Page 44 of Letting it Ride

I pull her uninjured arm through the sleeve, then pull it over her head before finally sliding the shirt off the injured arm while she talks.

“Sometimes I go just to enjoy the food at the stadium, you know? I don’t always even watch the game. When I was little, we went a lot as a family, because tickets were cheap back then, but since they won the World Series, it’s gotten more expensive.” Addie keeps talking, almost a stream of consciousness that I’ve seen her employ before when she’s nervous.

I do my best to focus on being a good guy, the kind she can trust. Not the kind that looks at her cleavage while her shirt is off. Because I’m realizingwhy I’m having trouble looking away. Why I couldn’t breathe when she fell.

I have feelings for my best friend’s little sister. And I’m not sure I can fight them any more. Or if I even want to.

The clean shirt goes on in the opposite order that the first one came off. I tug the hem down to her waist, making sure she’s fully covered.

“Baseball season is starting soon, too. I should look into tickets for a game,” she says, still rambling.

I lean forward and plant a kiss on her forehead before I can stop myself. “There. All better.”

That stuns her into silence, and she just nods, cheeks flushed pink.

I take the papers the nurse hands us and help Addie to her feet. She slings the backpack over her good shoulder, and we make our way to the exit, stopping to pick up her prescription. When we leave the hospital building, the sun is nearing the horizon, and those little pink and white houses cast long shadows across the ground.

I look around for a clock. We were supposed to be back at the ship at 4:30, and I’m getting a sinkingfeeling that we might be cutting it close. The ship leaves at five.

Addie pulls her phone from the backpack. “It’s 6:10. Shoot. We’re going to be late.”

“Yeah,” I say, going through the options in my mind. We’re not going to be late. The ship is going to be gone.

“We should hurry, right? We don’t want to miss it.” She starts to walk quickly—in the wrong direction, I would like to point out.

“Addie. Stop.”

“Hurry up, Cam. We’ll get in trouble if we’re late, right? We have to do the thing in the casino again tonight.” She doesn’t even look back.

I jog to her and grasp her shoulder to slow her to a stop. “Addie. First, you’re going the wrong way. The ship docked over there.”

She lifts her hand to her forehead, blocking out the rays as she looks into the setting sun.

“And second? The ship is gone. It left at five. Remember?”

Her jaw drops open. “Fuck. What do we do now?”

I shrug. One more disaster in my life.

But as I look at Addison, I realize I’m missing something. That usual feeling of a pit in my stomach when the rug is pulled out from under me yet againjust… isn’t there. Stress isn’t forming a ball, twisting my insides into a knot of unease.

For some reason, I don’t think I mind being stuck here with Addison. Almost like if we’re together, everything is going to work out okay.

And that’s the strangest feeling of all.

17

ADDISON

To:[email protected]

From:[email protected]

Subject:Re: SAT math

Miss Anderson,

I haven’t heard back from you on tutoring for this week? Since there’s no school, Rudy has a lot of free time, and we would like to use some of that to work on his math skills. Can you get back to me on when you can do that?

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