Chapter 7
Lola
November…
Why does the snow feel ominous? It’s never felt like that before.
When I first got to Maine for college and experienced my first real winter, I’d been in love with snow.
The very first big snowfall of the year, my entire dormitory raided the cafeteria, stole the plastic food trays, and used them to sled down the hill separating the library from the gymnasium.
Then we had a snowball fight against another dorm and built erotic snowmen, and women, in the quad—something that garnered a strongly worded email to the students from the Dean.
I used to take long walks by myself in the snow at night, through campus, until my cheeks were frozen and I couldn’t feel the tip of my nose.
It cleared my head and brought me peace.
But now… I mentally curse every flake that tumbles from the sky outside the window of Salty’s.
Well, every flake I can see. It’s so dark out that I can barely see any of them.
It’s the first snowfall of the season, which is relatively late for Maine, considering it’s almost Thanksgiving.
But Mother Nature has decided to make up for her tardiness with volume.
This is supposed to be a full-fledged snowstorm with high winds and inches upon inches of the white stuff expected before morning.
“So that’s it,” Todd says, walking into the main room from the small office at the back of the bar. “The owner just called and said to close early. You can go.”
“Really?’
“No one is getting out in this bullshit.” Todd waves a hand toward the window and another toward the empty bar. Even our regulars aren’t here. It’s almost ten-thirty, and we haven’t had a customer in two hours. He turns back to me. “You have a long drive, right? You live by Old Orchard Beach?”
“Just twenty minutes,” I reply, but my eyes shift to the window again. “Or maybe forty-five in this.”
“Go now. Before it gets any worse,” Todd suggests and shoos me toward the alcove where the staff keep their personal belongings.
When I get back, I shrug into my faux-fur hot-pink jacket, which I’d found at a vintage store and is gorgeous but not at all warm or practical. “Do you have far to go?”
“No. I live three blocks from here,” Todd explains. “I’m going to give everything a quick wipe down and restock the beer fridge and then head out. And before you offer to help, thank you, but I’ve got it. Go now before it’s too scary to drive.”
I smile appreciatively. “See you next week.”
“Right. You volunteered to work Thanksgiving.” Todd nods. “See you then. Drive safe.”
I nod and walk to the door, making sure to get my keys out of my purse before I trudge into the storm.
I’m looking forward to working on Thanksgiving, because it means I can avoid the family function.
My parents are coming to town, and all the Cascos, except me, are going to Grady’s parents’ house in Silver Bay.
If I join, my parents will spend the whole car ride there and back looking at me with concerned eyes and asking vague questions, hoping for specific answers about what’s going on with my life, and I don’t want to answer any of them.
My mom is still worried about how I’m handling the hysterectomy.
My dad probably was, too. They’d both had infertility issues, which is why Landon is so much older than Callan and me—and why we’re twins.
They did in vitro to get us. My mom feels guilty that I had this happen because she thinks it’s hereditary.
Even if it is, I don’t blame her. We really should talk it out, but I just don’t want to.
And then there’s my career, which is another topic I’m avoiding.
My postpartum contract ended, and although the lady gave me a glowing review, I’m yet to find more work as a doula.
It’s just not as popular a birth plan in Maine as it is in California, but I’m not feeling pulled to move back to California.
At least, not for a job I can’t decide if I love.
So that’s another topic I don’t want to get into.
I’m working at the bar because there’s so little work as a doula, and the money’s great, but it’s not like I love the work.
I could talk to them about the Art Collective I found and started volunteering at, but that might make my parents ask if I’m enjoying drawing and painting again, and I don’t want to admit that it’s the best part of my life right now.
And then there’s the Pete situation. Callan knows the most about it, but he doesn’t know everything.
The guy just will not go away. He’s been leaving more flowers at the apartment, and he’s changed his number a bunch of times so he can call me without being blocked.
It’s to the point where I don’t answer any number I don’t know, but he leaves voicemails.
They aren’t mean or threatening, but they’re fucking annoying.
And they make my skin crawl, because how did he not take the hint?
Why am I still having to ask him to stop? What am I doing wrong?
I step out of the squat brick building onto the sidewalk and pull up the furry, oversized hood on the jacket.
I immediately slip but stay upright. The snow is already two inches deep, and there’s clearly ice under it.
The streets are empty, but unfortunately, the sidewalk isn’t.
There’s a guy standing on the sidewalk where it turns for the parking garage, where my car is.
I grip my keys tighter in my pocket, threading each one through my knuckles.
I start toward the parking garage, but move into the street so I don’t have to pass him on the sidewalk.
My left foot lands on an ice patch, and I go down like a sack of potatoes.
He has his hands hooked under my arms and is pulling me to my feet before I can argue or step back. When I’m righted, I jerk away from him.
“Lola, I’m here to help.” Pete frowns.
“I don’t need help,” I snap.
“You could have broken something just now,” he argues quietly. He tips his head toward the road. “It’s pure ice out there. You shouldn’t drive.”
“I’ll be fine,” I reply. “Thank you for your concern, but I asked you to leave me alone, and I meant it.”
“What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t offer you a port in the storm?” he asks calmly, his hazel eyes passive, like he’s just doing his civic duty. “I live a few blocks away. You know that.”
“Then go home.” I’m almost past him when he steps in front of me and blocks my path.
I have to stop abruptly, but the ice under the snow has me slipping again, and he reaches out and grabs my arm. I try to jerk away from him and almost end up on my ass. “Don’t touch me!”
He laughs. “Jesus. I’ve seen you naked, who cares if I touch your arm?”
“Let go.” I pull and free my arm.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Pete snaps, and it’s the first time he’s lost his eerie calmness.
His eyes are wide and hard, and the flush on his face isn’t just from the cold anymore.
“You’re being such an irrational bitch. You liked it.
Liked us. You came back for seconds, remember?
You said it was a one-time thing, but then it wasn’t.
You wanted me as much as I wanted you because there’s something between us. So stop acting like—”
“It was just sex. I don’t want anything, and I don’t owe you anything. I’m sorry.” Why should I apologize because he can’t navigate boundaries?
I take a step, but he reaches for me. I pull back and slip again, but hands that steady me from behind. I freak out, thinking that maybe he brought a friend and I’m outnumbered, but then the person helping me stay upright speaks. “Dude, you should walk away. Now. While you still can.”
I glance over my shoulder, and there is Theo Richard, his dark, thick hair peppered with snowflakes.
His almost black eyes are narrowed in a look that I can only describe as casually threatening.
I don’t know where he came from, but he’s only wearing a T-shirt, sweats, and untied winter boots. No coat. In a snowstorm.
“Who the hell are you?”
“This is my boyfriend,” I blurt out. “He’s here to take me home. Thanks for your concern.”
“You're what?” Pete snaps, his face losing color. “Since when?”
“It’s been a while. On and off forever, really,” Theo replies, jumping feet first into this lie. “You must have been during our off period, which is fine. But now we’re on. So don’t worry, kid. I’ve got her.”
He wraps one of his big, solid arms around my waist and turns me away from Pete—and the parking garage.
“My car is that way,” I whisper.
“My place is this way.”
I want to argue, but I don’t want Pete to see us, so I just continue walking with Theo.
To my shock, but also relief, Pete doesn’t follow or say another word. When I dare to glance over my shoulder, he’s stomping off down the sidewalk in the other direction, toward his apartment.
“So. Was that the ex you broke up with a couple months ago?”
“It’s complicated,” I mutter, because it is. “My brothers call him my ex, but we were never dating. We hooked up twice, and he got weird and clingy, and when I tried to make it clear we weren't a thing, he got even weirder and clingier. And now we’re here.”
Theo doesn’t say anything, so I get defensive. “And if you’re going to judge me for hooking up, I will shove you in a snowbank.”
“Zero judgment. I’m a firm believer in hookups and no strings sex. Used to be my number one hobby,” Theo replies immediately. “I’m just wondering why dudes like him have to ruin it for the rest of us. He sounds delusional.”
“He is!” My shoulders loosen with relief because someone finally gets it. “And he gaslights me into thinking I’m the one who is off. Like I’m irrational for not wanting to see him.”
“Definitely not. And you should explain this to your brothers,” Theo advises as we reach the corner of the street, and he guides me down an uncleared walkway to a building I don’t know.
“They won’t get it,” I mutter. “And I’m handling it.”