Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
I arch my eyebrow at Russet scowling at us. Take a good, long look, asshole, because this is as close as you’re ever gonna get to her again.
With my hand on Meg’s lower back, I escort her past the tables to the one near the front with our names on the placards. It gives me a few much-needed seconds in motion to tame the wildfire blazing through me thanks to that kiss we just shared.
After almost two weeks of anticipation, I should have been ready for it.
But the second her lips touched mine, I forgot to breathe.
And now all I can think about is kissing her again.
Even as warning signals are flashing at me. That feeling of losing control is not your friend.
At our table, I pull out Meg’s chair for her.
When she settles into it, her silky hair brushes my wrist, sending another electric charge over my skin.
I can’t help but give her shoulder a gentle caress as I pull away.
It’s like I can’t help myself. It doesn’t make sense.
I don’t normally do that kind of thing. At least not without a pep talk first .
We’re seated with her Dad, stepmom, and two couples, one of similar age and the other younger.
There’s lots of football talk as waiters swirl all around us delivering salads while on a giant screen facing us, a slide show starts to play.
Some are of Coach James as a fresh-faced assistant coach, and others are more recent, his hair more gray than blonde, with a few personal shots of him sprinkled in between the endless stream of team shots and action photos. Traveling. Huddles. Training.
Next to me, Meg talks to the younger couple on our left, her cheeks a rosy pink and her hands moving as she talks and laughs.
Under the table, my thigh rests against her knee.
Normally I would try to reposition so my long legs aren’t in anyone’s way.
So I don’t react if someone accidentally brushes against me.
But I don’t shift away from Meg. I want her close. I want her warmth.
It's not a feeling I’m used to, and it’s not exactly welcome.
I know my aversion to people getting too close isn’t normal and to some, it’s even offensive.
But I’m hardwired to need a lot of space.
It’s the reason I got into so much trouble as a kid.
I didn’t know why I was so angry, so ready to hit, until Dad gave me permission to take the breathing room I needed. To protect myself.
Then Greta arrived, and holding her became the most natural thing in the world. For a time, I opened myself up to Kelly, too, but just like us, it didn’t last.
I peck at my salad without really tasting it while also trying to carry on polite conversation with the guy next to me and also keep tabs on Russet sitting with a group of guys a few tables away. Whatever game he’s playing with Meg ends now, whether he’s ready or not.
On the screen flashes a picture of Coach James with Darienne. She’s in a long sleeved white dress and he’s in a suit, both of their faces lit up, happy. Their wedding picture?
Kind of an odd pick for a slide show highlighting his career, but what do I know ?
The salad dishes are cleared and the steak entrée is delivered. Clanking silverware mixes with the merry din of conversation. I’m distracted by the screen again—another image of Coach and Darienne, dressed up and seated at a fancy restaurant.
It catches Meg’s attention too. She frowns.
I lean closer. “Something wrong?”
Our gazes meet. When she wets her lips with the tip of her tongue, I have to force my eyes back to my plate.
“I don’t remember putting that picture into the slide show,” she says.
I glance at Darienne and Coach James, but they’re engaged in conversation.
“I probably just forgot about it,” Meg says, then gives me a quick smile. “How’s your steak?”
“Tasty,” I say to reassure her.
As dinner begins to wane, a guy with a buzz cut and barrel chest steps up to the podium. Though he’s dressed in a suit, I can picture him in a polo shirt and polyester shorts, a whistle around his neck.
“Speech, speech, speech!” hoots a group from the back.
The guy gestures for them to quiet, then adjusts the small microphone. While cake is served, he shares funny stories about Coach James’ early days with the Falcons that gets everyone laughing.
“Thanks to Darienne for organizing this classy send off,” the guy says as he wraps up his speech.
Next to me, Meg draws a sharp breath. It’s so subtle I don’t think anyone but me hears it.
“If you get sick of having him around,” the guy adds, nodding at Darienne, “feel free to send him back.”
Darienne laughs, and Coach James slides his arm over her shoulders and kisses her temple .
William Hayes delivers a short but powerful story of how Coach James’ belief in him changed his life and is the reason behind his successful college football career.
It’s easy to interpret there’s more between them than just good mentoring.
William was supremely talented, but he had plenty to overcome outside of athletics—hardships that could have easily derailed his career.
There’s no mention of William’s reasons for walking away from what could have been a successful pro ball career; but that’s not exactly on topic for this night.
That William knows this is just another reason why my respect for him grows by the day.
By the time he wraps up, there are sniffles and grown men crying.
When William and Coach James lock eyes for an intense moment, Coach clenches his fist in victory and gifts him a nod.
The next speech is from a former player who became a coach thanks to Coach James’ mentoring. He lists a few major accomplishments and several meaningful wins, which gets the peanut gallery going.
“Thanks so much to the family, especially Darienne for giving us this opportunity to celebrate Coach James’ contribution,” the young coach says, before shooting Darienne and Coach a solemn nod. “Falcons football wouldn’t be the success today without your leadership.”
Next to me, Meg has gone completely still.
I lean in. “I thought you planned this party?”
Meg presses her lips together. “I did.”
“Then why are they all crediting Darienne?” I say in her ear.
“I…I don’t know.”
A former player shares more stories of victory and the mentorship that changed his life for the better. When he concludes with a thank you to Darienne, Meg sucks in another sharp gasp.
I don’t understand what exactly is happening, only that I want to put an end to it. Meg’s put in so much planning and thought into making this a special night for her dad, and for whatever reason, she’s not getting any credit for it.
Under the table, I slide Meg’s hand into mine and cradle it.
She release a shaky sigh and swallows hard, then folds her fingers over mine.
Two more speeches are punctuated with similar gratitude for Darienne’s efforts in planning and organizing the event. Meg’s got her head held high but her face is a mask. Like she’s determined not to react, not to draw attention to herself.
There’s a final round of applause before Coach James takes the podium.
He gets right to the point in thanking his fellow coaches and the players he’s been blessed to work with, to the athletic staff for the support, and the loyal Falcons Football fans who never failed to rally, even in their darkest hour.
Just when I think he’s finally going to shower Meg with appreciation, he thanks Darienne for her patience and support and “for working so hard behind the scenes to make this night such a success.”
Meg’s uttered, “No,” gets swallowed by the thunderous applause.
What the actual fuck? I look from Meg to Coach James, but his eyes are glued to Darienne, who has the audacity to stand up and glance around the room, beaming. Or it is gloating? She doesn’t even look at Meg.
Guests rise to a standing ovation, clapping and whistling, while Coach James offers his hand for Darienne. She walks to him and they embrace.
Meg shoves back her chair and stumbles to her feet. Before I can make sense of what’s happening, she’s a flash of pale blue being swallowed by the crowd.
I hurry to follow her, weaving around guests who are now moving toward the music pumping from the patio.
When I get to the hallway, the noise fading behind me, I glance both ways but Meg’s nowhere in sight. Would she go out to the parking lot? Or to the left, and the balcony? There are also the bathrooms.
Shit.
Would she leave the party and not tell me?
I hurry to the balcony, but it’s empty, tables and chairs stacked under the eaves, so I push out the front doors and squint over the rows of vehicles illuminated by the overhead lighting.
“Meg?” I call out, pacing down one row of cars.
Dusk is falling quickly, sending long shadows across the blacktop.
Besides the distant car door slamming and muted crunch of golf cleats on the pavement, there’s no reply.
Back inside, I walk to the restrooms. The entrance splits—to the right is the men’s, to the left is the women’s.
I lean my ear to the women’s door, but there’s a fan running in the walls, or maybe it’s the water in the pipes.
I’m about to knock when the door shoves into me and a woman in a two-piece dress steps out. Her eyes go wide with shock.
“Excuse me,” I say quickly, stepping back. “I’m just looking for my friend.” The term friend feels foreign on my tongue, but before I can think it over, the woman snorts.
“Not in the ladies room you’re not.”
I bite my tongue. “I’ll just wait out here,” I say so the woman will continue on her way. The second she’s out of sight, I lean against the door, pressing it open an inch.
“Meg!” I call out. If she’s not here, where the hell has she gone?
“Linden?” Meg replies from somewhere deep inside the space. Her voice is thick with emotion. Has she been crying?
Desperate to find her, I push into the restroom. “Where are you, shortcake?”
“Down here.”
I walk to the last stall in the row and put my hand on the top of the door. “You wanna talk about it?”
She sniffs. “I don’t hate her.”
I’m not privy to Meg’s inner feelings regarding her stepmom, but I only need a bird’s eye view to understand there’s some sort of turf war going on here, and Darienne’s playing dirty. I just wish I could spare Meg from the hurt.
“That’s big of you,” I say.
“Darienne took out the photos of…” her voice breaks “…Mom.” She sniffs. “Why would she do that? Just because Mom’s gone doesn’t mean she’s erased from his life. If she was here, she…”
The sound of her crying in there alone is like a knife to my chest. “Honey, let me in.”
Her tears turn to soft sobs. “I can’t lose my dad too.”
As a father, the fear of losing Greta has kept me awake more nights that I’d like to admit. But Meg’s talking about a different type of loss. An emotional one. The kind where the other person is still alive but chooses to detach. Discard.
Fuck!
I’m about to rip the stall door off its hinges when two women push into the restroom.
“Can you give us a minute?” I bark.
Their eyes widen but they spin and disappear in a flash.
The stall lock clicks and Meg peeks out, her eyes wet and her cheeks red. I slip into the space and tug her to me, wrapping my arms around her, like I’m her human shield.
Meg buries her face in my chest and cries. I huff a sigh and stroke down her silky hair.
I know how much this hurts.
“This probably seems stupid,” she says.
I rub down her back. “It’s what you’re feeling, so how can it be stupid?”
“Why did you come after me?” she says.
The trapdoor guarding my memories gives a sharp rattle but I stomp on it, keeping everything locked away. “Because you needed me to. ”
She gives a soft laugh.
“A long time ago, someone was there for me in a way that changed my life.” It makes no sense why I’m telling her this. Maybe because I want to. Or maybe it’s to take the pressure off me coming off like some hero, because I’m not.
“Was he a firefighter?” Meg asks softly.
I close my eyes to let the memory flicker for one moment, then snuff it out. “Yeah.”
She releases a heavy sigh against my chest, her narrow rib cage swelling into mine.
I savor it for one more second before leaning back to dry her cheeks with my thumbs.
Her face is red and her eyes are puffy, but she’s no less beautiful.
Maybe more so. Because what could possibly be more precious than the way she’s trusting me with her shattered heart right now?
“I’m a mess, huh,” she says, trying to laugh.
I press a soft kiss to her forehead. She leans closer, and the connection between us draws tight. I try to hold onto it—but fear is starting to claw its way up my spine. A reminder that I’ll never be whole enough for someone like her.
“What do you want to do?” I gaze down at her.
“I don’t want to spoil Dad’s night.” A pained expression tightens at the corners of her eyes. “It seems petty to stomp off in a huff.”
I watch her for another moment, trying to read her thoughts. “First of all, you have every right to be upset, and fuck what anyone thinks about it.”
Her lips twitch.
“But if we bail, you’ll miss my dancing.”
She laughs—it’s a genuine, rich melody that makes me smile.
“Maybe we can stay for a little bit longer,” she says, her pale blue eyes softening with hope. “So I can have at least one dance with Dad before we go?”
Fuck, she’s being so brave. I want to kiss her again, but we’ve monopolized the bathroom for long enough, and if I start, I won’t want to stop. So I offer her my arm, and with another soft laugh, she takes it and lets me lead her from the stall.