14. Chapter 14 #2
He goes back to his coffee.
Lilly steps in quickly. “Dad, it’s fine. I can ride with you. Really. I don’t mind the bus.”
“Just offering.” I shrug, looking bored.
“You’re staying with the convoy,” Coach says, looking at me.
“I just said that.”
“I want to see that car behind the bus at all times.” He points a finger at me.
“You will.” I nod.
“No disappearing.”
“The bus sets the pace.”
Lilly folds her arms. “This is ridiculous. I can sit on the bus.”
I should be enjoying this. Coach is practically loading his daughter into my car. Instead, irritation crawls straight up my spine.
He isn’t listening to her.
Coach says something, and everybody moves. That’s how this works with the players. His team, his rules, his call. Fine. We get paid to deal with it.
Lilly doesn’t.
She said she can take the bus, and he’s already decided she won’t, like she’s another player he can shuffle around because he thinks he knows better.
I look at her crossed arms, the tight little line between her brows.
Fuck that.
I want her in my car. Badly. But I want her there because she wants to be. Not because her father made the choice for her.
And Christ. What if I were some asshole she genuinely didn’t want to be alone with? What if she said no and he bulldozed right over it because Coach Bennett has never met a decision he didn’t think belonged to him?
Suddenly, getting my way feels a lot less satisfying.
“With all due respect,” I say, which is already more respect than I mean, “I think that’s her decision to make.”
The table goes a little quieter, and Coach’s brows lift. Lilly turns her head toward me, just as stunned.
I keep my face neutral.
“If your daughter wants the bus, she takes the bus. I’ll take somebody else.”
Tanner’s hand shoots up immediately, ready to volunteer, just as Coach looks away. My eyes slide over to Tanner, pinning him under a death glare that I hope he interprets correctly.
Seat’s fucking taken.
His hand lowers.
I look back at Coach. He studies me for a second, then glances at Lilly. “You’d be more comfortable in a car,” he tells her.
“Without a doubt,” I say.
Lilly gives me a look.
I shrug as casually as I can manage.
“Your call.” I haven’t forced myself to sound this fucking lukewarm in ages.
Lilly doesn’t answer right away. She just looks at me, like she’s turning the conversation over from an angle that hadn’t occurred to her before. Then something in her expression shifts. Pleasant surprise, if I’m reading it right.
My eyes flick toward Bennett. Coach says move, and people move. I already knew that. What I’m starting to wonder is how long Lilly’s been doing it too.
She looks at her dad, then back at me. Slowly, she nods.
“Okay.”
Coach lifts his mug. “Yeah?”
Her eyes stay on mine, and then the corner of her mouth twitches.
“Yeah, I’ll go with the goalie. Sorry, I’m bad with names.”
Oh. You brat.
I know what this is. It’s payback for me pretending not to know her name at the start of the weekend.
My mouth threatens to move.
“The goalie,” I repeat.
“That is what you are, isn’t it?” Her expression turns innocent.
“Among other things,” I drawl.
Her cheeks turn pink immediately.
“In the mirror,” Coach says to me, cutting in. “The whole way, Mercer. I don’t want to hear that thing accelerate.”
He thinks the problem he has to worry about has four wheels and too much horsepower.
I nod once, almost smiling. “I’ll be there.”
I’ve already got my keys in my hand when I realize I’m missing one thing.
I cut away from the porch and head back toward the beach. The shoreline’s quiet, as most of the kids are up by the bus. The water moves in and out, washing away more and more of their small footprints.
It doesn’t take long.
I find one half-buried near the wet line. Not as good as the one he gave me, but good enough. I rub it once against my thumb and head back.
By the time I get to the loading area, everyone’s distracted. Sam’s standing off to the side near the bus with his backpack, arguing with another kid about window seats.
He spots me immediately, and I jerk my chin once for him to come. He lights up and breaks off from the argument to come jogging over.
“Zed!”
I crouch just enough to keep this quiet and hold out my hand to show him the shell.
He looks down at it, then back at me.
“For me?”
“Now we both have one.” I shrug. “It’s a cockle shell.”
He takes it carefully, and I lower my hand.
“That’s so cool!” He stares at it in his palm, eyes wide.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Don’t lose it.”
“I won’t.” He nods way too hard.
I begin to straighten when he throws his arms around me again.
Christ.
Still not used to that. Probably never will be. I stiffen on instinct, then make myself put one arm around him and pat his small back once. Good enough.
He pulls back with a grin and shifts the shell into his other hand.
“Are you gonna skate with us when we get back?”
A weekend ago, I would’ve shut it down without thinking.
Now I hear myself say, “We’ll see.”
“Okay!” Sam’s face goes bright.
“Get on the bus.” I jerk my chin.
“Bye, Zed!” He hugs the shell to his chest and waves at me with the other hand.
“Bye, Sam.”
I watch him climb the steps and disappear inside. Then I turn and start walking back toward the cars. I’ve got a pink-dress problem waiting for me.
Lilly has her duffel on her shoulder, and when she sees me coming, she straightens a little, her chest rising with a deep breath. I stop in front of her and silently take the duffel off her shoulder.
“That’s okay. I can carry my own bag,” she protests politely.
“I know,” I say, slinging it over my shoulder.
She falls in beside me while I walk it to the Pagani parked a little off from the others. I pop the front compartment to fit her bag in next to mine and shut it. When I straighten, I find her staring at my car with visible concern.
“Is this thing even legal?”
“Depends on how fast I’m going.” I go around to the passenger side, open the door, and look at her. “I’ll be good, snowflake.”
She gives me a look but gets in. I shut the door and go around to my side. The second I slide into the driver’s seat, I catch her looking around, confused.
I wasn’t sure what she’d need, so I got water, an iced tea, and some snacks from the pantry. She looks at the drinks, then at me.
“Are those for me?”
“Yeah.” I start the engine, adjust the rearview mirror, and check the line of cars.
“You did that before I agreed to ride with you?”
That gets my eyes on her.
“I was always getting you in my car.”
No point dressing it up. No point pretending there was a version of this morning where she sat on that bus with the kids while I drove behind it like some obedient idiot.
I put the car in gear and pull out slowly, falling in behind the bus while the rest of the convoy starts sorting itself out.
While we’re still driving at the pace of a snail, I pull the water bottle out of the cup holder and open it to take a sip.
“Do you want some?” I ask, handing it to her.
She looks between me and the bottle before slowly taking it and bringing it to her own lips. Good.
I hand her the cap with my eyes on the road. If I look at her right now, I’m going to enjoy that too much, and we haven’t even hit the highway yet.
The bus crawls ahead of us, and the ocean’s fading in the mirrors. The first two minutes of the drive are all engine noise, highway sun, and her trying not to look at me for too long.
The car eats the road with the bus ahead of us. I downshift and catch myself before I can hit the gas and pass around it. The itch to speed up and get that bus’s ass out of my damn face is strong. But I made a promise.
Lilly’s holding the water bottle between her bare legs. She keeps glancing out the window, then at me, then immediately away again.
“You can put on whatever you want.”
“What?”
“The music,” I say, unlocking my phone and handing it to her. “Play whatever you want.”
She glances at the screen. “Any preferences?”
“Not at all.” I want to see what she likes.
She hovers over a song, changes her mind, then hovers over another one. I don’t rush her. I’m enjoying watching her try to decide what to play for me.
Finally, something cheerful comes through the speakers. It takes me a moment to recognize the song: “Safe and Sound” by Capital Cities.
I listen for maybe twenty seconds and say, “This your favorite?”
“No.”
“Do you do that often?” I rest my elbow on the door and keep my eyes on the road.
“What?”
“Pick the safe thing.”
“Usually.” She shrugs with a small laugh. “I can change it if you don’t like it,” she adds.
“No, it’s a nice.”
She’s quiet after that, and I leave her in it because I can feel something building in her. About halfway through the song, she finally speaks.
“About last night…”
I glance over once. She’s staring straight ahead, fingers tight on the bottle again, cheeks faintly pink.
And there’s the discomfort, yes. But I don’t see regret.
I can work with that.
“We don’t have to talk about it,” I say.
“We don’t?” She looks at me.
I keep my voice even. “You want to talk about it, talk about it. You don’t, don’t.”
She studies my face for a second, looking for the catch, but there isn’t one.
It’s not because I don’t care what’s in her head. I do. A lot. But I can see how uncomfortable she is, and I’m not interested in dragging a confession out of her because the road’s long and we’re alone in my car.
“It was just… new.”
“New how?”
She hesitates so long I think she’s going to bail again.
“I mean…I barely know you,” she says with a shrug. “And you barely know me. And last night was…” She exhales sharply through her nose. “A lot.”
I say nothing, and she keeps going.
“I don’t even know how I’m supposed to feel about what happened. You’re not easy to figure out. You’re not exactly the most… charming man ever.”
Huh.
I let the car eat another stretch of highway before I answer.
“I’m not trying to charm you, Lilly.”
Charm is for people trying to sneak things past other people. I’ve been pretty fucking direct about what I want from the start.
“Well, you intimidated me more than you charmed me,” she says at last.