Page 148 of Butterfly Effect

“I’m not white,” she corrects.

“Apologies, my desi queen.”

A throat clears behind us.

“Hey, Wade.”

The volume of Gabe’s hair blocks my view, and I loosen my hold around her waist. She slides to stand on the cement floor.

Vanessa tucks a thick chocolate curl behind her ear. “I thought that was you.”

“I—hey.” My heart drops into my churning stomach imagining what’s going on in Gabe’s head right now. I find her hand and squeeze. “Um, this is Vanessa…”

Damn. I don’t know her last name.

She extends a hand. “…Dearborn. Vanessa Dearborn.”

“Gabe Finch,” she answers back.

“Oh my gosh, I’m such a fan!” Vanessa gushes. “Loved watching your coverage of the season so far. It’s been a good season, huh?”

The paddle handle twists in my grip. “It has been.”

There’s no malice or deceit in her voice or eyes. “You look really happy.”

I pump Gabe’s hand twice, hidden behind the panel of her wool coat. “I am.”

“That’s good to hear.”

An awkward lull passes. “What are you doing here?”

“Just waiting for?—”

“Hey, babe.” A suited boy-next-door type sidles up and winds an arm around her waist. Sun-bleached blond waves I once yearned to touch hover over his broad shoulders, framing a tanned face. His familiar ocean-blue gaze throws my heart rate into a tailspin. “Yooo, Boehner!”

Memories I cast away years ago resurface as he pulls me into a hug. They curdle in my gut, buried so deep I almost don’t recognize them. I’d managed to avoid the thought of Malcolm Montgomery for as long as I could.

“Hey, Mal.”

“It’s been a while, man. Just got traded from Dallas two weeks ago.”

“Oh, yeah. I heard about that.”

“Just in time to be able to play in the postseason.”

“You two know each other?” Vanessa cuts in.

“Know each other?” Malcolm guffaws. “We played at Harvard together.” His playful glance goes serious when it reaches mine. “This was my boy.”

A shiver gallops down my spine.

My boy.

“Oh, my God! That’s right.” Gabe looks between us. “Weren’t you two roommates at one point?”

“Yep, until I got drafted. Crazy times, eh, Wade?”

“Yep,” I echo through a nervous chuckle. “Crazy times.”

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