Page 21 of Hot Shot

I grab a Kölsch and toss it to her. “Oh, don’t worry—I do."

She catches it perfectly, her cheeks flushed.

The hiss of our beers opening precede us raising our cans and taking a swig. I lean against the sink, and she sets her beer down to hop on the counter across from me. I’m glad the kitchen island is between us as she crosses her ankles and picks up her beer again, looking around some more. I’m staring at the line where her calves are pressed together, her knees, her thighs disappearing into her skirt.

“So, I hear you’reCaptainDavenport?”

I scratch the back of my neck and half laugh, embarrassed I guess, despite being proud of myself. “It’s recent. Our station’s old captains came in at the same time and all seemed to retire at once, so Chief needed guys. I was surprised he tapped me. It wasn’t my turn, that’s for sure.”

“Whose was it?”

“Tate. He says he doesn’t care. I mean, he probably doesn’t. But you know how he is. Crack a joke, acts like he doesn’t care.But he went into the department when we left for college. All of us left him here. Wonder if I’ll ever stop feeling guilty about it.”

“It’s no one’s fault he didn’t get a baseball scholarship, and it’s no one’s fault that he couldn’t afford college. He doesn’t blame us.”

I nod and take a sip, even though I still feel bad about it. “Yeah, so I’ve only been in the spot for maybe six months?”

“Do you like it?”

I catch myself smiling and feel weird about it again. “I do. I like to…I don’t know. Help. I like to be the guy people want around in a crisis or when they need motivation or…this sounds so fucking weird. I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. I haven’t ever said it out loud to anybody.”

“Maybe they just never asked.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Or maybe it’s you. “I’m good under pressure—it’s part of what made me a good pitcher, I think. I could keep my cool, not get stuck in my head.”

“You’re still a pitcher. And being left-handed didn’t hurt your chances at a career in baseball either.” Her eyes are all twinkly as she takes a drink.

“No, that didn’t hurt.” I can’t help but smile as I take another too.

“Well, I’m glad for you. I’m sure you didn’t have to work when you came back from LA.”

A dry chuckle. “No, I didn’t. But I was bored out of my fucking mind in two months. If I had to go fishing one more time with Dad, I was gonna jump in the lake and let it take me.”

“I know what you mean. I spent so much time sitting around the apartment in Boston, I thought I’d lose my mind. I watchedDrag Racethree times. RegularandAll Stars.”

I try not to react to the idea of her being kept caged up like that. “Did you have many friends?”

“Not really, just through Davis. I never really fit in with them. I tried so hard, but we didn’t have the same references, you know? Like, they’d joke about some designer brand or an obscure vacation spot or whatever, and I’d just pretend I knew what was so funny. But if you’d asked me a couple months ago, I’d have lied and said I fit in just fine.”

A spark of connection strikes in my chest. “Nobody gets it,” I start, shaking my head. “LA felt like another country, especially when I first got there. I made a couple of single buddies—they wanted to go out when we could. Half the time, we’d end up at parties at these swanky houses in the hills, and I just remember so many times I’d find myself sitting there, looking at it all, wondering what the fuck I was doing there.”

“It was too much?”

“Yeah, but…I don’t know.Thatpart wasn’t my dream. It just…didn’t fit. I didn’t fit. Either way, it didn’t feel right. You know?”

“I do,” she says in such a way that I know I struck something in her. But as fast as it happened, it’s gone again, and she’s smiling. When she makes eye contact with me, she brings her beer up toward her smiling lips. “Remember that time we got married?”

I nearly choke on my beer and clear my throat, thumping my chest with my fist. “Yeah, I remember.”

The sparkle of her green eyes is visible from across the room. “I can’t believe we did that.”

The statement, so flippant, surprises me. Did she forget how we felt? I carried an engagement ring around in my pocket for months that summer, waiting for the divine to give me a reason to think I could have her. So when we were in Vegas and she suggested we get married for one night, I got down on one knee and put that ring on her finger. When I said my vows in front of an Austin Powers impersonator in a room of floor-to-ceilingshag carpet, she cried so hard she couldn’t even say her vows. Instead, she told me she didn’t want to go, that there had to be a way for us to be together. She begged and she cried and I kissed her to soothe her. Austin, that shitass, pronounced us man and wife without giving Cass a vows do-over.

“What are you smiling at?” she asks, taking a sip with merry eyes.

I sniff and shake my head. “I remember it different, I guess. I can one hundred percent believe we did that.”

She laughs, her cheeks eternally pink. “I guess if I think about it, I can too. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t gone to Oxford. I wonder what would have happened if we’d stayed together? Maybe this would have been my house too.”

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