Chapter 29 #2
I stared at the menu and suddenly couldn’t breathe. This is too much. My skin started to itch. “I don’t think I can do this,” I whispered.
Anthony didn’t argue. Didn’t even blink. Instead, he stood up and held his hand out to me like a lifeline. “Then we won’t.”
My breath stuttered. “You’re not mad?”
“Baby boy,” he murmured, voice steady, grounding. “I don’t want a night that looks good. I want a night that feels good to you. To us.”
Something inside me cracked open. Not the bad or the falling-apart kind. The kind where something tight finally let go.
Without another word, we walked back to his truck, hand in hand. The gravel crunched under our shoes, cicadas humming in the warm night air. Anthony held the door open for me and helped me in, one hand steady at my lower back like he was anchoring me to the moment.
The way he cared for me now—when I spiraled, and I needed gentleness instead of fixing—was a million miles away from the man who used to run when things got real.
I buckled my seatbelt and stared out the window, my heartbeat slowly settling. I must have zoned out, because I didn’t remember him shutting my door. Or getting into the driver’s side. Or even starting the ignition.
“What should we do instead?” he asked softly. “What sounds good to you, sweetheart?”
He pinched my chin between his thumb and forefinger, gently guiding my face toward his until our eyes locked.
“What do you say, baby?”
The unwavering understanding in his eyes burned the back of mine. I licked my dry lips. Breathed. Let myself feel instead of panic.
“How about bowling?” I said finally. “Something fun and light?”
An indulgent smile lit his face, deepening the lines around his eyes in a way that warmed me from the inside out. “That sounds like a great idea.”
There was no disappointment in him. No subtle shift into withdrawal that signaled he was going to run. He wasn’t angry that I’d derailed the date night he’d planned. It would’ve been perfect.
Just not today. Maybe one day in the future. But not today. And somehow… that was okay.
The bowling alley across town smelled like fryer oil, lemon cleaner, and childhood nostalgia. The lights were too bright. The music was too loud. The floor was faintly sticky. I loved it instantly.
We rented shoes. Mine were two sizes too big, his obnoxiously neon green, and I laughed so hard I had to brace myself against the counter when he nearly tripped tying the laces.
“You’re a hazard,” I informed him solemnly.
“You love me anyway.”
“Debatable.”
Anthony let me pick my ball first, like the gentleman he was.
It was purple. Smooth and cool against my palms. He stood so close behind me that when I bent down to grab it and stood up again my ass brushed over his crotch, making him groan.
And the last of the tension that had flooded my body faded away.
Ignoring him, I lined myself up, tongue between my teeth, and rolled it with all the seriousness of a professional athlete. It veered immediately into the gutter.
I groaned, my shoulders slumped as I trudged back to wait for my ball to come back down.
Anthony whooped like I’d just bowled a perfect game. “ICONIC,” he yelled. “You’re a natural!”
“You are a liar and I hate you.”
He only laughed harder, and even though it was at my expense, I laughed too. All be it, begrudgingly.
The night started to fly by. We took turns being terrible—I was the worst by far.
I swear Anthony could have been a professional, but he played terribly just for me.
The scoreboard looked tragic. But when I nearly fell because my sock slipped in my too big shoe, any chance I had of pulling back a win flew out the window.
Anthony caught my elbow automatically. “You okay?”
I blinked up at him, breathless from laughing. “Yeah,” I said, surprised to realize I meant it. I actually meant it.
He bowled a strike and raised both arms like he’d just won an Olympic medal. I tackled him into a hug that knocked us both off balance.
The teenage clerk glared at us as a family demanded to be moved to the next lane over. We didn't care. Didn’t have a care in the world beyond enjoying the moment with each other.
We ate burgers and fries at a wobbly plastic table, ketchup on our fingers, grease on our napkins. He stole my fries. I stole his milkshake. I leaned into his side, shoulder tucked under his arm, and didn’t feel like I was taking up too much space. I felt… enough.
We grabbed the salted caramel cookies to-go and drove down to the beach.
The tide whispered instead of roared. The sand was cool and damp under our bare feet. The stars were scattered thick across the sky as if someone had thrown glitter into the dark.
We sat on a blanket near the waterline, knees brushing, giant cookies balanced on paper wrappers between us.
The ocean glittered softly, holding the moonlight like a secret.
“This,” I said quietly, gesturing at everything. “This feels right.”
Anthony pressed a kiss to my temple. “You always get to choose what feels right now.”
I leaned into him, resting my head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The sound soothed something ancient and frightened inside me.
We didn’t talk much. We didn’t need to. We just existed together. His fingers traced lazy patterns along my arm. Eventually my breathing slowed, and my eyelids grew heavy.
I shifted closer without thinking, curling into his side.
“You crashing, baby boy?” he murmured.
“Mhm,” I admitted, voice already foggy.
He wrapped both arms around me, pulling me fully into his lap, his chin resting on the top of my head. “You’re safe,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”
My body believed him, and I slept right there on the beach. Wrapped in his arms. Loved in a way that hadn’t seemed possible.