Chapter 44 Parker
“Where the hell are you taking me?”
I pick up the pace when River and I reach the hill in the road, neither answering nor slowing down until we’re at its peak, where I ease us into a cooldown pace.
“Relax, Nowak. Have I ever led you astray?”
“The old you? No. This guy?” We reach flat ground and come to a stop. Hands planted on his hips, River pants at me with even more suspicion. “You’re in a weird mood. Happy one second. Looking like you’ve been hit by a truck the next.”
I don’t answer, but he isn’t wrong. Since our weekend in the city, I get to stroll down Oakwood’s streets holding Summer’s hand for anyone to see.
Get to kiss her in front of our friends.
And then she goes to work, or over to her place, or duck-dives through a swell in the ocean, temporarily disappearing from view.
And it feels like a possible glimpse into the years ahead, my whole heart far from home, bouncing from country to country.
Living an entire life without me, after decades at arm’s length.
The separation anxiety is at an all-time high.
My only comfort is the thought that, if she chooses to do it—surf the way I know she can—she’ll be embarking on the adventure that I know has called to her ever since she got her first board.
River follows my lead as we round a bend in the road.
I’d never live it down if I admitted it to his face, but I want to see him happy.
Which is why we’re running in Baycrest instead of Oakwood this morning, weaving around its winding main street until it opens up to a view of the bay.
It’s not until we hang a right at the end of a parking lot, our backs to the boardwalk, that I brace myself for—
“Parker, what the actual hell?” River halts the moment the flower shop comes within view, looking like he’s either seconds away from socking me or diving behind a nearby trash can. “How do you spring this on me? I look like a fucking mess. I’m sweating, and my hair’s overgrown—”
River makes a move to turn around, away from the shop, but I step in his path. “It’s time, Nowak. Enough excuses—we made a deal earlier this summer, and I’ve come to collect.”
“How did you even figure out she works here?”
“Macy’s dad coaches the women’s softball team at UOB. We’ve crossed paths.” I take him by the shoulders. “Listen to me, River. You can try to get every little piece perfectly in place, and she might slam the door in your face anyway.”
His eyes grow in alarm. “Is that supposed to be a pep talk?”
“Yes.” I chuckle. “Because there’s every chance the opposite happens.
You go in there, tell her how you feel. And if you’re lucky, she’ll ask what took you so long.
It doesn’t matter if things are perfect.
What matters is that you tried. Put yourself out there.
Gave her the chance to tell you one way or another. ”
River rubs at his face. “I don’t know if I can.”
“A couple months ago, you were on crutches and thinking you’d never come off them. But you tried, anyway.” I straighten out his shirt for him. But because we’re us, always going to jab at each other, I add, “What happened to your balls, Nowak?”
He glares. “My balls are fine.”
“Prove it.” I check my watch. “I called ahead to check. Macy’s shift started ten minutes ago.”
“And you said there was no reason to be suspicious.” He eyes the shop over his shoulder. “Can you at least… Just don’t leave, okay?”
“You got it. I’ll be right here.”
River nods. Over and over, staring at me while working up the nerve. Then he turns on his heel and marches into the flower shop.
I follow only as far as the large windows by the flower display outside the shop. Far enough to give him privacy. Close enough to pick up the pieces if this goes south.
There’s a young girl behind a workbench toward the back of the shop, chin tucked as she clips flower stems, long brown ponytail spilling forward. She hasn’t noticed River striding toward her.
Already, I’m damn proud of him. But then he must say something, call her name maybe. Macy’s gaze darts up. She breaks into a wide, unmistakably happy smile and rounds the workbench to hug him.
Relief hits me smack in the chest, as though I’m standing in River’s worn-in sneakers myself. I really didn’t want to be wrong about this.
I lean my weight against the flower display, just watching them together. He’s grinning wider than I thought he was physically capable of, then laughs at something she’s saying. Loud enough that I can hear it from outside.
I let the happy sight wash over me. I did that—I got that kid off crutches, got him out of his own head and into the waiting arms of the person he loves.
And I’ve just figured out exactly how to do the same for Summer.