Page 44 of Tell Me Again

“No, you fucking idiot, I’m not dying. It’s just family shit, like I told you. My brother’s an ass, and he... Ah, not over the phone, Coop. Fuck. I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“I’m, uh, supposed to be off tomorrow,” I say, and there’s this sick feeling in my stomach as I hope to whatever fucking gods might be listening that she doesn’t tell me that’s not the case. “I mean, unless—”

“Oh, that’s right. Tomorrow’s Thursday. Shit, I’m fucking done today. Friday—I’ll tell you Friday. It’s a fucking shitshow, though, Coop, I’m just warning you now. My family—shit, there’s a reason I never head back home.”

Home for her is Kansas, I think? But I’ll admit I don’t really know much. She doesn’t talk about her family—ever, really. And I guess there’s a good reason for that.

“Friday, then, yeah. I mean, you know if you need me tomorrow, I’ll—”

“Coop?”

I stop, and there’s a flurry of something in my chest as she says her next words.

“Don’t you dare come in tomorrow. Even if I call and beg, your answer’s no. Got it?”

“But—”

“You’re not the one who needs to carry everything all the time. It’s my fucking diner, it’s my fucking job.” There’s another short laugh, and her tone is almost teasing as she adds, “Besides, you’ve got like a date or something tomorrow, don’t you?”

Ah, fuck. Fucking Angie.

“And no, Angie didn’t tell me. I can fucking see and hear, you know,” Mel says, and I swear it seems like she can read my mind sometimes.

“God, Mel, it’s not . . . I . . .”

“Don’t come in tomorrow,” she repeats, and she laughs again. “And have a good time, Coop!”

“It’s not a date, Mel! He’s just a friend!”

Shit, she’s already hung up.

Ah, fuck.

I stuff my phone back into my pocket, groan as I lift the battery, and then start off down the road again.

***

Amy’s Gas and General Store is my next stop. And not because I’m there to buy anything. It’s just that by the time I get there, after maybe another ten minutes of walking, I pretty much can’t feel my arms anymore. So I stop, still along the side of the road, and set the battery down—again.

Two miles down, one to go.

It still fucking sucks, but I’m almost there. Kinda.

There’s the sound of a car coming up behind me, and I step slightly farther off onto the shoulder as I stretch my arms. The car pulls right up alongside me and stops. It’s a nice, shiny new silver sedan.

Shit.

The window’s rolling down, and I can see him inside the car, and I just want to disappear. Crawl under a rock. Deny that I’m actually here on the side of the road, still a mile from home and with fucking sore arms because I’m too proud to have called and asked for a ride.

Yet at the same time, there’s this shiver that runs through me. It’s excitement and something warm. And it’s followed by some other feeling I can’t really explain, but god, it feels good.

“Hey, man, are you...” He trails off as he leans over a bit and glances at the ground, where the battery sits.

Yup. I’m hauling a forty-pound battery with me as I walk home from town. It’s what I do for fucking exercise. God, I’m such a dumbass.

He looks back up at me, both eyebrows arched. And fuck, it’s a sexy look. I’m not sure he has any not-sexy looks, actually.

I just shrug because my throat’s a bit dry, and he frowns. Before I can protest, he’s put the car in park, popped the trunk, and jumped out. I’m expecting him to say something reproachful—remind me how he said to call if I needed a ride, tell me how much of an idiot I am, or just... something like that.

---