Chapter 10
CHAPTER
TEN
GUNNER
Uncle Stewart’s texts bother me to the point that I can’t sleep.
I run a hand down my face groggily and notice the time on my alarm clock.
1:15 AM.
I have early morning training, a shift at the hardware store, and then our first game of the play-offs later tonight. This isn’t the time to be tossing and turning in bed.
Thirty minutes later, I give up.
Sleep is not going to happen for me.
With a sigh, I push myself to a sitting position, rake my fingers through my hair and then head downstairs.
I’m surprised to see dad behind the counter, stirring a pot of tea.
His eyebrows rise in tandem when he sees me approaching. “Couldn’t sleep either?”
I nod and then point at the cup. “Mom?”
“I, uh, think yesterday’s announcement was a bit too much for her. I figured a cup of chamomile tea would help calm her nerves.”
“Is she that upset?”
“Upset isn’t the word I’d use.” Dad rubs the back of his neck. “She’s just overthinking things a bit. Change is hard for her. You know that. She wants her family close to her and introducing anything new could mean an unwanted change.”
I nod in understanding. I originally wanted to move near the stadium so it would be easier to go to and from practice, but mom got wind of it and begged me to stay on the property. She offered to renovate the studio above the garage to give me ‘my own space’.
I couldn’t tell her no.
Moving around my dad, I open the fridge and notice that it’s packed with leftovers from the luncheon earlier. The cherry pie on the top left corner is calling my name, but so is the banana cream pudding.
“I’ve got to get this tea to your mother but son I’ve been wanting to tell you this all day…” Dad waits for me to look up before he says, “Your mother and I trust your decisions. Whoever you bring home, we want you to be happy.”
I nod.
“Does Rebel make you happy?” Dad asks, scanning my face.
Happy?
I think about how angry I was when Clifford Davoe grabbed her hand in the barn. Fury had spurted from every pore and I couldn’t hold myself back.
I think of how upset I was when the suit at the luncheon kept staring at her. How annoyed I was when she smiled at him. How scared I was when Uncle Stewart sent me those texts, demanding to know if the rumors about me and Rebel are true.
“I don’t know.” I admit to my father.
His eyes widen in alarm. “She… doesn’t make you happy?”
“No, she does,” I amend quickly. That’s what a real boyfriend would say in this situation.
“But…?” Dad prods.
I close the fridge door and face him. “It’s strange, dad. I worry a lot. I get upset. Stupid things annoy me.”
Dad’s lips inch up into a slow, knowing smile.
“I’m not violent, but I want to punch other guys just for touching her. I’m not emotional, but it bothers me when she says one thing and her eyes say another.”
Dad sets the tea down on the counter, draws up a chair and watches me with that smile growing and growing.
“What else?”
I avoid his eyes. “Nothing. That’s it. She drives me crazy.”
He leans forward, his wedding ring glinting in the soft kitchen lights. “Does the thought of her getting hurt make your heart stop beating and your hands get clammy?”
I nod slowly, thinking about Uncle Stewart’s texts.
“You hate making a fuss, but you find yourself acting more and more out of character when you’re with her?”
“Yes. That’s exactly it.”
Dad scoops up mom’s tea and lumbers to his feet. “In the upstairs closet, where we keep the comforters. To the left.”
I frown. What?
“Your great-grandma Elda’s ring. I stashed it there when we were doing construction and never moved it back.”
“R-ring?” I blink rapidly.
“Give your mom some time and be patient with her. She’s got a good heart. I’m sure she’ll see what you see in Rebel eventually.”
I jolt back. “Dad, no. I don’t need a ring?—”
“Good night, son.” He raises the cup in salute.
“No, dad. Listen?—”
I watch helplessly as he carries mom’s tea down the hall and to the right. Their bedroom door closes softly in the stillness.
Realizing that I’m no longer hungry, I retreat to my studio too and fall into bed. But dad’s words run in circles around my head and I barely get any sleep.
I’m still thinking about it during early morning training, later at my uncle’s hardware store, and when I drive over to The Tipsy Tuna for a late lunch.
What on earth did I say to make dad think I was THAT serious about Rebel? Is it obvious that I don’t hate her as much as she thinks I do?
As I knock back my glass of sweet tea and crunch thoughtfully on the ice cubes, the object of my thoughts breezes through the door.
“Hi, Rebel!” Mauve yells from behind the bar.
“Looks like in here’s full,” Rebel says, her eyes skipping over the tables. “Guess I’ll take today’s lunch to go.”
Mauve points a dark hand at my corner of the restaurant. “No, need. Your boyfriend’s at that table over there. You can sit with him.”
Rebel’s thick blonde hair spins around her shoulders as she turns to take me in.
I swallow hard and sit up straighter.
“Let me get you an extra mat and coaster,” Mauve says.
“Thanks, Mauve.” Rebel follows the plump, older woman to my table.
“Your usual, Rebel?” Mauve asks, setting the mat down across from me.
“Yes, please. And I’ll have a root beer float too.”
“Ooh, are you celebrating something?”
Rebel sighs in exhaustion. “I need a sugar rush. April and I have been doing interviews all morning. It hasn’t been going well.”
“Interviews?” I ask.
Rebel glances at me and her eyes go dim. “The shop is extremely busy these days. We can’t keep up with demand, so we need more mechanics in the bay.”
Mauve offers a consoling nod. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll be right out with your orders.”
Rebel smiles sweetly at Mauve but, as soon as the older woman leaves our table, she turns frosty.
Lips tightening into a straight line, she shuffles around her purse. Her thick, blonde hair swings down to hide most of her face.
My heart picks up speed as I mentally trace the slope of her nose down to her lips. They’re shinier today, like twin flower petals heavy after a gentle rain. Her jumper is half-unzipped, revealing a white tank top underneath. A grease stain sits on her cheek and I want to wipe it off so badly that my fingers quake.
I pull my hands beneath the table so I don’t give in to the impulse.
Ba-thump. Ba-thump.
My Adam’s apple bobs. Why is my heart misbehaving again?
Rebel pulls a pink bottle of hand sanitizer from her purse and squeezes a dollop into her palm. When she notices me watching, she freezes.
“Want some?”
I pull my hand back at first, afraid that I’ll tremble too much. I’m normally steady and unflappable, but I don’t feel like myself when I’m in front of her.
“Whatever,” Rebel says when I retreat. “But just know that people are watching.”
I glance around and notice the locals ducking behind their menus and whispering while sneaking peeks at us.
I offer my hand.
She shares out the sanitizer and says, “I get it. You’d rather not eat with me. But this kind of comes with the territory, don’t you think?”
My eyebrows hike. What? When did I say I didn’t want to eat with her? All I did was reject her hand sanitizer. How did it turn into her glaring at me like that?
Rebel whisks her dainty hands together. “I didn’t want to crash your lunch either, but if I avoided you, Mauve would find it weird.” She nods decisively. “However, this is awkward and uncomfortable for me too. So when she brings the food, I’ll make an excuse to leave and eat in my car.”
“You’d rather eat in your car than share a table with me?”
“I’d rather eat next to a garbage dump in the middle of a volcano.” Rebel’s harsh words are delivered with another one of her fake smiles. “Does that answer your question?”
The ring is behind the comforter. Dad’s voice returns to me and I almost laugh out loud.
The likelihood of Rebel and I getting married is so low, only a hockey puck would be able to limbo under it.
The woman is infuriating to the infinite degree.
My jaw flexes. “If you’re uncomfortable with me, I can leave first. You can have the table.”
“No, I’ll leave,” Rebel insists.
I get up.
She does too.
“Stay,” I tell her. “I can eat at the stadium anyway.”
“No, you were here first. You should stay.”
“Where are you two going?” Mauve asks, approaching us with two trays in hand.
“Yeah,” a low, familiar voice says.
I stiffen as my Uncle Stewart steps out from behind Mauve and towers over our table. “I was just thinking I should join my nephew and his girlfriend for lunch.”