A reply never came.
If we’re going to do this, I need to have a real, adult conversation about her text response times. I don’t want to be clingy, but I also like knowing that she’s alive and well.
Especially because that bike of hers is so dangerous. If she doesn’t text back, I immediately start to worry.
I tap her shoulder to get her attention.
She shrieks and spins around. When she sees me, her eyes brighten in welcome.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” She pulls the headphones down, so they rest around her neck.
I wrap my arms around her waist and bend down, so I can rest my head on her shoulder.
She makes a cute gasping sound. “Renthrow, I’m all dirty.”
“You’re perfect.”
“You’ll get brake fluid all over you.”
I nuzzle my nose against her neck, inhaling the strong scent of engine oil. “So be it.”
She removes her gloves and then rests her hand on my head, lightly scraping my scalp. I groan in satisfaction. “That feels good.”
Cordelia gives me one more scratch, and then she pushes me off. “How much do you weigh? Even your head is heavy.”
“Believe it or not, you’re not the first person to tell me that.” I straighten and step back.
“Do you want to talk about something?” Her eyes darken in worry. “Is it Gordie? Does she need me?”
I circle her wrist with my fingers. “Gordie’s fine. She’s not the one who needs you.”
Cordelia gives me a puzzled look.
“It’s me.” I tap my chest. “I have no one to eat lunch with.”
She tilts her head. “I see. So that’s why there was no lunch box dropped off this morning.”
“I needed a bargaining chip.”
“Too bad. I’m busy.” She avoids looking at me.
Is she playing hard to get?
I step into her, noting the way she struggles to maintain her frown. “What do I need to do? Beg?”
“It’s not a bad idea.”
“I’m more of a negotiator than a beggar.” I slip her hands around my neck, place mine at her waist, and sway with her. “Phil’s donuts for a week.”
She lifts an interested brow.
I dip my mouth close to hers. “I’ll throw in two extra egg rolls a day.”
A smile tugs at her lips. “I’m not a cheap date, Renthrow.”
“Three rolls.”
“You’re getting warmer.”
I’m about to use my mouth and tongue to make a case for why me and her at the Tuna would be a great use of a lunch break when someone says, “Hello? Is anyone here?”
Cordelia breaks away from me. “Just a second!”
I groan and hold her tighter.
She laughs as she pries my arms off. “I’ll be right back.”
I watch her prance to the front of the tents where a guy in a flannel shirt and jeans is standing and looking around.
“How can I help you?” she says.
“I’m here for the Nissan,” the guy says.
“Right this way,” Cordelia responds.
Since my lunch date is occupied, I turn my attention to the tools scattered around. One looks like a tablet with a heavy-duty case on it. On the screen are waveforms that remind me of a heart monitor except the lines spike way faster than a human heart.
A car engine rumbles, and I point my attention to where Cordelia and the customer are. She’s standing beside an open hood, and he’s behind the wheel.
“I can’t believe you got it to start again,” the guy is yelling. “Every mechanic said the problem was the computer, but it’s so expensive to buy a new computer for this model. You guys were my last hope.”
“The computer is what a lot of mechanics default to when they don’t want to look deeper,” Cordelia explains. “The problem was a faulty knock sensor.”
The guy exits the car and laughs sheepishly. “What’s a knock sensor?”
Cordelia gives him a smile that’s way too pretty. “It’s a sensor that picks up the pinging of the engine. It’s designed to reverse the timing, and it stops the engine from detonating.”
“Right. Right.” The guy bobs his head while still looking clueless.
“In other words, it reverses the timing until it’s safe to drive, so you don’t break up your engine.”
I slip a hand into my pocket, smiling at the way Cordelia comes alive. That is one woman who really likes fixing cars.
My attention breaks away from her and flits to the customer for a split second. Then it doubles back. Why is that schmuck smiling at her in the same, soft, besotted way that I am?
Cordelia motions for the customer to look inside the hood, and they bend over the engine together.
I barge over there faster than lightning.
“Exactly,” Cordelia is saying, “so a faulty knock sensor gives the symptoms of a bad computer, but it’s actually the computer cutting back the ignition timing, stopping it from advancing.”
“Wow, you know a lot about cars,” the customer says, sliding closer to her.
“She’s amazing.” I wedge myself between Cordelia and the customer and offer my hand. “Hey, man. How’s it going?”
“Hey, you play with the Lucky Strikers!” The guy blinks. “Are you a mechanic too?”
“No, I’m her—”
“Friend,” Cordelia interjects.
Every muscle in my body tightens at once.
Cordelia steers the guy away and gives him a clipboard. “If you’re satisfied with the service, just sign here, and here’s your key. Give me a call if you need help with anything else.”
“Thanks.” The guy gives her an obvious once-over. “I think I will be giving you a call.”
I glare at him. “She meant for the car. Nothing else.”
A frightened look crosses his face, and the guy quickly jumps into his car.
Cordelia gives me a scolding look.
I return it with a scowl of my own.
“Thanks for choosing The Pink Garage,” Cordelia says, waving to the customer as he drives out.
The moment he leaves, she whirls on me. “What was that?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing.” I stomp toward her. “Friends. Friends? How the heck are we friends?”
“What’s wrong with being friends?”
Dumbfounded, I can only stare at her. Wait…
she’s serious. I threw her on a dang bike and kissed her socks off.
I invited her to my house. She slept on my chest all night.
I’m here asking her out for lunch. We were hugging and flirting and touching since the moment I walked into the garage. Why does this have to be explained?
“You are not my friend,” I say firmly and slowly as if she doesn’t speak English. “I don’t kiss my friends.”
“We’re…special friends.”
My jaw slackens.
Cordelia puts her hands on my chest. “I think you’re amazing, Renthrow. I really like being around you. And kissing you.” Her eyes dip to my lips. “I like you a lot.”
“I like you too,” I rasp. “I’m crazy about you, Cordelia.”
She smiles softly. “So then…why can’t we just leave it at that?”
“What?”
“Dating leads to commitments.”
“Sometimes. Not all the time.”
She arches a brow. “Would you bring a woman around Gordie that you just want a casual relationship with?”
“Of course not.”
“Dating with intentions isn’t something I’m willing to do.”
“But—”
“I don’t want to get married. Ever.”
Her words rock me to my core. For so long, I didn’t want to get married again either, but why do I feel so frustrated hearing Cordelia say that?
“I don’t want to confuse Gordie. I’m not going to be her new mommy, and if she hears that we’re dating, she’s going to have expectations. It’s going to be confusing and possibly upsetting for her. I don’t want to put her through that.”
“Gordie’s not going to be upset that I’m dating you. She—” I blow out a breath. “Why are you already talking about marriage when we’ve just gotten to know each other? Let’s take it one step at a time.”
“I’m saying this, so we can be clear and not hurt each other.”
“Cordelia, I’m not confused. I want to take care of you.
I want to protect you. I want to worry about you riding that bike and check that you get home okay every night.
I want to bring you lunch and worry about whether or not you’ve eaten, and be upset if a restaurant I take you to doesn’t serve seafood.
I want to fuss over you when you get hurt and make you smile and hug you and kiss you and talk to you for hours. I want you to be my girlfriend.”
“I want to do the same.”
“Then you want to be my girlfriend as much as I want to be your boyfriend.”
She shakes her head and pulls away from me. “We don’t need a label to spend time with each other.”
I follow her. “But you were okay with a label in front of your mother?”
“That’s different. That’s fake.”
I laugh, flabbergasted. “Cordelia, I don’t want an unlabeled relationship with you. I want to be with you for real. We can keep it private if you need that, but I don’t like it when things are unclear. I want you in my life. For the long haul.”
“And then what?”
I blink. “And then…we figure it out.”
“No.”
My eyes widen. “No?”
“I don’t want that.”
“Cordelia—”
“I don’t want to be a wife.”
“Okay, then we don’t have to—”
“And I don’t want to be a mother,” she blurts.
My body freezes in place.
It feels like she slapped me.
Cordelia licks her lips and speaks slowly, “You made the mistake of building a life with a woman who didn’t share your values once.” She maintains eye contact. “Do you really want to do that again?”