Chapter 3 #2
I blow out a long, heavy breath as the silence of the house descends around me. It makes not being at home in Nashville all the more noticeable.
Without a doubt, I know that I’m going to go stir-crazy if I don’t find something to do.
That or I’ll become so irritated by the fact that I’m in lockdown that I’ll go crazy.
I tug my suitcase on the bed and open it with a flourish. My things were stuffed inside after a hasty pack-and-go last night. Grabbing a wrinkled T-shirt, I slip it on over my head.
My mind skips over the past few minutes—Willa, Meadow, Bellamy, her father.
Why can’t anything ever just be okay?
I touch my cheek again. It stings a little but doesn’t ache like I thought it would. But the momentary pause to see how I feel makes my skin all over seem too tight. My muscles are too rigid. My energy level too high.
Something has to give.
I put on some socks and sneakers before plopping an Illinois Legends hat on backward. Then I head down the stairs and out the front door.
The Savannah breeze is fresh and cool. I probably could’ve used a hoodie, but I don’t have the gumption to go back inside and get one.
Instead, I walk across the lawn and try to let the trees and their swaying mosses work their magic at calming me down.
It was my secret weapon growing up. I even wrote my first song with that rhythm in mind. But today?
Today, it’s futile.
My attention keeps dragging through the foliage to Bellamy’s house.
“But Bellamy manages it pretty well. You know her …”
The truth is that I don’t know her. Not anymore. And as much as it bothers me that her father is sick and she may or may not be taking it well, it drives me nuts that I don’t know her.
At one point in my life, she was one of my best friends.
There were no secrets between Boone, Larissa, Bells, and me.
And now, I don’t know what she needs, only that it’s probably nothing from me.
It’s easier to live with that when you live in another state and are so busy that you can’t see straight.
But seeing her in person? It hits different.
It makes a lot of things hit differently.
The roar of an engine distracts me, and I look at the street. A car rolls up the Davenport’s driveway. I mosey my way over to the edge of the block wall—to the spot where rose bushes only separate our yards.
The car stops at the main garage. I try to look interested in the foliage in front of me and not like a creeper.
A woman gets out of her car. A few seconds later, the little girl—Bree—who was with Bellamy earlier runs around the corner.
Bree talks animatedly with her little hands flying through the air. She nearly bounces up and down. I catch a smile flickering against my lips as my gaze is yanked to the side.
Bellamy walks around the corner of the house with her arms wrapped across her middle.
My instincts light up as I take in her every move—the easy smile on her face, the softness of her shoulders. The way she ruffles the little girl’s hair as she talks to the woman. She seems to be happy and relaxed unlike earlier.
Before I can process that, the little girl whips around and points at me.
“There he is!” she shouts, her voice weaving amongst the tree branches.
I tuck my chin and start to turn back toward the house, but I’m not fast enough.
“Hey! Mister! How do you feel?” she shouts.
I can’t avoid the question because it’s obvious I heard her. People a block over probably heard her too.
I hold up a hand. “I’m good. Thanks. Have a good day.”
The little girl is having no part of that. She races across the driveway and crosses the Davenport’s lawn. The woman follows as quickly as she can in heels. Bellamy trails them with a look of fire in her eyes.
I head back to the roses and await the ambush.
“Did my daughter hit you today?” the woman asks. She stops in front of me with Bree at her side. “Yikes. She did, didn’t she?”
“It’s okay. Honestly.” I avoid Bellamy’s glare. “It’s not a big deal at all.”
“Mom, he’s fine,” Bree says. “I already apologized, and we’re friends now. Right?”
“Yup. We’re friends now.”
Bree looks up at her mom. “Did you know he played baseball and piano? He’s my hero.”
The woman narrows her eyes as she studies me. “You’re Coy Mason, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.”
“I’m Lauren Stahl. It’s nice to meet you.”
Bellamy pins me in place with a look that could kill. I’m sure it’s a warning, but all it does is turn me on.
My initial hesitation about this impromptu meet-and-greet is replaced with satisfaction. I don’t love that Bellamy is telling me to eat-shit-and-die, but it’ll give me material for later.
“Lauren, Coy is fine,” Bellamy says. “See? Bree was just overly concerned.”
“I think it’s sweet of Bree,” I say back. “Considerate kids are a hallmark of good parenting.”
“Like you know anything about parenting,” Bellamy huffs.
“I know Bree is a sweet girl,” I lobby back, just to see what she’ll say.
Bellamy’s not entertained. “Bree is a sweet girl. Thank you for noticing.”
I grin. “I notice everything, Bells.”
Her hands go to her hips as if she needs to display her disapproval physically.
“Mom, he was going to teach me to throw a curveball today, but Bellamy said we should ask you,” Bree says, tugging on her mom’s hand. “Could he teach me? Would you mind?”
“Oh, honey,” Lauren says, her eyes glued to me with that hazy look that women get sometimes. “Coy doesn’t have time to play with you.”
“He’s really busy,” Bellamy adds from behind them. “We probably shouldn’t even be talking to him right now.”
I read the warning she’s flashing me this time loud and clear. Unfortunately for her, there’s no fun in that.
“You know,” I say, twisting my lips. “I’m not busy. I have a little time on my hands these days.”
“See? I told you!” Bree says, jumping up and down.
Bellamy shakes her head, and steam practically comes from her ears. It’s adorable.
“Are you sure?” Lauren asks, obviously loving the idea of her child being tutored by me.
“Oh, yeah,” I say, grinning at Bells. “If Bellamy wants to bring her over, I’d be happy to teach her how to throw a ball. Or to play the piano. You said you liked that, too, right, Bree?”
“Yes!” Bree squeals. “Mom, please. Please say he can help me. No offense, but you and Bellamy don’t know anything about this kind of stuff, and I need a mentor.”
Well played, kid.
“Everyone good has a mentor,” Bree continues. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
I fold my arms across my chest and level my gaze at Bellamy.
I don’t know why I’m doing this. The last thing I need in my life is to have a little kid running around and asking me a million questions. But having Bells come around while I’m in town? Worse things could happen.
For me, anyway.
Irritating her is fun. It’s our natural balance. It’s what we do.
We bicker and get under each other’s skin … and then a handful of times, we got under each other. And then we go on about our lives.
She presses her full lips together, and it triggers a ripple of goose bumps down my skin.
Damn.
“Coy, I’d pay you,” Lauren says. “As you can see, my daughter is very driven and mature for her age. She would eat up this opportunity, and your generosity floors me.”
Me, too.
“I couldn’t accept payment,” I say, my face burning from the force of Bellamy’s stare. “But I’d be more than happy to help. Maybe Bellamy could bring her by tomorrow morning. Around eleven?”
We all turn to look at Bellamy. Exasperation is etched all over her pretty face.
“This is not a good idea, Lauren,” she insists.
“And why not?” Lauren asks her. “He’s a musical genius. And I vaguely remember him in all the papers in high school.” She looks at me again. “I just aged myself, didn’t I?”
This isn’t about you, Lauren.
“You don’t look a day older than me,” I tell her, turning up the charm.
She smiles widely.
Her husband better thank me tonight.
“Can we talk about this in private?” Bellamy asks her. “I have reservations about this that I think are warranted.”
Lauren looks from Bellamy to me and then back at Bellamy again. “Well, sure, I suppose. But I don’t see the problem.”
Me either.
“And I know my husband is going to be … astounded by Coy’s offer,” Lauren says. “I mean, he’s Kelvin McCoy. I just think this is an excellent opportunity, Bellamy.”
“It sounds like you guys need to work out the details,” I say, grinning. “But tomorrow at eleven works for me. Can’t wait to see you, Bree.”
“I can’t wait to see you, Coy.” Bree squeals. “I’ll bring my mitt. Oh, and my piano workbook. Just in case we have time for both.”
Oh, joy.
“That sounds great,” I say, hoping that it came out sounding better than it did in my head.
“It was nice to meet you, Coy. And in lieu of Bellamy telling me you sacrifice goats or something, Bree will see you tomorrow. Sound good?” Lauren asks.
“Sounds super.”
“Great. We’ll talk soon,” Lauren says as she heads back to her car with Bree at her side.
Bellamy waits a moment and lets them get some distance away before leaning toward me. “Can’t you take a hint?”
I grin. “Yup.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
“Because you like it, and you know it.”
She narrows her eyes. “I want you to know that I hate you.”
I lean forward too. “I can tell.”
“Ugh,” she says and marches off.
“Hey, Bells!” I call out.
She looks over her shoulder.
“Wear shorts,” I tell her.
She hides her hand behind her back and flips me off. Then, for my benefit, I’m sure, she shakes her ass with more force than necessary as she strides across the yard.
Even though there is a parade of beautiful women in my life, being around Bells moves something different inside me. It must just be the familiarity, I guess. But still, it’s always there when we’re together.
And it’s something I can’t shake.