Chapter Fourteen
I shouldn’t be this happy, considering Shay is huffing, puffing, and ignoring the hell out of me, but I can’t help but laugh at the situation.
“If I were in better shoes, I would’ve outrun you,” she mutters, and I barely manage to avoid a high heel to the head when she tosses the dangerous weapons into the back seat.
“I’m glad we’re in agreement,” I say. “If it weren’t for that crack in the sidewalk, you would’ve run all the way back to Clear Lake.”
“Or hitchhiked.”
My head whips to the side. “Absolutely not. If I find out you’re hitchhiking, I’ll—”
“Chase me down a sidewalk in broad daylight? Throw me over your shoulder like a disobedient toddler? Toss me into the car and buckle me in while I nurse my poor ankle? Yeah. Trust me. I know you will.”
Suppressing another laugh, I click on the windshield wipers. Raindrops tap the windshield in a steady rhythm. The moment it starts raining, people act as if they’ve never driven in their lives.
To prove my point, I gesture at the BMW weaving through bumper-to-bumper traffic. “See how crazy people are driving? With the storm coming, there’s no way you were catching a ride with some stranger who probably texts while they drive.”
“Teela had four-point-eight stars and great reviews!” she argues. “But canceling last minute will ruin my perfect rider average.”
“Well, I have five stars and zero complaints, so try to relax. I’ll have you home soon. Plus, I’ll give you five stars for being a great passenger.”
“Sucks, because I’ll be leaving you a one-star review.”
Even though things are tense, this feels right. If I closed my eyes, I could probably pretend we’re back in college, when having Shay in my passenger seat was normal. Driving her home from the student-athlete center, picking her and Mallory up for parties, eating dinner outside Slim Jim Batting.
Our first kiss was right here too. I remember it like it was yesterday.
The earthy scent of sunscreen and grass from our practice clothes.
The want that burned in her eyes as I leaned over the center console.
The heavenly taste of strawberry ice cream on her tongue.
The feel of her everywhere was electrifying and overwhelming, and the moment she pulled back, I already wanted to kiss her again.
I wonder if she’s thinking about that night like I am.
Lightning cracks in the sky, illuminating the dark gray with dull yellow. A roar of thunder fills the car, drowning the yelp that leaves Shay’s lips.
“Maybe we should pull over and wait out the storm?” she asks, gripping the handle above the door.
I shouldn’t joke, but I want her to stay calm. “I thought you wanted to get home?”
Her lips twitch, not quite into a smile, but close. “Shut up, Cade.”
It’s a straight shot to Clear Lake from here, but she’s right. Plus, more time with Shay is something I’ll never complain about.
Turning on my blinker, I take the next exit and move onto the feeder road at a crawl. It’s deserted, which gives me time to scan the run-down buildings.
When I spot a diner, I head straight for it. The parking lot is flooded and vacant, so I park in front of the entrance and turn to find the jacket and pair of slides I keep in my backseat. Handing them over, I say, “Put these on.”
She gawks at the size-thirteen slides. “We’re going inside?”
“Yup.” When she doesn’t move, I unbuckle, bend down, and slip them onto her bare feet. “In there is food, coffee, and a heater. We’ll leave the second it stops raining, okay?”
Shay bites down on her lip. “Hanging out in public? I don’t think—”
“We’re not hanging out,” I say, even though it stings. “I’m giving you a ride as your client. That’s all, okay? We can be professional, Shay. And I really want a waffle right now.”
Groaning, she finally slips into my jacket and zips it. “Let’s go.”
It takes less than a second for the rain to soak through my T-shirt, but I rush around the car, open her door, and hold out my hand. My whole body sighs in relief when our fingers lace, and I use my free hand to pull the hood over her head as we sprint through the puddles.
Once inside, I peel the soggy jacket off her and hang it on the lopsided coat rack.
Giving Shay a quick once-over, I try not to linger too long. After getting her hair done, it’s no longer wrangled at the base of her neck. Thick, dark curls hang above her shoulders, sprouting around her face like the petals of a flower.
She’s gorgeous, even when damp from rain and irritated with me.
“They better have good waffles,” she mutters, marching toward an empty booth.
Bulbs flicker above, and paired with the cracked red vinyl booths, I feel as if we’ve stepped into a seventies comic book. Photos of vintage cars and newspaper clippings cover every inch of red paint. If I had to guess, these will probably be some of the best waffles ever.
“If they suck, I’ll give you my mom’s secret recipe to make up for it.”
“Deal. I’m gonna run to the restroom. Order for me, please.”
Every step toward the opposite side of the room oozes with a wet squelch. My slides are massive on her, but I’m positive they’re more comfortable than those death traps she calls shoes.
“Hi, love. I’m Darcy, and I’ll be takin’ care of y’all today.” She sets down two glasses of water and straws. A notepad appears out of thin air. “What can I get you and your pretty friend?”
“Hi, Darcy.” I scan the menu. “Coffee for me and Diet Coke for her. Light ice, please. Can we get two waffle meals? And extra whipped cream on her plate.”
With a nod, Darcy disappears into the kitchen.
It’s only quiet for a second before Shay reappears and slaps the table. “Guess what I found?”
“The toilet?”
“Yes,” she says, unbothered by my sarcasm. “Then I found the pawnshop connected to the diner. Do you know what pawnshops sell?”
Nostalgia grips me by the throat. “Baseball cards.”
Most people don’t think of pawnshops for baseball cards, but Shay’s different.
Three years ago, when shopping for Kenneth’s birthday present, Shay and I were distracted by the pieces of cardstock.
I spotted the Jackie Robinson card first, but when she looked up at me, my want for the card vanished.
I had always thought her eyes were like ink, dark, steady, and impossible to read, but that day, I was proven wrong.
Molasses is all I could think of, rich, warm, and syrupy.
The smooth color held a quiet gravity that pulled me in, anchored by flecks of amber that kept me from drifting away.
Kept me hers.
Then she hip-checked me into the wall when the manager asked who wanted the card.
Darcy reappears with our drinks. “Feel free to look around while your food is cookin’. I’ll give you a holler when it’s ready.”
A dusty brown curtain separates the diner and pawnshop. Large television screens are mounted on every wall, and glass cases are filled with gold watches, glittering jewelry, and every item you could possibly want for a good price.
And as I hoped, thick binders are stacked along a rickety bookshelf.
“Just don’t hip-check me today.” I laugh. “I’m getting old and can’t handle that anymore.”
Mainly because my hip isn’t getting better.
She sticks her tongue out at me and reaches up onto her tiptoes to grab a book of cards. Before I can join her, something catches my eye. I reach into the wicker basket and grab the wrist lanyard. Pink and orange beads with tiny hearts and flowers adorn the string.
Perfect for the woman always on her phone.
“I’ll be right back,” I whisper, then make a quick escape.
Up at the front, I put it on the counter. The man at the cash register isn’t a talker, which works because I don’t want Shay to overhear us. After paying, I tuck the tiny gift right beside the dice in my pocket.
I freeze mid-step when Darcy pulls back the curtain. In her palm is a tray with our meals.
That was too quick. I’m not ready for this moment to end.
A quick peek at Shay reveals that she’s completely absorbed by the baseball cards, slowly flipping through the pages with a smile on her face.
“Can you give us ten more minutes?” I ask.
As if sensing my desperation, Darcy winks. “Sure can! Get back over there to your girl. I’ll keep it warm for y’all, Sugar.”
Returning to Shay, I slide into the space beside her, warmed by the heater at my feet and the tiny point of contact between our arms. I’d say it feels like the old days, but I’m coming to terms with the fact that those days are gone. It’s different. We’re different.
Maybe it’s not such a bad thing.
“I’m not sharing custody of a baseball card with you. I’m cool with being divorced parents of Mal and Ken, but for a card? No way.”
I park in front of Shay’s little red house. The storm didn’t pass until four hours after arriving at the diner, which gave us time to buy baseball cards, eat, and work.
Well, Shay worked. I watched her work.
Reaching into the backseat, I grab her heels. “Why not? Might as well continue our shared custody agreement since we’re able to be civil. I don’t know many almost-exes who can.”
She grunts but doesn’t argue with that.
I’m glad I told Shay that Jon never made sure I was comfortable when speaking to the media.
To him, it was my job to make them comfortable.
But today, I got my locs retwisted, met the owner of my favorite haircare brand, answered questions that didn’t make me feel sick to my stomach, and spent the day with Shay.
Even if she hated every second, I had the time of my life.
“Thanks for today,” I breathe. “I needed that.”
She doesn’t reach for the handle. “What are the odds?”
I blink hard. Those words didn’t come out of my mouth. “What did you just say, Shay?”
Covering her face, she lets out a dry laugh. “I know I’m breaking rule three, but I need to. What are the odds you’ll tell me something honest and real?”
Pressure gathers in my chest at the thought. My shadows have never had a safe place. I’m expected to be comforting, not complicated. Steady, not struggling. Caring, not worrisome. That’s why I’m always fine and happy. But if I play our game, I have to be honest.
I must be quiet for too long because she speaks again. “Never mind. It was a dumb idea—”
“I’ll play.” I hold up my fist. “If you win, I’ll tell you something.”
“With no deflecting.” The corners of her mouth twitch, and a surge of pride fills me at being able to do that.
“On three.” I count on my fingers. One, two, three.
“Two!” we scream, and I don’t hate the idea of opening up to her.
“Ask away,” I say. “What do you want to know?”
I hope she asks if I regret not coming home, because the answer is yes. Every single day.
“You pick,” is what she says instead. “Big or small. Serious or silly. Tell me something I don’t know. All I want is something real.”
It’s not that I don’t trust my friends and family with what goes on in my head.
The golden boy isn’t a mask I wear for a morale boost. I loved the title and all its assigned traits until it became an expectation rather than a choice.
An identity rather than a personality, and the moment I admit it aloud, it will become real and not something I want to believe is all in my head.
It has always been easier to hide than explain the invisible heaviness that drowns me.
But Shay sees it. I think she always has. I worried what would happen if she realized I wasn’t as golden as my image portrays, so I ran away from her, shouldering the weight alone like I thought I had to. Yet here she is. Listening. Waiting. With me.
So tonight, I want to start with a small step.
“I hate yellow legal pads.”
The interior of the car goes silent, only the sound of the hazard lights clicking rhythmically filling the space. As silly as it sounds, it’s the realest thing I can say, and I hope she sees that I’m trying.
She sits up in the seat. “Is that why you were upset after the game? You saw my notepad?”
I nod solemnly. “I’m sorry again.”
It’s clear she wants to ask more questions, but she respects the game enough not to. “Don’t be. I’ll never use them again.” Digging through her bag, she doesn’t break eye contact. “Thank you for being honest with me twice today.”
Our elbows brush as I lean onto the console. “Thank you for listening to me twice today.”
The only response that comes is the melodic scratch of pen to paper. It’s a calming sound, especially when paired with her slightly off-tune rendition of “Love On Top.”
The pen clicks, and she slides it behind her ear. “If I do or say something that bothers you, tell me. I don’t want to hurt you.” The interior lights flicker on as she swings the car door open and presses two pink sticky notes to the glove box. “Goodnight, Cade.”
Once she makes it inside the house, I reach for her notes.
Rules are important. Stop breaking them
I grin, but my heart stutters when I read the next one.
Screw yellow legal pads. Pink is better. Thanks for being honest
Tucking them into my pocket, I glance at the front door and wish I could follow the woman who made me feel like me again.
“Good night, Shay baby.”