16. Chapter 16
Chapter 16
LANE
Gabby scurries toward me in the darkened basement of Wyndham Hall, two coffees clutched in her fists. The heady scent reaches me before she does, and I hurry to take one off her hands like the caffeine fiend I am.
“Why am I meeting you down here again?” she asks, glancing around the basement like it’s a dungeon.
“Because I switched my work hours slightly, so I don’t have to talk to Teagan. Which also means I had no time to make coffee because I left the house earlier than normal, and I needed a caffeine fix.” I wave my hand in the air. “It’s a whole ripple effect. Thank you, by the way.” I lift the cup, then bring it to my lips and take a tentative sip.
“And why are we avoiding Teagan?”
I swallow and grimace, but it has nothing to do with the taste of the coffee and everything to do with the fact that I’m either foolish, a coward, or really smart. Maybe a little of all three. But after watching the first half of his game on Saturday from the safety of the box with my mother and Sophie, I hurried off before Teagan could realize I was there.
Watching him play was a lot like watching a sea turtle discover water for the first time. Like he was born to play football. The second his cleats hit the turf, instinct took over, and everything else was just . . . inconsequential.
I thought about him for the rest of the day, and when I woke on Sunday, I knew. The best way for me to keep my sanity and not make a mistake is to keep my distance. Hence bumping work up to when he’s unavailable.
I’ll still see him at practice, of course, but if I get there just as they’re taking the field and ensure I’m nowhere to be found when it ends, there will be little opportunity for him to speak to me, if any. It’s not like he can just jog over in the middle of practice and ask for a chat. My father would hand his ass to him.
“It’s . . . complicated.”
Gabby hums under her breath. “Maybe so, but this place gives me the creeps.” She shivers, casting a wary glance toward the industrial ceiling at the same time my phone pings with an incoming text.
I slide it from my pocket and my stomach twists. It’s another text from Teagan.
Ever since Friday, he’s been texting me my new mantra. Saturday morning, I thought it was a one-off, but when he texted me again that evening and the next day, I knew I was in over my head.
I turn the phone to Gabby so she can see. “This!” I wave the phone in front of her. “This is why.”
Teagan: I, Lane Turner, am fucking proud. I am an amazing fucking mother. I’m sexy. Smart. A hard-ass worker, worthy in every single way. And I deserve every amazing fucking thing this world has to offer.
“Uh,” Gabby’s lashes flutter before she glances up at me like I’ve lost my mind, “and we don’t like this because we don’t like being told we’re fucking amazing, worthy, and nothing but the best?”
“Well,” I nod like a bobblehead, feeling as crazy as I probably look, “yeah.”
Gabby pushes my phone toward me while I briefly explain everything that happened last week after I last spoke with her. Including the night at Slice and Friday night at my house and why he’s sending me these texts and at which frequency. When I finish, she stares at me before closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose.
“So let me get this straight. He proved, once again, that he’s amazing with Sophie and actually enjoys being around her. Then, he shows up at your place of work”—she blinks her eyes open and motions to one of the filthy football jerseys—“and helps you wash these stinky-ass uniforms, a job you’re getting paid for, just so he can spend time with you and talk? And then he shows up at your house and risks getting busted by your father, who’s also his coach, and brings Sophie a treat? Not just one, but two in case she has a fucking allergy?”
She punctuates each new point with a step toward me, while I shrink back. “And he tells you in not so many words that you are fucking amazing and better start believing it, to which he’s now texting you reminders twice daily, and you’re avoiding him?” Her eyes bulge. Soon, she’ll be scooping them off the ground. “Sure, makes total sense!”
I exhale like a deflating life raft prepared to sink. “But don’t you see?”
“That he is an absolute catch, who also happens to be infatuated with you? Yeah, I’m seeing it clear as day. Are you?”
“No.” I shake my head, because I refuse to believe it. Or maybe I’m afraid to, I’m not sure. “He left Friday night in case my father came home early. We’re friends. Football is his priority. And even if it weren’t, I barely have time as it is. I can’t get involved with anyone, let alone a guy who is married to a sport. Hell, I see what my father’s career has been like for my mother, and maybe she’s a better person than I am, but I just can’t do that. I’m spread thin as it is, I don’t have the time or inclination to play second fiddle.”
Gabby stabs an angry finger toward my phone. “Bullshit.”
“What?”
“You don’t believe a damn word he’s saying in those texts, do you? That’s the real problem here, and the most amazing thing is, he sees it and he’s only known you a week!”
“That’s not true.” I stiffen, feeling my defenses rise. “I know I’m a good mother.”
“It’s not just about being a good mother, Lane. Yes, you’re a fucking amazing mother, like he said. But the point is, you’re not just a mom. You’re an amazing woman. A beautiful person, inside and out, who is worth every fucking good thing this world has to offer.”
I say nothing, gritting my teeth.
Because I know that.
Of course, I know that.
Yet I want to argue; a rebuttal sits precariously on the tip of my tongue.
“You want to know how I know you don’t believe it?” she asks, her tone softer now.
I sigh. This is not how I thought the conversation would go. I thought Gabby would agree with me, make me feel better. Instead, I feel infinitely. . . worse.
“How?” I ask.
“Because if you believed it, you’d give him a chance to prove to you that it’s more than just words. That he believes it, too, because any man that does isn’t going to have you play second fiddle. They’ll put you front and center in their life like the shining fucking star you are, Lane.”
I glance away from her, emotion welling in my throat.
Is she right?
“We’re friends,” I say feebly.
“Yeah. Friends who want to jump each other’s bones. Or at least, you should.”
I shoot her a glare. “I barely know him. Be serious. I don’t know what to do here.”
“Yes”—she steps forward and grabs my hand—“you do. You wanna know how I know?”
I nod.
“Because you don’t let a damn person near Sophie unless you’re sure of them. You may not know everything about this man, and you may have just met him, but you trust him, Lane. If you didn’t, you never would’ve met him last week at Slice, and you sure as hell wouldn’t have let him through your front door with your baby girl upstairs.” She squeezes my hand. “You and I both know this friend thing is only a cover, a convenient cover for the way he really feels in case your father noses around. And it serves as a nice and cozy security blanket for you in the process because I have a feeling Teagan knows you better than you think. Which is how he also knows becoming your friend first was the only way he’d get near you with a ten-foot pole.”
I stare down at her hand in mine while the knot in my chest tightens.
She’s right; Gabby knows me better than anyone. Other than my parents, she’s the one person to stick by my side. She’s been with me through everything. And I trust her.
“So what are you suggesting?”
“I’m suggesting that you open that stubborn little head of yours”—she taps the side of my head—“to the possibilities, that’s all. And at the end of the day, if you just want to be friends, if that’s what’s comfortable for you, then fine. Be friends. But since when do friends hide in a creepy-ass basement and avoid each other?”
I suck in a breath, knowing she’s right.
“Just . . . give it some thought.”