Page 94 of Race to Me

My father.

Thirty-six

My surprised eyes roam to the other familiar faces of the group behind him. Mom, an angry looking Warren—my supposed future husband if I would have followed my parents’ wishes—and lastly, his parents.

My father mutters the word ‘slut’ just as Warren looks away from me. His parents are already turning their backs before we can make it away.

Against all of my will, my father’s words make my face fall. I tilt my head downward, only to feel Foster’s fingers curling under my chin to lift me up.

I look back over my shoulder once more as Foster protectively guides my body outside, my eyes keeping a magnetic hold on my mother’s. But just like at the football game, she disappears from sight.

The city streets, dazzling with lights and booming with the sounds of laughter and conversation, can’t distract me from the racing, sick feeling in my heart.

“I’m so sorry,” I say quietly, my voice rasped.

Foster doesn’t speak; he continues to guide me until we’re down the street and away from them, the stupid restaurant, and the fish heads. Carefully, he pulls me in for a tight, sweet hug that thaws my soul the moment his long, sturdy arms wrap around me.

“Don’t apologize. It’s them, Skyler,” He looks down at me, his eyes wandering around my face. “You don’t have to apologize for them. They are nothing.Nothing. I don’t want this to ruin your night, Sky. This night is about you.”

I nod, taking in a few matched breathes with him to calm myself. I can’t believe how worked up I got just from seeing them. That sense of control I’ve gained since I left them now feels like a complete and total lie.

“Let’s go.” I feign a smile, gripping his hand.

Foster leans down. “I would race you to the car, but you’re in heels.” Then, his hand slides around my side to tickle me, and when I let out a snort that bounces off the tall, brick walls surrounding us, I blush.

“So fucking cute,” He laughs.

My hand tugs his towards the alley we came from, but he gently pulls me to keep walking straight. “We’re taking the next block down to get to the car.”

Walking hand in hand down the darkening street is romantic, and when we turn down the next road, all I can see are dangling lights sparkling from overhead, tied to the buildings and drooping down to create a canopy of lights with rows upon rows of flowers spread out along the brick walls.

“I forgot this was here!” I exclaim, covering my mouth with my hand.

Miami’s flower market. Mom used to take me here when I was little so she could get fresh flowers for the house. I think about seeing her, and my heart hurts a little.

“I didn’t know which ones were your favorite or else I would have gotten you some when I picked you up, so I figured this was the next best thing.” Foster admits. I love this sweet side of him.

“Any flower you bring me would be my favorite.” I tell him. The smell is heavenly as we walk past the tulips, daisies, and daffodils. My gaze lingers around the roses.

“Get any bouquet you want,” he whispers in my ear. I trail my fingers along the silky, delicate rose petals.

“Can we …” I turn to him. “Can we take a picture right here, so I remember this moment?” I know it’s cheesy, but we’ve never taken a picture together.

He pulls his phone and turns it towards us. Before he can press the button, a young woman with long brown hair jumps in front of us. “Want me to take it?” she offers with a happy smile.

“I’d love that!” A cheesy grin spreads over my face as I hand the woman his phone. I angle Foster beside me. She snaps a few and hands it back over.

There’s one with Foster’s arms around me, one with a kiss on the cheek, then one with a kiss on the lips. The backdrop is a trolley of roses and a rustic brick building lit up by twinkling lights.

My favorite photo is that sweet, simple moment before he plants his lips on mine. Where I’m looking up at him and he’s looking at me. I set the frozen memory as his background.

“I can get one of you guys!” I offer, gesturing back to the small crowd that’s waiting on her.

“Aiden! Eliana, Pat, Rose!” she calls out, wrangling her kids and pulling her husband close. “Say cheese!” the woman sings, and while everyone else is looking at the camera, her husband is looking at her, smiling with adoration.

She grabs her phone and thanks us, but before turning away she says, “Get a dozen yellow. Trust me!” With that, she winks, walking off with her husband and children.

Following her advice, I decide on the yellow roses that matched her dress. Plucking a deep red rose that’s nearly black, I hand it to Foster. “You deserve a flower too!” I tell him, laughing when he playfully rolls his eyes at me.

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