Page 66 of Saving the Halfback

I swung by Lachlan’s place to pick him up. “Morning, sunshine,” I said around a mouthful of pancakes.

Lachlan winked at me, and then his eyes landed on the food. “Are those your mom’s pancakes?”

“Yep. Wha— Hey!” He snatched my last pancake from where it sat on my lap.

“Too slow.” He took a bite and moaned. “Tastes like maple syrup.”

“She puts it in the batter.” I glared at him. “I licked that,” I lied.

He grinned. “Is that why it tastes so sweet?”

I shook my head. “How was your weekend?” I asked as I pulled onto the main road.

“Stayed up way too late, got way too high, and played way too many video games. Talked way too long on the phone.”

I winced. “Sorry about that. I couldn’t sleep, thinking too much.”

“That’s why I smoke,” he said. “Hey, let’s stop for coffee.”

“We don’t have time, plus you shouldn’t be drinking that before practice.” I eyed him. “Are you high right now?”

“Nope. I’m always clean and functioning for football. But by lunch, I’ll be evenly baked. It’s why I choose not to drive to and from school.”

“Thank you for not driving,” I said, and Lachlan shrugged it off. I wanted to ask him if the smoking helped with flashbacks. In fact, I found that I wanted to ask Lachlan a lot of stuff, but thinking about the memories and seeing them differently was so new.

Lachlan began going through the center console of the truck.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking,” he replied.

“Looking for what?”

“Snacks. Why don’t you have any snacks in here? Who doesn’t keep snacks in their car when they drive practically an hour to school?”

I shrugged.

“I smell something good.” He looked around, trying to locate the scent, when his eyes landed on the Tupperware container on the back seat, and he gasped. “You’re holding out on me!”

“Lachlan, no! They’re for after practice.”

“Did your mom make them?” he asked with a pout.

“Yes.”

“What flavor are they?”

I smiled at him. “Coffee caramel.”

He whimpered. “Just one? I’ll share.”

“Fine,” I said, barely holding back a giggle. “Just one, though.”

He practically dove for the container like a rabid beast. Once the first bite hit his tongue, he slowed down and took his time savoring the muffin. “Damn, Bailey, this is so good.”

He had lied, though—he didn’t share a single bite. I had to snatch the container away before he went in for seconds, holding it safely on my lap the rest of the drive.

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