22. Malcolm
“Hey!”
She yells it about a million times before she catches up to me in the parking lot. The keys to our rented van fumble to the ground as I try to climb in.
Plowing her body into the front of the van, she yells, “What are you doing here?” Her chest heaves rapidly from her sprint.
No sudden movements, minimal eye contact. That’s what I do as I retrieve the keys and climb in. Maybe she’ll go away if I pretend she isn’t there. Like a bear in the wild. Which is what Kate resembles when I make the mistake of glancing at her. She plants her hands on her hips, irritation marking her face as her eyebrows furrow deeper and deeper.
“Excuse me!” Throwing her arms out, she accentuates each word with force, “What. Are. You. Doing. Here?”
“Coach! Coach!”
The guys come racing toward us, looking like they just robbed a bank. I haven’t seen them run that fast since their timed evaluations last spring. Ripping the sliding door of the van open, they pile in, one on top of another.
“She’s pissed,” Devon whispers the obvious as he climbs in the passenger seat.
Kate slams her hand on the hood of the van, standing as if she, herself, can stop the vehicle from moving forward if I were to step on the gas. “Malcolm Eugene Geer!” she bellows out in her disciplinary tone.
“Eugene?” Garrett cackles in the back.
I roll the window down and yell back, “That’s not my name! Now move!”
“I will move when you tell me what the heck you guys are doing here, crashing my date!” Slamming the other hand down, her nostrils flare, and a vein in her forehead starts to bulge. I haven’t seen her this mad in a long time. The last time was when the seniors Saran-wrapped her car the night of an ice storm. It was stuck in the parking lot for days, paint chipping away with each frozen, plastic layer we had to break off.
“Wait, so Eugene isn’t your middle name?” Sarah asks, squished between Travis and Charlie.
“No,” I growl, “now be quiet.”
“Can we just tell her the truth?” Charlie asks, fear lining his tone. He’s always tested his limits with Kate. You’d think being on the end of this stare-down on a regular basis would build some fortitude in the kid, but nope. He cowers down and whispers a prayer.
The truth. These kids don’t even know the full truth. They just think I was concerned for my friend going on a date with her ex, not that some part of me wanted to sabotage the date because I’m head over heels in love with her. I’m a crazy man. This whole idea was ridiculous, and I let my jealousy get the best of me.
“Devon!” Kate yells, her stare now pinned on the passenger seat. Devon winces and reaches for the door handle.
“I got it,” I grumble, climbing out of the van and pulling out the weird butterfly clips and tinsel Sarah put in my beard to destroy any last ounce of dignity I have.
Kate crosses her arms and taps her foot on the pavement. “What are you doing here, Malcolm?”
“I’m sorry,” I say, holding my hands up in surrender, the streetlamp shining on me like I’m under interrogation. “They roped me into spying on your date.”
“They roped you in?” she asks in disbelief. “You? The man who couldn’t even be swayed to give up his parking spot for a disabled employee?”
“Bill had hip surgery, alright? He could walk just fine!” I throw my hands out to the side, refusing to lose that argument again. “His normal spot was closer to the ramp anyway.” I point at her, and she shoots her hands up to indicate her innocence. “Whatever.” I wave at her in defeat. “We were just checking up on you. Them because they’re bored teenagers, and me because—”
“Because why, Malcolm? Tell me, honestly.” Her voice is sharp and annoyed, and I want to punch myself.
I flinch at the tone, afraid to speak. It’s rare that I can’t speak my mind, but with her, the fear I have of ever upsetting her trumps every ounce of internal pride that usually prevents me from keeping my mouth shut. Her feelings are a sounding board to my thoughts, filtering out any blunt thoughts that might come out. I can’t tell her why I’m here, because honestly, I’m embarrassed to admit it—even to myself. To admit I’m jealous of her going on a date is childish. I pride myself on my careless approach to life. Letting stuff slide off my shoulders when things don’t go my way is my signature.
“Malcolm…” her voice cuts through the air like a blade on glass.
I kick at a piece of trash abandoned in the parking lot, avoiding her laser-beam eyes like my life depends on it. This woman is intimidating as hell when she wants to be, and it’s not often that I’m on the other end of that terrifying stare.
Rubbing the back of my neck, still fully craned down toward the crumpled-up wrapper I have busied myself with, I say, “I, uh…we”—I wave to the van behind me—“were concerned…”
“Concerned,” she repeats in disbelief.
Clearing my throat, I force myself to look at her and the now flattened paper under my boot. “Concerned. We just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“You don’t think I can handle myself?”
“No.” The word slips out before I can stop it, and her face twists uncomfortably. “I mean, yes. Of course you can handle yourself. I just…” Impatience ripples inside me, trickling down my spine like icy water. I can’t keep it in any longer.
“I just think you’re making a poor decision, alright?” I snap. “Going on a date with your ex? After what he did to you? Because you think the universe is telling you something?” My questions come out hard and fast, accusations thick in my throat. Kate’s eyes waver for a moment before going cold again, a forceful effort to keep her composure. “You don’t need the universe to tell you what to do, Kate.”
“Hey, guys.” Eric weaves his way through the parked cars to join us under the flickering streetlight. “Is everything okay?” He places his hand on Kate’s back, and everything inside me threatens to rage. I shove my fists in my pockets to restrain myself, or they’ll be hanging him from the streetlamp, shading us all with his upside-down silhouette.
Kate”s eyes remain fixed on mine. ”We”re fine. Just ran into these guys,” she says, waving at the group, who hesitantly returns the gesture. Devon ducks down in his seat to avoid being recognized by his future coach. Eric nods to Kate in understanding and leans in to whisper something in her ear, his lips dangerously close to the spot I”ve imagined nipping at a million times. The spot she lets brush against my beard when she hugs me. The spot that I know makes her eyes flutter and roll back when it”s gently grazed by a thumb. The spot he has no right being near anymore. He shoots me a friendly wave before turning back toward the restaurant.
I hate him.
I manage a nod in return, my teeth clenched and eyes burning. I can”t hide how his touch on her makes me feel. I might snap his hand if he lingers too long.
I wait for what feels like an eternity for Eric to be out of earshot. The man stalks around like a bear but has the speed of a turtle. Closing the distance between us, I give Kate an apologetic smile. “I didn’t mean to ruin the date.”
She rolls her eyes, the harshness of her gaze fading when she focuses on me. “I can take care of myself, you know.”
A ringlet falls across her face, and I catch it with my fingers. Pushing it behind her ear, I let my thumb brush the spot and watch her eyes flutter closed. A small sound only I can hear leaves her mouth. The sound is almost enough to send me to my knees right here in this parking lot.
Pulling my hand back and shoving it under my arm, I whisper, “I know you can.”
I take a small step back. Adding more space between us is the best option right now. For me. For her. For her date. And for the nosey teenagers watching our every move. She notes the motion and does the same, giving me a nod of understanding.
“Just know that I will always want to take care of you, Kate. Even when you think you can do it on your own, I’m still going to try to do it for you. You’re stuck with me.”
A smile lights up every inch of her face at that. “Good.”
“Mint chocolate chip?” Sarah asks, disgust marking her face like I’ve committed a crime.
“Yeah,” I say with my mouth half full of ice cream.
She fakes a gag before taking a bite of her birthday-cake ice cream. “You’re eating toothpaste, pretty much.”
“Toothpaste-covered Oreos,” Garrett adds, inhaling his double chocolate scoop like it’s his last supper.
The group heckles me for my dessert choice the entire walk back to the hotel. I endure it for three blocks before speed-walking past them to create some distance. I wasn’t planning to join them on their late-night munchie run, but it beats wallowing alone in my hotel room. The sheer fact that I’ve been choosing company over being alone in any form over the last few years is evidence enough for what Glendale has done to me. For years, after losing Brennan, I was content with being alone—living my life, tending my garden, doing the crossword by myself. But somewhere along the way, I’ve desired companionship more and more, like a dull ache in my chest that never goes away. It doesn’t hurt, but I know it’s there.
“Coach, wait up!” Charlie catches up to me, the rest of the group a block behind.
“What, Henders?” My tone does not convey the companionship my heart desires—an ongoing issue I’m working on.
“With the scrimmage tomorrow, I was wondering if I could play?” He tosses his empty cone in a nearby trash can.
“Play?” Henders is the only baseball player we brought to camp this year, and it wasn’t even necessary that he come. He has a scholarship lined up at Northwestern next year, so camp wasn’t a requirement for him. “When was the last time you were on the field?” I ask, curious about what spurred this desire on.
“Three years.” He winces.
“Well, I can’t start you ahead of some of the others. They’re here for scouting opportunities. That wouldn’t be—”
“I know, I know,” he interrupts, grabbing the back of his neck with both hands as discomfort pinches his eyebrows. “I just want to try—if there’s a chance.”
“This isn’t some prank to ruin the game?” I wouldn’t put it past him to pull something like that. Usually, I wouldn’t care, but something in me has me refusing to lose tomorrow. It could be the Eric situation. It could be pent-up frustration. Either way, I’m not risking a loss because one of my guys wants to have a little fun.
“No, no. I just want to go out with a bang. This is my last hoorah before college.” His face falls.
I stop walking to face him, his words hitting me like a brick to the throat.
Last hoorah.
Brennan’s last words to me before his helicopter went down ring in my ears. Charlie’s eyes flicker with a hint of sadness as he looks back at the rowdy group approaching, and I feel it, deep in my gut. The sadness he must feel about having to leave Glendale, having to grow up and move on, mixes with my own. Sadness over growing up. Sadness over last hoorahs. Sadness over losing my friend.
The group catches up to us, loud and unfiltered from their sugar high.
“Last hoorah, huh?” I ask Charlie in a whisper. He nods, his face melancholy and eyes hazy. “Captain?”
Devon perks up. “Yes, Coach?”
“What do you say we get Henders fitted with some pads?”
Gleeful eyes surround me, fist-bumping and high-fiving Henders as if they just won the lottery. It was the answer they had all been waiting for. Putting him in tomorrow must have been a dinner conversation I missed.
“Thanks, Coach!” Charlie reaches out to hug me then thinks better of it and pins his arms back down to his sides. Garrett, however, has no sense of personal boundaries and wraps his arms around both of us. My repulsed groan is shushed as everyone joins in on the weird thing people call a group hug. The desire to crawl out of my skin fades when I hear someone whisper, “You guys are the best.”
I’m still riding a subtle high from the endorphins that betrayed me from that hug when we part ways in the hallway. The room is dark when I get back with no sign of Kate. It’s past ten.
They’re probably enjoying their night. Holding hands. Kissing.
My chest hollows out at the thought.
Dread follows me around like a shadow, clinging to every part of me as I rush to get ready for bed. Having a conversation with Kate about the events of this evening will end in one of two ways: me admitting my feelings, or me going to bed a liar. Neither of them can happen. The only choice I have is to hurry up and get to bed before she gets back—a temporary fix, of course. We will have to talk about things eventually. We’re only here for another day and a half. If I can just put this potentially friendship-ending conversation off until we get back, I’ll be fine. I’d rather get rejected in the comfort of my own yard. My office would suffice, even. Somewhere I’m comfortable and safe, not a thousand miles away with nowhere to run.
I crawl into the bed as the softness of the cream sheets clings to my damp post-shower skin. The whistling of wind moves through the crack in the balcony door. I curse myself for not shutting it, climb out of bed, and shuffle over to close it.
The click of the balcony door shutting and the latch of the front door opening happen simultaneously. For a moment, I pray the room is so dark she can’t see me standing twenty feet in front of her, in my boxers.
My prayers are unanswered when she whispers, “Hi.”
The brassy doorknob is cold against my lower back as I back as far away from her as possible. Kate’s face is hidden in shadows, making her expression unreadable and a thousand times scarier than in the light of day. I can usually read her like a book, having the home advantage.
“Hello.” I sound like I missed puberty when my voice cracks out the second half of my greeting. “How was—”
“Don’t even think about it.” She’s a foot away from me now, moonlight revealing half of her face to me. Her light-pink lipstick is worn off, and her hair is pulled back in a tie. Curiosity races through me at why she looks so undone. It hurts. “Now spill.” Crossing her arms in that cute, defiant way, she waits.
“Do you want to get cleaned up first?”
“Nope. Now talk.”
“Kate,” I groan, sliding my body out from against the door, the knob leaving an awkward imprint on my skin. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“I want you to start being honest.” Her words sting as guilt settles itself on my shoulders.
Pulling my hoodie on over my head, I feel it’s important to be semi-dressed for this kind of conversation. I slide onto the bed and gesture to the open space beside me. The internal struggle of her decision to join me is written all over her face.
She watches me, a battle of patience and impatience shifting in her eyes. Letting out a sigh, she leans back on her hands and kicks off her shoes—laces still tied, like a maniac. “What scares you, Malcolm?”
“Wh—what?” I choke out, stunned by her question.
“What scares you?” Turning to face me, she pulls her feet underneath her and sits on her knees.
“Um. Spiders?”
She shoves my arm, and a smile pulls at the corner of her mouth. “You know, I’ve known you for five years now, and I don’t know what scares you. I don’t know what shakes you to your core. Do you even know what scares me?” She places her hand on her chest, one of her bright-pink straps sliding off her shoulder as she does.
“I think so.” My eyes are pinned on the hollow of her collarbone and the softness of her freshly bronzed skin. She waits, again, eyes heavy lidded from the night”s events. “You’re scared of elephants. You’re scared of your Aunt Edna’s lumpia.” Her eyes dance as her one-sided grin stretches to a mind-blowing smile. “You’re scared of Lola’s one-word texts. I think you might be a little scared of Emma, especially on Mondays.” She lets out a single ha, the smile still firmly in place. “But most of all, I think…” I suck in a breath, hoping I don’t eat my words. “You’re scared of not being wanted.” Her eyes widen at this, unease swarming within them. She looks away and bites at her thumbnail. I tug her hand away from her mouth and encircle her wrist with my hand, and her pulse pounds in my palm. “Am I close?”
She scoffs at me, pinching my thigh with her free hand. “You’re kind of close.” Smiling, she rests her hand next to my bent leg, her thumb tracing the small scar at the top of my knee. Her dark skin is striking against the pale color of mine. It’s almost laughable. “What about you?” Her eyes stay locked on my leg, thumb moving carefully back and forth over the rigid scar.
Relaxing back onto my hands, I look up at the pendant light fixture directly above us. “I’m not sure.” A half truth. I know what I’m scared to lose—who I’m scared to lose. But what I’m scared of is a different thing entirely. It used to be death, the fear of leaving this Earth sooner than expected, leaving behind everyone and everything you’ve ever known to end up in the sky for eternity. That was what scared me. But the older I got, the more death I started to witness, and after losing Brennan, it became clear to me that it’s unavoidable. “I guess I’m scared of feeling helpless.” I shrug, the truth lingering like the warm air between us.
“Is that why you keep helping Uncle Jerry with his pool?” She snorts.
“It’s a luxury pool with jets, Kate. That’s reason enough.” I scoot back to the top of the bed, resting my head against the thick pillows. Kate joins me, pulling the comforter over her legs and nuzzling deep into the plush. “But yes, I guess I help people because I want to feel useful.”
Turning her body toward me, she flattens the comforter so I can see her face. “Is that the reason you help me?” Her eyes are expectant, anticipating my answer.
“One of them,” I lie. “It’s my duty to help the damsels of this world.”
She swats at me then rests her hand on the peak of my chest, a sting pinching where she hit too hard. The pain subsides as she rubs soothing circles on the swell of my chest. It’s enough to put me in a deep, pleasurable sleep. The noise that leaves me is almost obscene. My cheeks flush as she giggles into the comforter.
“It’s not because I’m a damsel, and you know it.”
“Uh-huh, whatever makes you sleep at night.”
My heart pounds loud and fast in my ears as she splays her fingers, pressing firmly into my chest. My eyes flutter shut. Her touch is enough to ignite the burning passion stuck in my chest and set it ablaze.
“Just admit it,” she whispers.
“Admit what?” I ask, my eyelids heavy with want.
“Everything you do for me…” Her hand moves lower, tracing the ridges of my abdomen. My breath shakes in response as her fingers dance down the center of my stomach, marking the valley that travels from my chest down to my belly button. “You do it…” She lets out a big yawn, sleep disrupting her thought.
Taking her curious hand and pulling it up to my jaw, I kiss the bed of her palm. Her eyes flutter shut as she lets out a soft, gratifying hum. Her dark, thick lashes dance as she fights sleep.
Another big yawn and her body slumps, succumbing to the late hour. Her words are a sleepy whisper, “…because you’re crazy about me.”
“You have no idea.”