Page 91 of The Longshot

We’ve all had our fair share of exes who we want to avoid at any and all costs, but when it comes to Simon and Chelsie, I can’t help but assume that things go much deeper than that.

Chelsie’s been so reluctant to speak about him with me, and frankly, I’ve never wanted to prompt her enough for an answer.

The two of us had a turbulent start, I’ll be the first to admit it, but now things have been undeniably blissful. Because of that, I refuse to rock the boat. Just like I can’t when it comes to grilling her on her mum and dad. Instead, I gently place my hand on the top of her knee, and as I rub in a soothing motion, it’s enough to force her bouncing to come to a stop and her eyes to glance up at me.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs under her breath. “Force of habit.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” I peer away from the motorway to look into her eyes—her worried eyes. “I’m just wondering if you’re alright, that’s all, love.”

“Yeah.” Chelsie re-adjusts in her seat. “I’m okay.” She looks out of the window. “I promise.”

Promise is a big word, but if I’ve come to learn anything about Chelsie Windsor, it’s that she doesn’t use it lightly. She’s made several promises to me over the course of our relationship—situationship, so far that she’s never once broken:

I promise I’ll come to your next game.

She was the first one in the stands.

I promise I’ll bake you any dessert you want.

She made me one of everything.

I promise I’ll trust you whenever you ask me to.

She always has.

A Chelsie promise is one that I know better than to debate with. Therefore, despite my internal reluctance, I accept her truth as fact and continue to drive.

“But are you sure you’re okay with this?” Chelsie speaks up after a stint of silence, briskly turning over her shoulder as her hair sways against the seat. “I mean, we can go back home if you want? We’re not too far, we can always turn around?—”

“Do you want to go back home?” I respond with, knowing that her generous offer is merely just an underlying attempt for her to back out of the fact that she did, after all, take me up on my offer. Now, here we are, driving four hours up north to see her parents.

“I don’t know.” She wipes her clammy touch on top of her bare leg. “I just…” She’s beyond frazzled. “I just hope you didn’t feel pressured to come, you know? Like you had no other choice.”

“Baby girl,” I rebut the thought, lowering the radio. “I offered, did I not? I said I would come.”

“Yes, you did.” She looks down. “I just… hope that you didn’t feel obligated to, that’s all.”

“I feel the complete opposite,” I desperately attempt to reassure her. “Like I told you, Chels.” I reach for her hand, grasping it into mine. “I want to be there for you. I will be there for you.”

She faintly smiles, tucking her hair behind her ear as she squeezes my palm. “I just hope that this isn’t too much. I mean, it’s a lot of driving, Gary.”

I lean back into my seat, making myself comfortable. “Well, it’s a good thing we’re staying the night then, isn’t it?”

We are staying the night—no ifs, ands, or buts about it. I refuse to make an eight-hour journey in one day. Hell, driving fifteen minutes up the street feels like a trek to me—but Chelsie doesn’t need to know that. I’d drive up and down this country twice over for just a single smile from her lips, and I’d do it over and over, happily.

Though, when it comes to tonight’s sleeping arrangements, I can’t help but question where I’ll end up, but for now I need to suppress those thoughts. After all, I’ve still got a long drive ahead of me…

“Thank you,” Chelsie’s voice is as soft as her lips as she plants a tender kiss on my cheek. I stare over at her as she mouths. “I mean it.”

I smile, mouthing back. “I know you do.”

CHELSIE

“Mum… Dad.” I’m so beside myself with nerves as I gesture to my right. “This is Gary Wilkinson. Gary, this is my mum, Sarah, and my dad, Mark.”

This introduction feels awfully reminiscent of meeting Gary’s parents last week.

The major difference?

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