Page 93 of Someone to Have
Rhett holds up his hand for a high-five as she approaches. “Dude, thanks for coming to the game yesterday.”
“I wouldn’t miss you scoring the winning goal for anything,” she assures him, her smile bright.
“Uncle Eric came up with that play.”
“It was a good one.” Taylor meets my gaze, and the light in her blue eyes dims slightly. “Congratulations, Coach.”
She holds up her hand again, and I give her the lamest high-five in the history of high-fives. Rhett doesn’t notice, leading us down the stairwell and out the back to where my truck is parked, reciting a play-by-play recap of the periods she missed.
“I wish I could have been there for more of it,” she says, and I can tell she means it. “Rehearsal ran longer than scheduled.” I wonder if that had anything to do with Limpdick wanting to keep her from making the game. I wouldn’t put it past him.
“How’s the play going?” Rhett asks. I’m impressed that he’s thinking of someone besides himself.
Her smile softens as she climbs into the passenger seat, as if she also recognizes his effort. “It went pretty well. Only a couple of cast members missed their cues, and the lead actor flubbed a line, but otherwise, we were great.”
“I bet they’re super sad they didn’t give you the lead,” Rhett says.
She shakes her head. “I’m delivering my lines without wanting to hurl, so that works for me.”
“No hurling is huge. Mike’s parents bought tickets, and they got one for me too. Even if you suck, I’ll be clapping epic loud.”
“That means a lot, Rhett,” she says with total sincerity before glancing in my direction. I don’t say anything. Of course, I have a ticket. But I’m feeling surly and small, so that’s how I’m acting.
As we merge onto the highway, Rhett takes a pair of headphones out of his backpack, adjusts them on his head, and closes his eyes. I’m used to it. He typically falls asleep listening to music on the way to Denver each week. I don’t mind. He needs time to chill before visiting his mom. Her inability to handle being both a parent and an alcoholic is what led to her stay at the facility. Although we haven’t discussed his feelings outright, I know from my own childhood that they’re likely complicated and confusing.
Most of last week’s snow has melted, leaving only dingy gray embankments on either side of the road. Taylor gazes out the window at the houses, businesses, and bare trees we pass.
I’m attuned to her every movement, and wish I could read her mind. I wish I were a better man and could ask about her date. I’d tell her that even if I’m not the type of guy who deserves her, I know with every ounce of conviction inside me that Limpdick isn’t either.
“Jen’s going to love the house,” she says quietly.
“He can’t hear a thing with those headphones on,” I answer, which is a weak response to her comment. Surly and small, that’s me.
“It’s an amazing thing you’re doing for them,” she continues like I hadn’t spoken. The plan is for me to also talk to Jen about a permanent move to Skylark during this visit, but does Taylor really think my mood is a result of concern over my sister’s reaction to a house?
I’m about to bite off a comment, but the words get stuckin my throat because, damn it, I’m worried as hell about my sister’s reaction.
How does this woman know me so well?
“Even if she doesn’t want the house, I can fix it up and flip it. Or your dad said he’d buy it from me.”
“He did?” She lets out a huff of laughter. “Wow. You’re in big-time with the Maxwell fam.”
Just not the one I care most about.
“Hey, Tinkerbell, I’m happy for you.”
She frowns, not following my convoluted train of thought.
“Seeing you and Limpdick on a date Friday night. It’s what we were working toward.”
“Is it?” The question comes out in a whisper of breath. I wish she’d turn so I could read her expression. Well, unless those big summer-sky eyes are smitten and dreamy over another man. Don’t need to see that.
“Whether or not my sister moves to Skylark…” I start, unwilling to address the emotions that have plagued me as I consider my future. Knowing Taylor isn’t figuring me into her plans makes it simple. “I’ll be gone by March first. Maybe earlier.”
Her gaze remains fixed out the front window. “I didn’t realize there was a hard end date to your time here.”
There’s not, but it’s a believable excuse. “We both knew this was…temporary.”
