Page 79 of The Art of Catching Feelings

“Yes,” he said. “Emphatically yes.”

—

It took a little more time to leave than they’d expected, because when Chris went back to say goodbye to the kids he ended up getting roped into another round of pictures and autographs, a few parents who’d arrived wanting to talk to him about how the Battery were doing this year. By the time they finally made it back to the car, it felt like they’d escaped a bank heist, like they’d really gotten away with something.

Daphne had already given Chris back his keys, and he held them up, dangling them from his finger. “I’ll drive this time.”

She was only too relieved—it had been stressful enough driving the both of them out here, although she really couldn’t put any of that on him. He hadn’t even berated her for stopping at a few yellow lights sheknewshe could’ve made it through.

The blast of air conditioning was welcome when Chris started up the car, and he turned it up. “Feel free to adjust the air however you want it,” he said. “And the radio.”

Daphne didn’t really care what they listened to, but she knew he liked music, and it would be nice to have something on in the car. She pressed the preset buttons, trying to find a good station, before clicking up one digit at a time until she heard something decent.

Where were they going without ever knowing the way…

The song was vaguely familiar, and suddenly it hit her. “Oh my god,” she said. “Isn’t this your song?”

He turned to look at her, a crease between his brows. “My song?”

“Your double rainbow. You said that I’d know it—”

And then it really hit her. She wasn’t supposed to know about that. He’d toldDuckieabout the song; he’d never told her. Panic clenched her stomach, and she knew it was written all over her face—her eyes wide, her breath coming shallow and fast as she sat, frozen in the passenger seat of his car, unable to say anything.

For a moment it was like Chris couldn’t speak, either. He’d already pulled out of the parking space but had stopped now at the exit of the Little League field, the car idling as they looked at each other, that fuckingsongplaying on in the background. He had the most awful, still expression on his face, and when he spoke it was barely above a whisper.

“Duckie?”

THIRTY-SIX

“I can explain,” Daphne said, then winced at how cliché that sounded. “I mean, it’s not what—”

“Holy shit,” he said. “Holy shit.”

Any slight hope Daphne had clung to that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, maybe he’d behappyeven, died with the way he said those two words.

“Chris—”

“Whatisthis?” he asked. “Like what is even going on?”

She could do this. This was what she’d wanted—a chance to lay it all out for him, to plead her case. She knew it looked bad, but if he only heard her out, she was positive she could make him see that none of it had been intentional, that she hadn’t meant for it to go this far.

“It started with that DM, right? I was trying to say I was sorry for heckling you. Only I accidentally left out the part where I actually said I was the heckler, and then youreplied, which I hadn’t expected, and we started talking and—”

“I don’t give a fuck about that part,” he said. “I know what happened with that part. But then you met me—as Daphne—knowing full well that you were also Duckie. We’ve been talkingformonths, we’ve been—” He broke off, taking a hard swallow. “And the whole time, you knew.”

Behind them, someone honked, and Chris startled like he’d forgotten where they were.Daphnehad forgotten where they were—already the Little League park and the kids and the Popsicles seemed so far away. He bit out a curse under his breath as he eased the car into traffic, heading back in the direction of his condo. She didn’t know what she’d thought—she certainly hadn’t expected he’d leave her on the side of the road right there—but she tried to take it as an encouraging sign that he was heading back to his place.

Then again, the brief pause didn’t seem to do anything to make things better. If anything, when he spoke again, his words came out harder and colder than before.

“From the very start, you’ve known all of it—about my brother, about what I was going through. You sat across from me to ask softball questions about that one stupid incident, and the whole time you knewexactlywhy you’d made me cry.”

He’d never phrased it that way, she realized.Shehad, in her guilt over it all, but he’d always brushed away any of her attempts to apologize for it, or made a sideways reference or joke without outright calling it what it was. She hadn’t known if it was because he didn’t see the incident that way, or because he just didn’t want to make her feel bad about it. She supposed now she had her answer.

“That interview was the first time I met you. I thought about saying something, but I couldn’t—I had a job to do, you had a job to do, it would’ve been—”

“Is that what it was about? The job?”

“No.”God, she was fucking this all up. “I didn’t even know about the sideline reporter gig then. And when Layla told me, I didn’t even know if Iwantedit. I was nervous about working thatclosely with you. But I think that’s also why I did want it, why I ended up taking it.”

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