Page 88 of Butterfly Effect

I lower my voice. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

“About your mom.”

“Because I didn’t want to have this conversation with you.”

My eyes go cartoonishly cross-eyed as the heel of my hand bounces off my forehead.

Of course, why didn’t I think of that?

She really thinks I’m stupid. Can’t blame her, though. I am a total idiot for this woman.

“Makes sense,” I surrender. “Am I allowed to spoon you?”

A long pause follows.

She answers without looking back. “Only if you keep your dick away from my ass.”

“You’d like that too much,” I mutter.

“What’d you say?”

“Nothing.”

Loose waves move aside at my hand, and I nestle up until our torsos and legs line up. Gabe’s cool, exposed skin gives me goosebumps. I wiggle my hips.

“Will you cut it out?”

“It exists, okay?” My arm tightens around her waist. “Can we sleep?”

“Fine.”

Her breaths grow deep and slow in the next few minutes, but I can’t sleep a wink.

All I can think about is how Gabe’s wearing a mask, too. Hers is the opposite of mine: poised, perfect, held together for her dad. Protecting herself from any more hurt. I’m dying to know what’s underneath the athletic accolades and career wins, and imagine what I’d do if she ever let me see it.

Teary goodbyes in the morning have the pit of my stomach growing.

I stand by the Rover, literally kicking rocks. Watching them feels like an invasion of privacy. I curse to myself while averting my eyes, drawing my attention to the unkempt lawn and land surrounding the greenhouse. In the daylight, it looks worse than the night before, despite my best efforts to tidy the line of hay bales.

The initial leg of the drive back to Toronto is eerily quiet, except for Gabe’s typing. She switches between checking the connection on her phone and drafting emails on her laptop. The GPS breaks the monotony by announcing there’s traffic ahead on the 401.

“Ouch.” I move the screen to view our route: a crimson line nearly the rest of the way. “Since we’re trapped together for an extra hour, wanna try to have a decent conversation?”

“That probably requires decent company.”

I give her a suggestive smirk. “Oh, I see. Youwannabe indecent?—”

“Shut up, Wade.”

“No can do. You gonna tell me what happened with your mom?”

She snaps her laptop closed, shooting poison darts through an angry glance. “You don’t know anything about me, Boehner! Quit acting like you do.”

My heart clenches. She’s not wrong. I gulp.

“And what’syourdeal? You went sullen and distant the minute we got there.”

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