Page 73 of All Your Pucking Secrets

There’s a weightiness to his tone that I’m not ready to address yet, so I turn away from the painting and instead check out the photographs on the cabinets. There’s one of him with Soraya at her high school graduation, and another of her in the stands at one of his games, wearing a shirt with the same name and number as the one he sent to me.

Frowning, I scan the other photographs. There are another couple of him and Soraya, but none of his parents. Behind me, the pan sizzles, and the aroma of chicken joins the others.

“Would you like some chicken and rice once it’s done?” Tyler asks.

I stroll to the kitchen, moving slowly because it’s so strange seeing him prepare a meal. I didn’t even know he could cook.

“Only if there’s enough,” I say. “I’m not very hungry.”

I’m too anxious for that.

“There will be plenty,” he assures me. “Just let me add some vegetables.”

My eyebrows rise as he grabs a pepper, a stalk of broccoli, and a green leafy vegetable from the refrigerator. He rinses them and begins to dice the pepper, adding it bit by bit to the chicken, which is frying with the onion.

“That looks healthy,” I remark.

He nods. “Rice, chicken, and vegetables is a great combination for my lean protein intake and getting good carbs into my system. I try to have it, along with a protein shake or a smoothie, after most of my practices and games.”

“Makes sense.” What doesn’t make sense is this inane conversation. Why can’t I get to the point?

“How come you’re here?” he asks.

I bite my lip, pleased he’s too focused on chopping broccoli to notice my nerves. “I want to know why you did what you did back in our senior year.”

His head snaps up and his eyes lock on mine. His hand stops instantly. “You’re ready to listen?”

“I am.”

“Okay.” His nostrils flare as he draws in a long breath. “I’ll tell you, but only once lunch is finished. I don’t want to do this while I’m distracted.”

I’m almost disappointed by that. Hearing him out might be easier while he has a task to distract him, but I understand his reasoning. He’s worked hard to get me to this point, so he won’t want to ruin it by giving the conversation less than his complete concentration.

“Can I help?” I ask, hoping to speed him up. Being in his private space, with the necklace and the painting to remind me of our shared past, is messing with me. The sooner I can leave, the better.

“Could you shred the spinach?” he asks, gesturing to the leafy vegetable on the counter beside the chopping board.

“Sure.”

“Great. Just put it straight into the pan.”

I shred one leaf of spinach quickly, making sure to remove any gross bits. It wilts as I add it to the pan. “All of it?”

He glances over. “Maybe a third.”

I separate out a third and put the rest back in the refrigerator, then make quick work of tearing it into small pieces and mixing it into the chicken, onion, and bell peppers. When Tyler adds the broccoli, he places a lid over the pan, and it fills with steam.

We stand in awkward silence, neither of us quite sure what to say. Eventually, he mixes a protein shake and I watch while he drinks it, sipping from my glass of water just to have something to do.

When the chicken and vegetables are done, he portions them out onto plates, creating two huge servings. One is bigger than the other, but he’s definitely forgotten how much normal people eat because the amount he’s dished up could cover my lunch and dinner. Once he adds a scoop of rice, there’s really no chance of me finishing the meal.

“Thanks,” I say, following him as he carries his plate to the sofa. There aren’t any chairs, so I sit as far from him on the sofa as I’m able to. With the coffee table in front of us, the setup reminds me of the room where I used to tutor him.

Tyler sets his cutlery on his plate, and the plate on the table. He turns to face me.

“Let me start by saying that I’m sorry for what I did to you. I know that an apology isn’t worth much, especially not this many years too late, but I wish more than anything that I hadn’t hurt you.”

“Why did you?” I ask, wrapping my hand around the fork to ground myself in the present. I couldn’t risk my mind slipping into the past.

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