Chapter 15 #2
I wince at how raw this sounds. “I’m sorry.”
“Mom’s, um, condition has been hardest on her.”
The tension in the air makes me want to tread carefully. “Is your mom…sick?”
Her eyes flash. “That’s one way to put it.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” I swallow the tight knot in my throat.
She gives me a side-eye, then bursts out laughing.
“What?” I ask.
“That look on your face. Pure terror. ”
I open my mouth in mock outrage. “I’m trying to be a supportive friend here, and you’re shoving it in my face?”
“I’m just calling your bluff, QB,” she says with a smirk. “So is that what we are?” She rubs her thumb along the seam of the windowsill. “Friends?”
“Yeah,” I say in an even tone even though inside, I’m wishing for a do-over of this conversation. I like being Charlotte’s friend, but I’d be lying if I said that’s all I want.
She lowers her leg and tucks a lock of stray hair behind her ear. “Morgan’s just acting out. It’ll be okay.”
“At Hazel Creek, she seemed to be having a good time.”
Charlotte’s face brightens. “We all did.”
“Theo said that clip of your duet is going viral.” Apparently Neve posted it to her 62,000 Instagram followers and to some new app called TikTok, and it started a chain reaction.
“It’s so weird,” Charlotte says. “I’ve had people come up to me in the halls, asking me about our band.”
“You’re in a band?”
She laughs. “No. It’s just something Mo and I do for fun.”
“Does it have a name?”
She laughs again, melting the worry from her eyes. “It’s not official or anything.”
“Maybe you should make it official.”
Her lips twitch and she huffs a quick breath. “I get…nervous singing in front of people.”
So that was what I saw that night. And the reason she got all red in the face last year when I asked her to sing me something. “You pulled it off though.”
She gives a noncommittal shrug. “We’ll see if the idea sticks. She also wants to make a podcast, become a professional barrel racer, and start an animal rescue.”
“You should bring her to the Huttons,” I say as the road turns to gravel. “They rescued a colt last year, and they are always looking for help. ”
“I don’t know them well enough for something like that.”
“You met them at Hazel Creek.” I glance at her. “The Huttons are awesome.”
“How come you’re so close?”
“Henry gave Zach a safe place to land when he came to Finn River. The three of them grew tight when Zach was trying to lay low.”
“What’s that all about, anyways?” She shoots me a curious glance.
Shit. Tread lightly . “Um, just some family stuff back home.” Zach had been wanted for questioning regarding a murder and a mysterious arson and needed a way to escape Kristov’s abuse while also protecting me until he could get custody.
She nods, but I can’t tell if she’s satisfied with this answer.
I run a hand through my hair. “The Huttons are the closest thing we have to family here.” Though I miss the McCabes in Alaska, we keep in touch.
A couple of them came to last season’s state championship in Boise.
I only played for a handful of minutes, but it was awesome having them in the stands.
Especially Evan—I could hear his holler from the moon.
“Then, sure,” Charlotte says. “I’ll see if I can get Morgan interested. She loves horses.”
A pulse of warmth drips thick and sweet inside me. It’s gratitude for Barb and Henry, and their kindness, and the idea of sharing it with Charlotte and Morgan.
Charlotte slips a wallet designed to look like a panda from her pocket. “I brought my permit.”
“Oh, good.” Zach made me promise to check—I’m barely legal to have a passenger myself—but that argument we drove away from made me forget.
She slides the wallet back into her pocket. “I promise I’m not as bad as Theo told you.”
“I’m not worried.” I slow down to turn onto Morning Star Road. When Theo suggested we head out to the farms, I thought of the backroads past the Huttons. If Charlotte’s up for it, maybe we can stop in on our way back. Barb always has cookies.
“I didn’t see you at homecoming,” she says.
“I wasn’t feeling it this year.” From Theo, I know Charlotte went with Crosby. I’ve seen him walking her to band practice after school with that arrogant sneer on his face. “Did you have fun?”
“Yeah.” She’s glancing out the window, giving me a chance to watch her in profile out of the corner of my eye. Her parted lips and her high cheekbones. Her cute nose and those freckles.
I’m dying to know more about her night, but I don’t want to make it weird. Is she into Crosby? It’s crystal clear he’s into her.
“The music was horrible though,” she adds. She’s wearing her dangly musical note earrings today. Each time I shift, they sway, snagging my attention.
“Says the music snob.”
Her mouth drops open as she glances my way. “I am not a snob.”
Laughing, I steer the truck to the side of the road. “Okay, your turn.”
She rubs her palms down her thighs. “O-kay,” she sings, her voice unsteady.
I push in the clutch pedal with my left, and shift into first. “Watch my feet.”
She leans sideways, her silky hair brushing my forearm.
Is it her hair that smells so good? It’s not like perfume.
It’s earthy and a little sweet. It almost reminds me of the gingerbread Barb baked last Christmas.
I force a breath to refocus, then slowly back off the clutch while adding pressure to the accelerator pedal.
“You’ll feel the bite point, where the engine starts to engage.
” I add pressure to the accelerator, and the truck eases forward.
“Give a little gas and take your foot off the clutch pedal.”
I drive a few more feet, the high whine of the engine filling the cab, then show her how to put it back in neutral. “Now you do it.”
“Promise I’m not going to ruin your engine?” she asks, cringing.
“Naw.” While I walk around the front, she slides across the bench seat. Our eyes connect for an instant through the windshield. I try to hold back my smile at how cute she looks behind the wheel of my truck.
How is it that she gets prettier every time I see her?
I jump into the passenger side and buckle in, but when she pushes the gear shift up, I can tell that she’s in third gear, not first.
“Oops, here,” I say, and put my hand on top of hers and guide the knob back to neutral, then up to first. The contact sends a burst of pins and needles over my skin.
“Okay,” she says.
I let go of the knob and she eases off the clutch pedal. The truck lurches forward so hard my hand flies to the dash. The engine dies.
She slams on the brake, panting. “Sorry!”
“It’s okay. You’ll get it,” I say with a laugh. She’s always so hard on herself. How can I get her to relax a little? “Try again. Can you feel the bite point? That’s when it needs gas.”
She huffs a determined breath. “Right.”
This time, she’s slow on the accelerator, making the truck lurch, but she recovers and we’re cruising down the road, the engine revving higher.
“Now shift into second.” I coach her on what to do with her feet and when. She gets it but then fumbles with the gear shift.
I put my hand on hers again and guide it down. “Gas!” I call out.
She lets go with the clutch too soon and the truck jerks to a stop, throwing us both forward.
Her face scrunches in embarrassment.
I laugh to cover the way my heart is cartwheeling through my chest because how adorable is she right now? “You’re doing great. Try again.”
“How come you don’t call me Charlie?” she asks once she’s cruising along in second. A light rain is starting to fall, dotting the windshield.
I try to catch her eye but she’s focused on the road. “Do you want me to? ”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me. If you don’t like it, tell me.”
A rosy flush works up her neck. “I do…I just…wondered.”
Why is she blushing?
She goes to shift, but it’s headed for first, so I grab the knob and guide it to third just in time.
Maybe it’s the current of electricity sparking between our hands, or maybe it’s the rain distracting her, but Charlotte is sluggish with the gas pedal and the truck lulls like it’s going to stall. She guns it, and we recover, the tires chewing up the gravel.
“Now let’s practice downshifting.” I realize I’ve still got my hand over hers.
“Eep.”
“Charlotte, take a breath.”
She huffs.
I coach her through the steps, then help her find second gear—it’s stiff and takes some force. Shit. Is my tight grip crushing her delicate fingers? I whip my hand away.
The rain is falling harder now. I reach under her arms to get to the wiper switch on the other side of the steering wheel. Her silky hair brushes my neck, making my breath stutter in my chest. The loud scrape of the blades across the glass is like a reprimand, and I lean back.
“Watch the road!” I say just as she steers away from the ditch.
She pulls to the side but forgets to engage the clutch as she tries to put it in neutral, sending a horrible grinding up through the floor. The truck lurches to a stop.
We’re both panting, and when I start to laugh, so does she.
“I think I’m done for the day,” she says, leaning back.
My heart kicks against my ribs. I rack my brain for some excuse to keep her here because I don’t want this lesson to end. Having her here in my truck feels too good. Laughing with her feels too good. Touching her feels too good.
But she’s dating someone else. And even if she wasn’t, I can’t make a move on my best friend’s little sister.
Theo has been the best friend I could ask for.
He trusts me, and I’m not about to fuck that up.
Add that he’s a talented receiver and together on the field, it’s like we share the same brain.
Even Coach James admitted that we’re unstoppable.
“I’ll take you home,” I say, the words thick on my tongue.