Chapter Five
Taylor
Todd’s alarm goes off at six a.m.
I groan, rolling over. “Turn it off.”
He chuckles. “What do you have against my alarm?”
“It woke me up.” I yawn, my eyes still heavy with sleep. “Why do you have it set so early, anyway?”
“I was planning on hitting the gym.”
My lashes flutter open, and our gazes meet. I quickly look away, the memory of the night before rushing back, but then I notice his wild bed head, and I burst into laughter.
His eyebrows shoot up. “What?”
“Your hair—it’s everywhere.” I giggle as he attempts to tame it but fails. “You really ought to get a haircut; I bet all the girls are complaining about not seeing enough of your eyes.”
Even I can’t deny that he’s stunningly handsome. Ever since his breakup with Samantha, girls are practically tripping over themselves to flirt with him. What surprises me, though, is how little he seems to care about their attention.
“Maybe I should braid my hair like you do to keep it from getting so messy.”
“Let me see if it’s long enough,” I say, reaching over, but I stop dead in my tracks when I feel his hard-on against my thigh.
My lungs seize up; I can’t draw a breath, and I’m stuck between the urge to move closer or to pull away.
“Taylor?”
I’m further paralyzed by the look in his eyes—his pupils are blown—and I consider the idea that he wants me to come closer.
“Sorry . . .” I clear my throat and spring out of the bed. “I forgot I have to . . . I’m gonna hop in the shower.”
I run out of there like I’m trying to steal second, and only stop when I reach the bathroom. I turn on the water so it can heat up, then I sit on the toilet and let my head fall in my hands.
The room is full of steam before I finally step under the showerhead, and the water is cold by the time I get out. I just can’t get the feeling of him against me out of my mind, and I start to tingle between my legs.
Between classes, baseball, and my family, I haven’t had time for dating, but Todd’s my best friend, so I can’t go there—I just can’t.
I hear him leave as I’m towel drying my hair, and I exhale for what feels like the first time since I woke up.
“What’s bugging you?” Todd asks when he meets me in the dining hall for lunch.
I swallow my lips. “Who says anything’s bugging me?”
He arches his brow. “Taylor, I’ve known you for fourteen years—I know when something’s bothering you.”
I stuff my sandwich in my mouth and take a huge bite to buy myself some time to think.
“Is it what happened with your mom?” he asks, pinning me with his gaze.
“Yeah . . .” I reply, focusing on opening my chips.
He rips the bag from my hand, forcing me to look at him. “I can also tell when you’re lying.”
I swallow hard and the sandwich churns in my stomach. “I just feel like I overstepped this morning—you know . . .” I lower my voice. “When I touched you.”
He averts his gaze. “Oh . . .”
“Yeah . . .”
For a moment, we’re both silent and I’d do anything to know what’s going through his mind.
“Look, I don’t want things to be awkward or for this to come between us, so how about we just pretend it never happened?” I take a sip of my coffee. “I need your friendship more than anything right now, Todd.”
His lips press into a slight frown. “I don’t want that either.”
“So we’re cool, then?”
He nods curtly. “Always have been.”
I force a smile, but my stomach is still queasy. “Good.”
The silence that follows is like a third person at the table—a sullen, uninvited guest. Todd fidgets with the cardboard sleeve of his cup, tearing it strip by strip, while I stir sugar into my coffee, even though I already added two packets.
Finally, he takes a long, deliberate breath. “So, did you tell Chase about what happened with your mom?”
“What’s the point? It’s not like he can do anything from New Orleans.”
“Still . . . if anyone knows what you’re going through it’s him.” He steals a chip from my tray without asking. “You should call him.”
“I think you just want me gone so you can eat my food.”
He throws his head back, laughing, and the tension between us finally breaks. “If I promise to keep my paws off your food will you call him?”
I sigh exasperatedly, rising. “Fine.”
“I’m just trying to help.”
My face softens. “I know.”
I slip my phone out of my pocket and head out of the dining hall.
The air outside is biting, the kind of early January morning that reminds you you’re in winter’s grasp.
Still, the quad is already filling up with people, little clusters of students in coats spread across the grass.
I weave through them and find an empty bench beneath an ancient oak.
It’s even colder in the shade, goose bumps pimpling my arms, but I need the privacy more than I need comfort.
I stare at my phone, thumb hovering over Chase’s name until I finally tap his contact. The phone barely rings twice before he picks up.
“Hey!”
“Hey . . .” My throat closes up when I hear his voice.
“Taylor? What’s wrong?”
I didn’t think I made a sound, but he still senses something’s off.
“Who is it this time? Mom? Emma?”
I sigh. “Mom.”
“What happened?”
“We got into a fight yesterday,” I say, exhaling again. Honestly, I’m not sure why Chase insists on making such a big deal out of these arguments with Mom—they happen so often it’s like a never-ending at-bat. “She was drunk—as usual—but according to her, her salary was cut.”
“You don’t believe her?”
“I make it a habit not to trust anything that comes out of her mouth. I mean, can they really do that to her?”
“They can if they’re trying to push her out, I suppose,” he replies. “She’s a partner there, and it’d look terrible if they had to fire her, but that doesn’t mean they couldn’t push her to resign.”
I bite my lip. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“So that’s what the fight was about, then?” he asks, and I swear I can hear him arching his brow.
“Basically.” I scrub a hand down my face and give him the rest of the details.
“Oh, what a load of bullshit!” he roars when I’m through. “Don’t believe for a second she doesn’t have money—even if her salary was cut, Dad will be giving her child support until Emma graduates, and I bet she still has some set aside from their divorce settlement.”
“What if this is just her way of telling me she doesn’t want to support me anymore?” I ask the question that’s been swirling in my mind all night.
“She’s been doing it all this time, so what’s changed now?”
“I don’t know . . .” I fiddle with the tip of one of my braids, inspecting the split ends. “Our relationship has always been something of a delicate balance—does she even need a reason?”
“It sounds like things are getting out of control over there.”
“I’m handling it the best I can.”
“I know you are, but you shouldn’t have to do this alone.”
I scoff. “You did.”
“That was different.”
“Not to me.” My stomach growls and I realize we’ve been talking for close to forty-five minutes. “Listen, I’ve got to head to class soon and I haven’t eaten lunch.”
“Don’t think you’re getting out of this conversation so easily! You should really call Dad.”
I roll my eyes. It’s a familiar script: every time Mom stumbles, every time Emma stirs the pot, every time anything in Cleveland goes wrong, Chase wants to call Dad up from the bullpen like he’s the closer who can shut it all down.
But the truth is, I can’t remember the last time Dad truly solved anything for us.
Sure, he’s the stable parent on paper, who doesn’t get blackout drunk or snarl at us from across the dining room table, but he’s also constructed a whole new life that has no room for the type of drama we bring.
The divorce settlement didn’t just fund his restaurant—it bought him a ticket out of our mess, and he’s been cashing in that freedom ever since.
I clutch my phone tighter, knuckles blanching. “I’ve told you before, that’s not happening.”
He groans, letting me know I’ve won this round.
“I’ll see you soon.”
“Yeah, see you soon,” he replies and then hangs up.