Chapter Twenty-Four Joshua
Chapter Twenty-Four
Joshua
When the coach shouted that we were stopping for a food break, the bus emptied in seconds, chatter and laughter all stomping their way into the diner next to where we stopped.
Everyone but me.
Everyone but her.
I never got off. Too loud. Too many people. I’d rather starve than sit through their jokes.
And then she stayed too.
The coach paused at the door and asked if she wanted to join.
She shook her head, gave that small, polite smile of hers. The kind that didn’t reach her eyes but still managed to light something in my chest.
Smart girl.
I wasn’t going to question it.
Time alone with her?
Yeah. I’ll take that.
The second the door shut behind them, the bus went quiet, dead quiet.
She didn’t move at first, just clutched her phone and looked out the window. Then, after a moment, she got up and slipped into the seat right in front of me.
A row closer, but not close enough.
My gaze wandered out the window and landed on a fast-food joint across the street. Grease, noise, cheap fries. The kind of place I’d never normally go near.
But then I looked at her, small, fidgety, knees tucked together like she didn’t know what to do with herself. If she’s not eating, she’ll probably faint halfway through the ride.
I pushed up from my seat. She looked up instantly, big, startled eyes following every move I made.
I tilted my head toward the aisle.
“Follow or stay,” I said flatly. “I don’t care.”
And I kept walking, hands shoved into my pockets. Didn’t check if she was behind me.
Didn’t need to.
Because I heard her, those soft, hesitant footsteps trailing after me, the bus door hissing shut behind us.
Of course she followed.
She always follows.
The bell above the door chimed as we stepped in, the greasy scent of oil and fried food coating the air.
Not exactly fine dining, but whatever. It’d do.
“Go sit down,” I said, nodding toward an empty booth by the window.
She obeyed without a sound. Just nodded and slipped away, head down, hands gripping her phone like it was a shield.
She slid into the seat, knees together, bag tucked tight against her side, as if she were trying to take up as little space as possible.
I turned toward the counter, ordered something simple, burgers, fries, and two sodas, but my focus kept drifting.
Her reflection in the glass.
Her fingers traced invisible lines on the table.
She wasn’t doing anything. Just sitting there.
And somehow it was enough to make my chest ache.
God, she was—
Gorgeous.
Not the dressed-up kind. Not makeup, not heels. Just… her.
Loose sweater, hair falling over her shoulders, eyes half-lidded with thought.
Quiet.
Too quiet.
And I couldn’t stop staring.
The kid behind the counter cleared his throat. “Sir, your order.”
I blinked, dragged my attention away, grabbed the tray, muttered a thanks, and turned back.
She was still looking out the window, lost in her head, completely unaware that someone was watching her as if she hung the damn stars.
I walked over, tray in hand, and told myself to look away, to act normal. But my eyes never listened to me when it came to her.
I set the tray down between us and slid the food toward her side of the booth.
“Eat.”
She hesitated for a second—of course she did—then her hands lifted off the table and moved, slow, deliberate motions I actually recognised from the half-assed signing lesson I did with Jennie.
Thank you.
I blinked. “Thank you?”
She nodded, lips curving a little more this time.
Something in my chest pulled tight.
Me saying please to Jennie to teach me sign, humiliating myself because I—Joshua Lockhart—never fucking beg.
And here I was, willing to say please again and again if it meant I could understand her a bit more.
I looked down at the table, forcing my jaw to unclench before I said something I shouldn’t.
“Eat,” I repeated, quieter this time.
She did.
And for the first time, the silence between us didn’t feel like punishment.
Halfway through the meal, she stopped eating, wiped her fingers on a napkin, and pulled out her phone. I figured she was checking something, text, email, whatever, but then she slid it across the table toward me.
On the screen, she typed: When’s the game?
My eyebrows lifted.
She started a conversation.
With me.
“Four,” I said, leaning back. “So we’ll arrive back at Silverwood after sundown.”
She nodded, thumb tapping a note into her phone like it was a reminder. Then she looked up again, expectant, like she was waiting for me to say more.
I huffed out a small breath. “The coaches think I scare you,” I muttered, tone flat, but teasing.
For a second, I wondered if I’d gone too far, if she’d freeze again, retreat behind that wall she always hides behind.
But she just shrugged.
Didn’t deny it, didn’t overthink it, just kept eating. And God help me, I nearly smiled.
The rest of the team could worship me, fear me, whatever. But her? She just looked at me like I was somewhat… normal.
And I’d take that over anything.
After eating and sitting in silence, we stepped outside; the air was colder than before. The bus was still parked across the street, engine humming while the others loaded back in.
She walked beside me for a few seconds, quiet as always, then suddenly turned—quick, small steps—toward the little store next to the diner.
I frowned. “Where the hell—”
She pushed the door open, disappearing inside.
Great.
I sighed, shoving my hands into my pockets, then followed after her.
It wasn’t like I was following her.
Okay, I was. But still, she wasn’t about to just wander off alone in some random town.
When I stepped inside, she was standing by the counter, scanning the small candy rack.
Her phone was in her hand, probably paying for whatever she was buying, and the cashier was smiling too much.
She handed over cash, stuffed something into a paper bag, and turned around, almost jumped when she saw me.
I raised a brow. “You always run off mid-walk, or is this a new thing?”
Her eyes darted toward the bag, then back to me.
Secretive.
“Fine,” I said, shaking my head, pretending I didn’t care. “Keep your mystery snacks.”
She nodded and brushed past me to head back toward the bus. But when I followed a few steps behind, I glimpsed what she’d bought through the thin paper bag: bright colours, small wrappers.
Candies.
Of course.
The corner of my mouth tugged upward before I could stop it.
By the time we got back, everyone else was already piling in. The air was hot, loud, cramped, that mix of sweat, fries, and too many voices in one place.
The seats were full again.
Of course they were.
She stood there, blinking down the aisle, clutching that small paper bag like a shield.
The coach called from the front, “Come on, Campbell, sit down! We’re moving!”
I didn’t even think. I just reached out, caught her wrist before she could turn, and tugged.
“Here,” I muttered, guiding her back into the same spot as before.
My seat.
My lap.
She froze, still not used to me, though she had sat here for hours already.
“Relax,” I said lowly, shifting her, so she was sitting properly. “Don’t overthink it; there’s still no space.”
The bus jolted forward, and her hand instantly went to the seat in front to steady herself. The other was still holding that paper bag.
God.
She smelled like vanilla and cheap diner coffee.
And then she reached into the bag.
Pulled something out.
I glanced down. A lollipop.
My throat tightened.
Without looking at me, she held it out in front of me like a silent peace offering.
Same brand. Same colour. The same kind she gave me before. The one I kept on my bedside table.
My hand hovered, pulse in my fingertips, before I finally took it from her. For a second, I just stared at it.
I don’t know what the hell she’s trying to do to me, but it’s working. Without thinking too much, because thinking would’ve stopped me, I peeled the wrapper open, the crinkle of plastic loud between us.
Her head tilted slightly, as if she were listening.
When I finally popped it into my mouth, her eyes flickered sideways, just for a second, and I caught it, that tiny, barely there smile before she looked away again.
The flavour hit—sweet cherry—and I hated how it made me grin.
It wasn’t the candy.
It was her.
All I could think about was that she gave it to me.
Not Miles.
Not anyone else.
Me.
I leaned back, watching her reflection in the window, the lollipop stick between my teeth.
Sweet. Her and the candy
The ride stretched on.
The others were loud again: music, laughter, someone yelling about snacks, but none of it reached me.
She was still in my lap, back straight, paper bag clutched in both hands, that little crease between her brows from focusing too hard.
Every few seconds, she’d shift, trying to get comfortable without really moving.
Then her hand went slack.
The paper bag slid a little.
And her head, soft, slow, tipped sideways, making my hand shoot out instinctively to catch it.
I froze.
Did she fall asleep?
She was able to fall asleep among the chaos? She must be really tired.
I shouldn’t have cared, but I did.
Careful not to jostle her, I slid an arm around her waist, my other hand still holding her face like a pillow and shifted her closer, turning her body just enough for her to be comfortable.
Her hand slipped against my chest as she adjusted in her sleep, head rolling down my hand and forearm to my biceps, and my entire body went rigid.
Every part of her felt small against me.
Warm.
Too trusting.
I gently moved her head up, resting it on my shoulder, feeling her breath brush my neck. I let out a quiet exhale I didn’t mean to, pressing my head lightly against hers.
Everyone else was too busy talking, too distracted to notice that their captain, the cold, quiet Lockhart, was sitting in the back of the bus with a girl asleep in his lap.
My pulse wouldn’t settle.
I told myself it didn’t mean anything.
That I was just making her comfortable because she’d done the same for me once, with a damn lollipop and a smile.
But my hands didn’t move away. One was on her waist, steadying her. The other, holding her thighs to keep her from falling off me, thumb tracing circles against her jeans.
I glanced down.
Her lashes brushed her cheeks, breathing even now, lips parted just slightly.
Completely gone.
I leaned my head back against the seat, eyes closing for half a second.
She trusted me. She fucking trusted me enough to let go like this.
God, I didn’t want the ride to end. Ever.