19. Chapter 20
Chapter 20
CHARLOTTE
I do one last sweep of my dorm room checking for Danger’s hoodie. If I leave now, I’ll have just a few minutes to spare to stop by his apartment and return it. I feel bad I’ve kept it for so long. It’s not like we’re dating, and when I saw him in class this week and said hi he seemed kind of short with me. I can’t help but wonder if it’s in part because I haven’t so much as mentioned returning it or Saturday night.
“Damn,” I murmur to myself when I come up empty-handed. I know I put it on my desk chair. Even Samantha rooted through her laundry bag in search of it, and still, nothing. It’s like it’s just . . . vanished.
Giving up, I take a seat on my bed and shoot Samantha a text, reminding her I won’t be here for dinner, then glance at the time. It’s just after six in the evening, which means the boys should be done with practice, so I open up my messages with Chris.
More than a week has passed since our time together on Sunday, and though we saw each other briefly earlier this week, I haven’t seen him since. Instead, we’ve been texting, but he’s been constantly on my mind, especially since my conversation with the girls the other day.
ME :
Did you happen to see where I put that hoodie I was wearing on Sunday when I took it off?”
The little texting bubbles on my screen dance, and my stomach flutters with anticipation.
CHRIS :
Hang on.
I frown at the text, then balk at my phone when it starts to ring and Chris’s name flashes over the screen. He’s calling?!
I fumble with my phone, trying to think of what to say when I drop it and watch as it falls between my bed and my nightstand with a clunk.
Muttering a curse, I spot it wedged between the furniture as the ringing dies, then starts back up again.
With a grunt I slide my hand down the side of the nightstand, barely gripping it with my fingertips and lifting it to my ear. “Hello?”
“Are you out of breath from running sprints, or do I just have that effect on you?”
My cheeks burn at his cheeky tone. “Funny.”
God, why does his voice sound so sexy and rumbly over the phone?
“No snarky comebacks, Lettie? I fear you’re losing your touch.”
I try to suppress the smile splitting my face but fail. “Is there a reason you called, Collins?”
“Yeah, about the hoodie . . .”
I straighten in my seat, a frown taking over my smile. “What about it? Do you know where it is?”
“I may or may not have taken it.”
“You what ?” I shriek, far louder than the situation calls for. “How did you even manage that without me noticing?”
Chris snorts over the line. “You were super distracted on Sunday before we left your room. It wasn’t hard.”
“What the hell did you do with it? I was going to give it back.”
“Let’s just say I saved you the trip.”
“Chris!”
“Charlotte!” he mocks.
I growl, frustrated. “What do you mean you ‘saved me the trip’?”
“You know, I always thought that out of the two of us you were the smarter one, but now I’m starting to question it.”
“I swear to god if you don’t tell me right now, I’m going to find a way to crawl through this phone and strangle you.”
“That’s . . . oddly sexy.”
I roll my eyes.
“All I mean is that I found Danger and returned the hoodie for you.”
“But . . . why?” I splutter, struggling to understand why he would do such a thing.
“There are probably about a million reasons why, but we’ll go with the most important, which is that now he knows who you belong to.”
A trickle of fear at the hint of a relationship slithers through my veins, clashing with anger. “And, pray tell, who the hell do I belong to?”
“Me. Duh! Again, starting to question your intelligence here.”
“We are not a couple,” I point out.
“Not yet.”
I press a hand to my forehead, reminding myself to breathe. “You’re incorrigible.”
“I’ve been called worse. By you, no less. See? We’re making so much progress. Besides, don’t act like you haven’t been secretly wearing my hoodie every night and thinking of me.”
I glance down at the gray Griffins football hoodie and my mouth drops. How did he . . .?
I swear to god, if Samantha squealed, I’ll shave her head in her sleep.
My free hand fists into a ball as I clear my throat. “So, what did he say when you gave it back?”
“What did who say?”
“Chris! What did Danger say when you gave it back?”
“Sorry, geez.” He chuckles. “I don’t know. He said thanks and that was the end of it.”
“Oh,” I say, slightly disappointed that he didn’t care. Not that I’m still interested in him. Chris’s mouth wiped him completely from my mind, but still . . . it doesn’t hurt to feel wanted.
“That’s all? Just . . . thanks ? He wasn’t upset or anything?” I ask.
“Of course that’s not all. Are you insane? The dude wants you.” Chris growls, like the thought pisses him off, and I can’t help but smile a little at the thought. “But if you think I’m going to sit here and talk about another dude with you, you’re wrong.”
I roll my eyes, wishing he could see. “Fine. Whatever. At least that explains why he gave me the cold shoulder in class the other day.”
“Damn right, he did. The dude is smart, values his life.”
“What exactly did you say to him?” I ask, truly curious.
“Just guy stuff.”
I snort. “Whatever. What are you doing right now?”
“I’m still in the locker room. Just finished showering before I head to catch the guys for dinner.”
My mouth turns dry at the thought of Chris standing in the locker room in nothing but a towel, water dripping down his chest. “Mm-hmm. That sounds nice,” I murmur.
Chris chuckles, and I admonish myself for being such a dork. “What about you?”
I grunt. “Dinner with my father.”
“Oh, right. Forgot that was today. Have fun?” he says like it’s a question, and if the image of Chris in a bath towel didn’t get me heated, the fact he realized spending time with my father isn’t necessarily something I’m looking forward to does.
“Yeah, I’ll try.” In between begging him for money for my mother, even though he’s already given his fair share over the years. “I’m sure it’ll be a blast,” I add.
“Hit me up after,” he says. “We have to leave at the ass crack of dawn for our game tomorrow, but maybe I can stop by and see you.”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll do that,” I say, biting my lip and glancing at the clock.
If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late.
With a sigh, I tell him I have to go, then hang up and stare down at my phone with a dopey grin on my face before forcing myself to my feet.
With no time to change, I swipe my keys off my desk and slide on my shoes. If Chris wants to meet up with me after dinner, I can change out of his hoodie then. No sense in inflating his ego any more than it already is.
Five minutes later, I find an empty spot outside Chachi’s, a little Mexican joint just off campus. Dad offered to take me somewhere more upscale for dinner, but I opted for something close by in case I need to flee back to the dorms unexpectedly. Plus, there’s something to be said for eating comfort food in a moment of crisis, and loading myself full of chips and salsa, alongside Chachi’s chicken and cheese enchiladas is a little like curling up into your favorite chair, beneath a soft blanket while its snows outside, only to take a long nap. The only thing I’ll be missing is a margarita. Guess I’ll just need to have one of those with the girls when I get back to the dorms.
I turn the ignition off, willing myself to go inside, but I find it hard to make my feet move. Not only was my father surprised at my request to have dinner, he was ecstatic. I wonder how he’ll feel once I tell him what I need?
I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the anxiety gnawing on the edges of my thoughts. It already sunk its teeth into my chest. I can’t have it in my head twenty-four seven too or I’ll go insane.
With a deep breath, I pull my proverbial big-girl pants on and open my door, making my way inside, the scent of Mexican food instantly greeting me like a hug.
I spot Dad immediately; he’s sitting in a booth in the back, a basket of chips and a bowl of queso in front of him, along with a margarita I would kill to have.
His head lifts and he spots me, waving me over.
I slide into the booth, taking in his broad smile, and a seed of guilt sprouts inside my chest at the knowledge I have an ulterior motive. I wonder how long an acceptable amount of time is to wait before bringing up Mom and the real reason I’m here?
“I went ahead and ordered queso,” he says, stirring the ice in his drink. “I know how much you love it.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I smile, shrugging off my coat and giving the waiter my drink order before I turn back and face him.
Dad grabs a chip and dips it in cheese. “So, how’s school? Classes okay?”
“Sure, yeah. They’re great.”
“You know, I have to admit, I was surprised when you called. After . . .” He scratches his head, flashing me a sheepish grin. “Well, after your birthday, I guess I just figured I wouldn’t hear from you for a while.”
“Honestly, I didn’t think so, either.”
“So, what changed?” Dad takes a long sip of his margarita and my mouth waters. “Is it too much to hope this means you’ve come around, and that maybe you’re rethinking your stance on the wedding?”
“Not exactly.”
Dad deflates, his expression morphing from hopeful to disappointed in an instant. “Right.”
I glance away from him, chewing my lower lip. Despite how it might seem, I don’t want to disappoint him. I get zero pleasure from letting him down.
“But there is a reason I wanted to meet up with you,” I say, returning my gaze to him. “The thing is, Mom?”
“Hey, look who it is!” My father raises an arm in the air, waving toward the front of the restaurant, his eyes bright as he shouts, “Chris!”
A creeping sensation prickles down my spine as I turn in the booth, facing the front of the restaurant where I spot Chris with the guys.
Of all the restaurants near campus, what are the odds they chose this one?
His gaze lifts when my dad calls his name for a second time, his eyes brightening as they shift from my father to me.
I make a slashing motion with my neck, and a grin splits his lips as he starts this way.
Shit.
Whirling back around, I shield my face with a hand as if to hide even though Chris has already seen me. “You really don’t need to call him over here. I was hoping for a nice dinner just the two?”
“Hey, Garry, Charlotte.” The deep voice ripples beneath the surface of my skin as I drop my hand and blink up at the sexy specimen towering over me from beside the booth. A cheeky smile splits his lips as he says, “What a lovely surprise.”
“Are you getting dinner? You should join us. We’d love to have you.” My father beams up at him like he’s the Prodigal Son.
“Dad, I’m sure Chris would much rather eat with his teammates,” I say, flashing him a meaningful look at the same time Chris’s gaze homes in on the hoodie I’m wearing? his hoodie.
Shit.
My cheeks flame as his gaze slowly slides back to my face. “Actually, I eat with those guys all the time, and I’ll be stuck on a bus with them for six hours tomorrow. I’d love to join you.”
He drops down to the booth beside me, forcing me to move or get squashed.
“You sure you don’t want to get your order to go?” I grumble as I slide over. “I mean, I know how early you catch a bus in the morning. It would be a shame if you’re tired.”
“Nah, I’m good.” He glances down at me, lifting his menu to shield his face from my father as he winks and whispers, “Nice hoodie.”
I press my lips together harder.
“Well, this is a nice surprise.” Dad slaps his hands on the table, and for a moment, I think he’s talking about what’s happening between me and Chris.
All the blood drains from my face as I try to come up with an explanation of why Chris is looking at me with sexy eyes.
“All of us together again for dinner,” he says, and I release the breath in my lungs. “You know, I was just telling Barb how I noticed the tension between you two over Charlotte’s birthday weekend, and how nice it would be if you could become friends. Considering you go to the same college, you probably have a lot in common. Wouldn’t hurt to get at least a little friendly.”
Chris rubs his chin, his expression serious like he’s considering it. “You know, Garry, I think you’re right. I would love it if Charlotte and I could get friendly. What do you think, Charlotte?” he asks, glancing down at me, his blue eyes glittering with amusement. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”
My smile tightens. “Yes, it would be super nice,” I say through gritted teeth.
Props to Barb for keeping a secret.
“Then it’s settled.” Dad leans back in the booth, the picture of ease. “Let’s get to know each other a little.”
Oh god.
I cover my face with my hands, wondering what I did to deserve this.
“But first, Charlotte was just about to tell me something . . .? Something about why you wanted to see me . . .?”
I swallow, dropping my hands to find both sets of eyes on me like laser beams?Chris’s amused, my father’s curious. “Um, er, it was nothing that can’t wait.” I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear, waving him off. “I’ll tell you about it later.”
Beside me, Chris’s smile fades, and I try not to dwell on the fact he somehow knows me well enough to realize something is wrong while my father grins like a pig in shit, stuffing queso in his face.
Our waitress arrives to take our orders, saving me from further explanation. I say a little prayer in thanks before she leaves, and my father focuses back on me again. “So, did you walk here from campus? I assumed you chose this place because it’s close?” he says, eyeing his surroundings.
“No, I drove, actually,” I say, my tone smug.
Dad’s smile falters. “You got your car fixed?”
“Yup.” I snag a tortilla chip and pop it in my mouth.
Dad flops back in his seat, and it would be comical how disappointed he is that he no longer has any leverage over me if he actually had no leverage over me, but soon, he will.
“How’d you manage that? Last I checked it needed a new transmission. That was easily over two grand.”
I hum under my breath. “Lucky for me, I had a friend who was able to work on it for me. Got me a new one for nearly nothing,” I say, ignoring the fact that said friend is sitting right beside me, and the same said friend might actually be more than a friend now.
Chris’s mouth quirks. “A friend, huh?”
Slowly, he slides his left hand beneath the table, placing it on my thigh.
I suck in a breath at the heat of his palm, and my father frowns. “Are you okay?” he asks, eyeing me warily.
Covering the hiss of air, I lean forward and take a sip of my water at the exact moment Chris slides his palm even higher. The heat of his hand scorches through the thin material of my leggings, setting my skin on fire as he stops just shy of dangerous territory. “Just dry . . .” I croak, motioning toward my throat.
Dad grunts, then focuses back on the queso and chips while my cheeks burn. “Well, that was nice of them, I guess,” he says, though I’ve nearly forgotten what he’s talking about. All I can focus on is the point of contact beneath the table.
“Yeah, super nice,” Chris says as he squeezes my thigh, fingers digging hotly into my flesh.
“I assume it was a boy?” Dad asks, flicking a look of concern toward me.
“I don’t know if it matters, but yeah, it was a boy, Dad.”
“Well, how well do you know this boy ?”
I shrug, ignoring the shit-eating grin on Chris’s face as he shoves a chip in his mouth and his fingers take another inch.
I hope he chokes.
“I don’t know. Fairly well, I guess,” I say, through the erratic beat of my heart.
“Just be careful. Even if you’re friends, a lot of guys don’t do favors for free. He might be thinking he’ll get something in return.”
“Like what?” I ask, playing coy.
“Like sex.”
Chris coughs, pounding his chest with his fist, blue eyes watering like the glassy surface of a swimming pool as he hacks up a lung, trying to dislodge the chip from his trachea.
My father starts to rise from his seat, but Chris removes his left hand from my thigh?thank god?motioning for my father to stay put, and that he’s fine.
A second later, he drops both hands to the table, taking huge gulps of air like a fish out of water before he clears his throat and croaks out, “Sorry, I uh . . . wrong pipe.”
“About scared the hell out of me, son. Thought I was gonna have to do the Heimlich.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“ Anyway ,” I say, pleased with myself as I fold my arms on the table in front of me, “no worries, Dad. I’ll be extra careful with this boy to ensure he doesn’t get any funny ideas.”
“Good.” Dad rubs his palms over the front of his pants. “And maybe next time you have car trouble, just ask Chris. He might not be able to get you a new transmission for free, but he can certainly help with any repairs. From what Barb tells me, he can fix nearly anything with an engine.”
“Is that so?” I glance up at him, momentarily lost in his eyes.
“It’s true. What can I say?” He grins. “I’m pretty handy.”
“Mm-hmm. I bet.”
“You know, Charlotte could’ve had a really nice car. I bought her a brand-new Nissan Z. She drove it for a couple of months, and then said she didn’t like it. Claimed it was too hard for her to see out of since she’s vertically challenged. Gave it to her mother instead.” Dad snorts, shaking his head. “I still can’t believe it.”
I shift in my seat, feeling Chris’s eyes on the side of my face, because that’s not the version of the story I told him, and it feels weird him knowing the truth while my father believes the lie.
“What can I say? It sucks being short,” I mumble, taking a drink of my water.
“Do you remember the time I took you to Cedar Point and they wouldn’t let you on that new roller coaster?”
I groan. “No.” I shake my head. “We’re not telling that one.”
My father shifts his attention to Chris. “She was maybe seven at the time. Loved all the scary rides, and there was this brand-new coaster she was dying to go on, but she couldn’t because she was too short. We eat and go on a couple other rides before she convinces me to buy her a cotton candy, then heads to the bathroom. When she comes out, I realize the cotton candy is missing. I ask her about it, and what does say? She got hungry while she was peeing and ate it all. Meanwhile, I glance down to her shoes and there’s pink fluff sticking outside the tops of her sneakers.”
“Wait. Did you . . .” Chris turns to me.
“Stuff the cotton candy into my shoes?” I ask, my tone slightly defensive. “Yes, and I still think it was a brilliant idea.”
I remember that day quite clearly. My father had taken me to Cedar Point for a birthday after Mom was supposed to throw me a party but “couldn’t.”
“So, what happened?” Chris smiles, turning to my father.
“She begs me to take her back to the coaster, convinced they’ll let her on this time, and when I ask why she’s so sure, she says she feels like she grew in the thirty minutes since she last tried. It took everything in me not to die laughing, but I did as she asked, and she stomps back to the attendant, chin up, and stands on her tiptoes at the height marker, but the operator just squints at her and says ‘Nice try, kid.’”
Chris bursts out laughing. “I can totally picture that. Bet she was not happy.”
“Oh, she was livid,” my father confirms, which only makes Chris laugh harder.
“Sneaky Charlotte,” Chris murmurs, glancing over at me, and something about the warmth in his blue eyes makes me squirm.
More than an hour and several other mortifying stories later, I still haven’t gotten a chance to talk to my father about the real reason I asked him to dinner, but once the check is paid and my father rises from his seat in the booth, I know I have no time to waste.
Panic balloons in my chest as he shrugs on his jacket. “This was fun,” he says. “The three of us should do this again, but maybe with your mother next time.” He glances over at Chris for approval.
“I’d like that.” Chris nods, and all eyes fall to me.
“Um, sure whatever,” I say, because all I can do is think about how I still haven’t gotten a chance to speak with my father. “Actually, Dad, can I talk to you for a second? On the way out, maybe?”
A crease forms between his brows as we slide from the booth and head for the door. “Sure, hon. What do you need?”
I glance over at Chris, and we lock eyes before he reaches a hand out to my father. “I should probably get going,” he says, pausing at the door.
My father takes his hand but instead of shaking it, he brings him in for one of those man hugs where they slap backs. “As always, it’s good to see you,” Dad says, and I wonder what he’d say if he knew Chris and I had swapped more than numbers. “I’ll be watching tomorrow. Bring back a win for the orange and blue.”
“Yes, sir.” Chris offers me one last lingering look before he leaves, heading down the sidewalk toward campus.
Silence settles over us as we step outside, and I can feel rather than see my father eyeing me closely. “So, what is it you wanted to tell me?”
Leaves skitter by my feet, twirling in the breeze as I fall in step beside him, walking with him to his car a few feet down. “Mom lost her job,” I blurt.
Dad says nothing for a moment, his face a neutral mask and when it becomes clear he’s not about to say anything at all, I add, “She hasn’t been seeing Dr. Sherri or taking her meds, and without insurance and money for therapy appointments, she won’t be able to do either. I give her a month before she can’t pay her bills, and I know your alimony payments stopped in June, but . . .”
My father shifts on his feet, his hands in his pockets, wary as he asks, “What are you asking for?”
“Money, Dad.” I sigh. “Mom needs money.”
My father turns, his eyes trained on the road in front of us. A car passes, its engine the only sound between us. “Money won’t help her, and we both know it.”
My insides squeeze, the urge to vomit rising inside of me like a bird taking flight. “No. You’re right. Money won’t fix Mom’s problems. Maybe nothing ever will, not really, but she needs to go back to therapy and take her medication or she’ll never get better. And both of those things cost money, not to mention her other bills.”
“What job is this? The sixth in the last three years?” he asks, raking a hand through his hair. “When does it end, Charlotte?”
“Do you think you’re the only one tired of this?” I ask, my voice trembling with emotion. “Do you think for one second, I wouldn’t just wash my hands of her if I could? Because newsflash, Dad, I’m pretty damn sick of having to be the one to pick up the pieces, and the reason for her most recent fallout is you!” I point, knowing it’s unfair to blame him. He’s entitled to a life, just like I am. The only difference is he can walk away. I can’t, and I resent him for it.
Dad stumbles back, shock coloring his cheeks.
“Yeah, that’s right,” I say, unable to stop now. “Just when she was doing well, she got the news of your engagement, and poof , all of her progress is gone in an instant.”
It’s partly a lie. The signs were there months ago, but I just didn’t want to acknowledge them. It was far easier to live in my bubble at school and pretend the ceiling wasn’t about to fall down.
But he doesn’t need to know that.
“Shit, Char . . .” Dad trails off, staring at his loafers with a shake of his head.
“Did you think Mom would just accept it and be fine? You saw what happened after the divorce, and guess what? It’s the same damn thing all over again, except this time I’m not there with her to make sure she’s doing what she needs to. She’s all alone with nothing and no one to help her.”
Dad scrubs a hand over the scruff of his jaw, his expression pinched. “I want to help, but I can’t keep doing this?bailing your mom out when she drops the ball. At some point, she needs to accept the consequences of her actions. At some point she needs to care enough to help herself. I’m going to have a new family soon. Like it or not, Charlotte, come spring, I’ll be married with stepkids. You and my new family, those are my priorities.”
My hands tremble at my side. “Barb works. She doesn’t need your money.”
“Damnit, Char, that’s not the point!” Dad snaps.
“Then do it for me!” I say, my anger rising like the floodgates of hell. “Because I can’t quit on her; I won’t.”
The muscle in Dad’s jaw twitches, the resolve in his hazel eyes hardening to stone. “Fine. I’ll help her out for the last time, but on one condition.” He holds out a finger. “You have to do something for me in exchange.”
Here it is, the bargaining chip I knew he so desperately craved.
I sneer up at him, hurt that I’m not reason enough to help. “‘A lot of guys don’t do favors for free,’ huh?” I say, throwing his words back at him. “Guess I can lump you into that category, too.”
He blanches. “That’s not fair, Charlotte, and you know it.”
I cross my arms over my chest, lifting my chin in defiance. “Whatever. Name your stakes.”
“I’ll write your mother a check every month until I get married, cover all her expenses while she . . . gets well and back on her feet, and in exchange, you’ll happily go dress shopping with Barb like she’d hoped, then come March, you’ll be in the wedding. No complaints. No arguments.”
“Fine.”
“Fine?” My father’s brows rise. Apparently, he expected more of a fight, when he should have realized I know him well enough to expect this.
“Yes, fine. I’ll go dress shopping with a smile,” I say, plastering one on my face for show, “and I’ll even be in your farce of a wedding.”
If he gets that far. With any luck this will all just go away.
“Okay, then. Send me what you need and when, and I’ll have Barb text you about the fittings,” he says, his voice hesitant, almost like he expects me to change my mind.
“Can’t wait,” I say, and then I spin on my heel and walk away.