Chapter 16
Fable
“This isn’t the way to my house.” I glance sideways at Theo. “Are you kidnapping me?”
A passing streetlamp illuminates his smirk, and it soothes my heart a bit. He’s slowly coming back to himself.
“Not kidnapping,” he says, turning onto the road he lives on. “But if I’m going to stay at your house, I need to bring Layla with me. She can’t be by herself all night.”
My eyes go wide. There’s no way he can stay in my house. After everything he’s seen tonight, I think some personal space might be for the best. “You know who can stay by herself, though?” I ask, pointing at myself.
“Vivian told me to keep an eye on you. I can have her on the phone in five seconds if you want to hear it straight from the doctor herself.”
Dammit, Vivian. “I’m fine though. I have to be up early to help Dad fix the goat pen anyway, so I’ll go to sleep right away and by the morning, I’ll be good as new.
” Another idea dawns on me. “Or I can sleep at my parents’ house .
. .” My words fade away when I realize I’ll have to explain the wound on my head. Maybe a hat will cover it.
A sharp turn into his driveway, then he pushes the gearshift into park and angles his body my way.
“Let me take care of you. I’ll cook you dinner, keep you company, tuck you in.
Think of it like you’re doing me a favor.
” His eyes are tender. So full of concern and warmth that all the fight leaves my body.
And that’s how I end up with a large dog planting slobbery kisses on my cheek all the way back to the A-frame. She’s truly adorable—white fur with splashes of fawn spots all over her body, three long legs, and enough excited energy that I wonder if she’ll be able to sleep tonight.
When we arrive, Theo insists on carrying me inside.
He sets me on the couch, fluffs the pillows, steals the duvet from my bed, and nestles it around me before handing over my phone from my nightstand.
Then he pats me gently on the head, leaving me in a cozy cocoon.
I even have built-in entertainment as I watch Layla’s attempts to climb the boxes of books while Knocks sits at the top, tail whipping sassily.
Only a cup of tea would make this better.
The audio erotica app is still up when I open my phone, and I swipe away quickly. The last thing I need is that replaying with Theo here.
Henceforth, that moment never happened. My brain is going to completely block that from the memory bank. No vibrator. No Theo. Definitely no thinking about the fact that it was his face that popped into my head right before the pivotal moment. That was a dream (nightmare?) and nothing more.
“Where are all your groceries?” he calls, opening and shutting cabinets.
“Don’t have any.” I scroll through my missed texts in our family group chat and heart all the pictures of Avery and Eloise at their school program. “Wait. Did you see the cereal?”
“Fabes, cereal isn’t dinner. How are you surviving on no food?
” The kettle squeals, and I hide my grin behind my phone.
Gotta give the man credit—he’s actually great at this caretaking thing so far.
“Hold on. It’s a miracle. Found the stuff for grilled cheese. Knight in shining armor strikes again!”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t push it.”
He rounds the corner with a mug, dimples on show. “Milady,” he says, offering me the tea.
I peer down at the creamy brown hue—the perfect color.
When I lift my gaze to thank him, he’s leaning closer to inspect my bandage.
His fingers are featherlight against my forehead, brushing my hair back.
My focus glides over his throat a few inches away.
I could so easily press my mouth right there, where his pulse flickers rapidly.
Something in my stomach clenches. Yearns. Aches.
“Is it sore?”
I swallow. Let my eyes fall shut. “Mm-hmm.”
A slow exhale. “Might be for a few days.” His hand smooths over the top of my head. “I’ll keep a close eye on it.”
“This is actually delicious,” I tell Theo, my mouth full of grilled cheese perfection. Crispy crust and the perfect amount of cheesy goodness. I wish I’d asked for two.
He tucks himself into the other corner of the couch, burrowing his feet under the edge of the duvet, his grilled cheese balanced on a plate on his lap. “You’re saying ‘actually’ like you’re surprised.” Layla sits beside him, already begging for a bite, and he offers her a piece of crust.
“Well, the last time I saw you cook, we were thirteen, and you added crushed potato chips to the pancake batter.”
“Wait, I forgot about that! Those were pretty damn good.” He nods several times like he’s proud of that idea. “Salty and sweet. We should try it again.”
I make a gagging sound. “I’ll pass. The texture alone was awful.”
“Your loss.” He laughs, chews through a few bites, then: “We should talk about the fact that you leave your doors unlocked.”
“Trust me, I’m locking them constantly now. May even install two more locks, just for kicks. Keep out any unwanted guests.”
“Totally. We don’t want them coming in here.”
My eye roll doesn’t seem to bother him. “I don’t remember inviting you.”
“I came to tell you that the youth sports organizer called. They have an open coaching position starting next week.” He tips his head back and forth, looking like there’s more to the story. “Only problem is . . . it’s not Little League. It’s soccer.”
I snort a laugh. “You don’t play soccer.”
“But my girlfriend does.”
“I do not.”
“Maybe not anymore, but you did. And you’d make an amazing coach.”
“I would not.”
That stupid, lopsided smile is back. Dimples carve out on his cheeks, and dammit he looks charming. Boyish and excited. “Come on . . . they’re five- and six-year-old girls. It’ll be fun!”
“No way,” I insist, even as I picture what it would be like to coach Avery and Eloise.
Their big smiles and pink cheeks. Clunky shin guards and baggy uniforms. Those two are adorable out there, and if I’m being completely honest, coaching girls their age does sound kind of .
. . moderately . . . maybe a little . . . fun.
“Imagine being a six-year-old and finding out your coach is the high school record holder for most goals in a season.” He looks and sounds like I’ve won five Olympic gold medals.
“Or the woman who finally got a ball past Nora Lopez—the greatest goalie in the state that year—and the player with most assists her senior year!”
My brain shorts out. I’m a computer that’s been given too much information and can’t fully process. I stare at him, fingers clamped around my plate. How does he remember all that?
“Orrrr,” I counter, “their coach could be the guy who captained his team to the state championships two years in a row.”
One brow quirks up. “You keeping tabs on me, Fabes?”
“You were first.”
His piercing gaze burrows under my skin and makes me lightheaded.
I have to look away from it, so I set my empty plate on the ground. “How could we compete without keeping tabs on each other, right?”
That’s the only thing that seems to make sense. Why else would he know all these random facts about a sport he wasn’t in?
He’s quiet for a few moments. “Do you ever wonder what it would’ve been like if we hadn’t been bickering and competing all through high school?”
An unsure smile flickers over my mouth. “We wouldn’t have been valedictorian and salutatorian, that’s for sure.”
My rivalry with Theo may have been my biggest motivator as a teenager. Everything changed after I left for college. I was alone, dropped into a world of options, trying to figure out my life in a strange city, surrounded by new people, and I couldn’t figure out how to keep myself motivated.
It started with blowing off a class here and there.
An unfinished assignment. A missed meeting with my adviser.
A skipped soccer practice. Staying in bed was so much easier.
So much less mental work. I didn’t have to see my teammates playing better than me or other students making higher grades.
If I stayed in bed, no one was beating me because I wasn’t in the race.
If I quit trying, there’s no risk of losing.
“Sometimes I wonder if it’s the only thing that kept me on track back then,” Theo admits softly.
His mind seems far away as he stares out the dark window behind me.
“It’s no secret that was a hard time. I felt like I was walking around in a dark shadow most of the time.
My anger was festering beneath my skin and making everything hurt. ”
I pull my knees up and wrap my arms around them, at a loss for words.
Emotion coats his voice as he continues, “But when you were there—urging me to keep going, pushing me to do better, giving me shit—I felt . . . like I could take a deep breath. Like my chest wasn’t so cold. I had a goal and something to work toward.”
I blink back the burn behind my eyes. He seemed so distant during freshman year—he’d pushed all his other friends away and folded in on himself. It was heartbreaking to watch, but I had no idea how to change it. His trauma was so much bigger than anything I knew how to fix.
As I watch him across the heavy silence between us, my mind slips back to the first week of freshman year. Dad had given us a ride home from school, and since Ms. Nikolaou had moved down the road from us that summer, Theo and Mia were in the minivan too.
Millie had promised to make snickerdoodle cookies, and everyone had dashed into the house to await them, leaving Theo and me outside alone.
We hadn’t said a word to each other since they’d gotten back from Oregon a week ago, but when he turned to walk home instead of coming inside, I broke our silence.
“Wanna come in?” I’d asked tentatively.
With his back to me, he’d frozen in place, shoulders tense.
He had changed over the summer—he was taller, broader, and more muscular than when he’d left, like the weight of his world had grown heavier, and he had to adapt to carry it.
Six months ago, we’d been laughing together about Tessa’s first boyfriend and making fun of her for spending hours on the phone with him, and now Theo had a girlfriend, who Mia reported was calling every night.
The friendship we’d built seemed like it belonged to different people.
Several long heartbeats passed before he replied. “I need to get started on that English assignment. You heard Mrs. Stephens—it’s going to count for fifty percent of our grade this semester.”
“You mean the project that isn’t due until November?” I forced a bitter laugh. “Are you sure you’re not just running home to call your girlfriend?”
He finally turned to look back, his dark eyes sharp as they narrowed on me. “Maybe you should worry more about your grades and less about my love life.”
And then he stalked away, igniting something in me I didn’t recognize—the need to beat him at that project. To beat him at everything, just to prove he wasn’t right.
Layla sets her head on his lap, as if she can sense he needs it, and he slides his hand over her ears. “It may not have been the kind of relationship we had before, but maybe it was what I needed to keep me going. I had to rein in some of the anger if I wanted a chance at beating you.”
My heart feels like a fist is wrapped around it, squeezing. “I missed what we had, though. I missed you.”
His face contorts in a deep frown. “I missed you, too, but I thought I deserved that after hurting you at the parade.” His throat bobs with a swallow. “Fabes, I . . . I’m sorry for what happened that day.”
“I was all right.” My lips curve in a sad smile. “Just took a trumpet to the head, but it wasn’t bad,” I add, trying to bring some lightness back into the conversation.
His hand glides over Layla’s head slowly. “I’m still sorry.”
I nudge his toes with mine under the blanket. “Theo, you’re already forgiven.”
A deep breath rattles out of him. “Thank you,” he whispers. “And thank you for being there for Mia when I couldn’t. I appreciate that more than I could ever explain. You and I may not have been friends anymore, but you put twice as much friendship into her. She needed that.”
A tear threatens to slip past my lashes, and I blink it away. “I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit for the role you played in helping her.”
Through Mia, I’ve been lucky enough to see their friendship change and develop through all that life has thrown at them.
And even when he was struggling, Theo always put her first. From little things like letting her choose the movie they’d watch or giving up the last slice of brownie, to big things like shifting his whole life to care for their grandparents so she didn’t have to shift hers.
He’s a caregiver. A protector.
Everything his father wasn’t.
There’s a distant look in his eyes. “I didn’t . . . I should’ve done better.”
“You were going through your own awful experience too. She doesn’t blame you for any of it.”
Thoughts seem to shudder behind his expression. His lips press into a thin, pained line.
Something pulls tight in my stomach, urging me closer to him, and it only takes me a heartbeat to decide. With a little rearranging, I tuck myself under his arm, the duvet draped over both of us. I rest my head on his chest and feel his deep sigh rumble against my cheek.
He smells like the woods in summer, and I savor it.
Let it transport me back to a time when life was much simpler.
When we were building forts in the trees behind the farm, promising our parents that the five of us would sleep out there all night.
When we were racing to the river, delirious on sugar and sunshine after eating orange Popsicles on the porch, pink cheeks and sticky fingers.
Layla hops onto the couch and curls herself into a warm croissant at my feet. Knocks’s judgmental glare burns into me from across the living room, but I ignore him.
The weight of the last few hours is heavy in my chest, but the longer I spend pressed to Theo’s side, the more tension flows out of my muscles.
And it seems to be the case for him too.
He slowly relaxes, slumping farther into the couch with each exhale.
This should feel strange—cocooned in his flannel and a blanket, with his fingers grazing my shoulder—but it’s surprisingly cozy.
My eyelids are drooping by the time his deep voice breaks the silence. “How’s your head?”
“A little better.” I sigh. “I’m dreading going all the way upstairs though.”
He shifts against me, almost like he’s getting more comfortable. “Go to sleep, Fabes. I’ve got you,” he whispers.
Distantly, I wonder if his fingers are slipping through the ends of my hair, but I’m asleep before I can figure it out.