Page 30 of The Rebound
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“It’s too expensive,” I say, holding up the price tag so Walker can take a better look. “Honestly, this is highway robbery.”
After I met him at the coffee shop, my brother kindly offered to take me to the local baby supply store to pick out a car seat. I initially objected, reminding him that I don’t even own a car. But then he reminded me thathehas a car, adding that he’s also going to get me my own car for my birthday, which is ... just too much.
But if I know anything about my brother, it’s that resistance is futile. You can’t argue with the man. Unless you have the energy of a thousand suns, and I’m feeling pretty burned out as it is.
Walker blinks at the price, utterly unfazed. “That’s not even remotely too much.”
“Stop bragging,” I grumble, dropping the price tag to cross my arms.
But that doesn’t stop Walker from buying the dang thing because, as he says, “It’s got the best online rating.” Minutes later, he’s loading it into his car.
I can tell he feels bad about the whole Saint thing, as relieved as he must be that I finally listened to him. When I told him it was over, he saw my red-rimmed eyes and wrapped me in a hug, asking no further questions. I couldn’t help but appreciate that.
Later, when Walker is driving us back to the complex, he turns to me with a serious expression. Even more so than usual.
“You know I’m here for you, right? I’m on your team, Kin.”
The persistent ache in my chest that began this morning subsides a little. Walker is here for the long haul. If anyone is going to look out for me and my kid, it’ll be him.
“I know. Thanks, Walker.”
And maybe it’s selfish—short-sighted, even—but I can’t help but wish that I could have just one more Boston Titan on my team. Specifically, the one with the sweet words and even sweeter kisses. But I know for all parties involved, it’s better off this way.
For the baby, it has to be.
10
SAINT
Whoever invented running was a complete and utter sadist. Don’t get me wrong—it’s an excellent way to stay in shape during a long off-season. But at the same time ... fuck this.
No, seriously. Fuck it.
After I sprint through the final stretch of my hour-long route, my worn Nikes slow to a regular walking pace at the park across the street from my building complex. I flop down on an empty bench to catch my breath, stretching my legs in front of me with a groan. I’m gonna feel this one for at least a week.
I pull my phone out of my running armband and pause the playlist, now on its second play-through. Not that I actually heard any of it. A morning run was meant to clear my head, but instead it just made it impossible to ignore my thoughts. Thoughts of Kinley, to no one’s surprise, played on a constant loop.
It’s like my brain is jammed in place, stuck on the expression on her soft face the last time we were in the same room together. She was so pale, as if all the warmth we’d shared the night before had been sucked right out of her. And then when she said we couldn’t be together again ... I don’t know. It just didn’t seem like her. She’s usually so present, but this time she was a million miles away with a faraway, almost sad look in her normally bright eyes. A painful pinch had stabbed through my chest at her words.
My phone vibrates with an incoming text. It takes me a second to realize who the number belongs to, but when I do, I frown. It’s the girl I was supposed to hook up with before I met Kinley.
Hey hottie. You up for any fun tonight?
Is it weird that I have zero interest in getting horizontal with some stranger? The old me would have jumped all over that. Now, though? I’m honestly just confused. All I want is for Kinley to talk to me and tell me where we stand.
A nagging sensation pulls at my gut. Is this really the end of us? I don’t know if I can accept that. My phone stares back at me from where it sits in my hand like I’m supposed to know what to do about it.
This is so unlike me. I’m not a thinker ... I’m a doer. So I need todosomething.
With adrenaline and endorphins still flooding my veins, I pound out a message I’ll probably regret later.
I’m at the park if you want to talk.
It’s a simple invitation, one that I hope won’t scare Kinley away more than I already have. I just need her to talk to me. I need her to trust me. Whatever the hell is going on, I know we can figure it out.
We’ve developed such an easy rapport, right from the moment we met. Surely, talking is what we need to do. Swapping sentences and words and truths with each other. And while these aren’t sentiments I’ve felt, like ever, for a woman, I know it’s what we need to do. Maybe then I’ll stop obsessing like a heartbroken teenager.
