Chapter 8 #2
“And I’d always make it for our mom.” A bittersweet smile slides into place. “She let me experiment. Would try anything, anyway I made it.” My hands find their way into my green and white triangle prints trunks. “She was always supportive like that.”
This time Bronny doesn’t say anything.
He didn’t get much time with her.
Even when she was alive, she was hardly around.
Sure, Grams and Gramps helped raise us, but Mom worked two jobs, doing her best to provide for us.
Refusing their “handouts”.
Sad thing is…that’s not what they were tryin’ to give.
They just didn’t want her to be working so much that she missed out on life with us.
And in a lot of ways…she did.
I’m lucky I have the memories that I do.
I’m bummed Bronny doesn’t have more.
Can’t.
“How’d she pass away?” Gilly cautiously inquires.
“Car accident,” Bronny answers, voice doing its best not to shake. “Late night. Dirt road. Deer suck.”
“What about your dad?” Her attempt to shift back onto a happier subject fails. “Did you make his too?”
“Never met mine,” I inform upon our arrival on the passenger side of the truck. “Military. Marine, I think. Died when I was a newborn. And I met Bronny’s twice. He died before she knew she was pregnant.” He opens the back door. “Firefighter.”
“Ohmygod,” she airily croaks out. “I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have asked! I-”
“Didn’t know.” The shut sound causes more pain to cross her complexion.
“And it’s okay that now you do know.” Preparing to open her door occurs next.
“Part of datin’ is learnin’ ‘bout more than jus’ how someone likes their coffee, aye?
” My reassurance is accompanied by the pulling of the handle. “In you go, Gillybean.”
After making sure she’s properly settled in, I take a moment to drink in how perfect she looks in my truck, happily hum to myself, and swing back around to climb inside myself.
My door has just finished shutting when she cheerfully asks, “Okay, guys, where are we headed in our swimwear? Paddleboarding? Yacht party? Boat race?”
“Y’all do that here?!” my younger brother excitedly questions, folding his frame into the space between us. “When’d you get a boat?!”
“I ain’t got a boat.” My mirth filled attention cuts over my shoulder to him. “But Wahl has one he shares with his brother.”
“Think he’ll let me drive it?!”
“Legally you can’t without a BEC,” informs my date, recollecting our attention.
“Why I gotta have birth control to drive a boat?”
“That would be BC,” she gingerly corrects. “BEC stands for boater education card, which is just a little safety course to ensure you have the capacity to operate the vehicle.”
“Like a weigh in?”
“Mental capacity, bud.” Not laughing grows in difficulty. “Not physical.”
“Oh,” he grunts in defeat.
“And we’re headed to the pool,” my eyes lock onto Gilly’s again, “not the lake.”
“I finally get to see your pool?”
“It slapppppsssss,” insists our backseat rider.
“Not my pool – today – but one day,” I swiftly promise. “Any day after today you want.”
“Noted.” She sweetly beams. “So, whose pool?”
“The Frost Luxury Hotel in The Sphere.”
Her head angles itself an inch off center.
“It’s the annual team charity calendar shoot day-”
“That’s today?!”
“Yeah!” The corners of my lips continue to curl upward in excitement despite her jaw dropping in what might be dread.
“And we’re doin’ a pool party, Hawaiian fun theme thing.
They rented out the whole space for us, and it backs up to this really beautiful golf course, and there’ll be food and drinks and tunes with a DJ and… why…are…you…lookin’ at me like that?”
“The team charity calendar shoot?!”
“Yeah.”
“As in the team my brother coaches?!”
“Oh shit! You’re his coach’s blood?!” loudly squawks Bronny.
She shoots him a stern yet maternal like glare. “Could you please give me and this oversized Care Bear a moment alone?”
“What’s a Care Bear?” he questions without missing a beat.
“The only show you’ll be allowed to watch after doing reverse lunges at six in the morning from tomorrow ‘til I take your ass back to Middlebrook.”
Bronny huffs and dramatically slams himself in the seat. “Wouldn’t have to be in your convo if you would’ve jus’ let me have my phone.”
“Your Snap trap devise,” I turn my body to keep my glare focused on him, “is the last fuckin’ thing you need right now.”
“And me going to a literal team event with all of the players my brother coaches is the last thing I need right now.” Her point swiftly steers my stare back to hers. “What the hell were you thinking, Thayne?!”
“I guess I wasn’t,” guiltily leaves me alongside a small head scratch. “The only play that really mattered to me was that we finally had a day to spend together. Everything else was jus’ background tuneskies.”
Against her own volition Gilly seemingly melts into the leather seat.
“Then I became hyper fixated on makin’ sure my truck was clean and buyin’ him shorts that weren’t nut huggers and makin’ you that drink and gettin’ here on time and I…” my head slowly shakes, culpability undeniable, “should’ve stopped the puck. Caught my breath. Hydrated.”
Sympathy replaces scowling.
“Look, the event is jus’ for the boys and their Slayers. No upper management. Meanin’ mos’ likely no one knows who you are in that aspect – with the exception of those you’ve personally worked on like Looferz – and we don’t have to tell the others shit.”
Her lips purse together in obvious contemplation.
“However, if you would rather jus’ hang out in the hotel bar or in the room I rented, you can do that instead, and I’ll come by every chance I get.”
Intrigue promptly quirks her brow. “And why exactly did you rent a room?”
“Needed a penalty box for Barry Manilow back there.” Amusement floods both of our expressions.
“He was tryin’ to wheel a girl named Mandy last night – while I was home – which is why he couldn’t be left alone today at all.
Plus, I figured seein’ a bunch of snipes in the lobby or bar or on his way back from the bathroom might lead to him gettin’ his ass in more trouble, so havin’ a designated cooldown spot seemed like a responsible call. ”
“More spons’ than you shippin’ your bench boss’s sis.”
“No one asked for your commentary Llama Llama Red Pajama,” chirps the woman that will one day be his sister-in-law.
Chuckling at her clapback precedes me casually surrendering, “We can do whichever makes you more comfortable, Gillybean.” My hand crosses over the truck to curl around hers.
“I’ll find a way to make it work.” I deliver a loving stroke with my thumb.
“When it comes to you, I’ll always find a way to make it work. ”
Bashful nodding is all that I’m offered and truthskies?
It’s enough.
The fact she didn’t hop out of my truck in outrage sets the beat.
The fact she didn’t fuss at me harder in horror sets the tone.
And the fact she rotates her hand to fold her fingers with mine sets the rhythm.
Maybe taking her to be around the boys isn’t the smartest save I could make, but I don’t think it’s the dumbest.