Page 74 of End Game
“I don’t need anything from you,” I say, forcing a swallow.
“That’s fine. But what do youwant?”
Confused as to why he just won’t let this go, my emotions build higher and higher and I shove my plate away. “I can’t want anything from you.”
He pushes back from the table and licks his lips. Taking a deep breath, he blows it out slowly. “What can I do to make this easier for you? What’s my job, my role? Give me directions and be clear so I don’t fuck it up.”
“Be nice,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. “That’s the main thing.”
“I can be nice, but as far as the rest . . . I’m not gonna lie—it feels like I was forced into a game with no playbook.”
“I think that’s pretty normal,” I laugh. “If not, I’m as screwed as you.”
My hand falls on my belly, a new habit of mine, and Branch’s gaze follows the movement. When he looks back at my face, his expression is totally different.
“Come on,” he says, standing.
“Where to?”
“You told me to be nice and you also told me you wanted a ham and cheese.”
“But I made breakfast.”
“And now it’s cold because some asshole had to spend fifteen minutes rambling apologies.” With his bottom lip between his teeth, he carefully extends a hand. “Let’s go get you a sandwich.”
CHAPTER 23
LAYLA
“Hi, Layla!” Ruby, the little old lady that works in Linton’s miniscule library waves at me from the top step. “How have you been?”
“Good, thank you. How about you?”
She rambles on about her arthritis and the turnout for the preschool arts and crafts program and how it’s been low and she wants to turn it around. She goes on and on. I try to nod as best I can and seem interested and not like I’m listening to Branch standing behind me whispering that she looks like the old lady from some cartoon he used to watch as a child.
“I’m glad to hear it,” I say when I can find a moment to cut in. “We need to get going, Ruby. Take care.”
“You too. Good to see ya.” And with a wave, she disappears inside the library.
Branch and I turn the corner and start up Main Street. On each corner is a big pot fashioned to look like a basket filled with flowers. There’s a little plaque on the front of each one with the name of the citizen that volunteers their time maintaining that particular arrangement.
American flags hang off the streetlights, fluttering in the warm afternoon sun over the street. Mix in the smells ofCarlson’s Bakery and the sounds of the children two streets over at the town pool and it’s the perfect summer day.
“What’s that smell?” Branch asks, wrinkling his nose. “It smells like heaven.”
“That’s the coffee cake at Carlson’s. They use butterscotch pudding in the cake and it’s seriously divine.”
“Want to get some?”
“I just had a hot ham and cheese sandwich, a pickle spear, and a side of home fries. Do you think I need coffee cake?”
He considers this as we walk along. “Will it make you happy?”
“Yeah, but I don’t need it.”
“My job isn’t to decide what you need. It’s to make you happy.”
Blushing, I kick a pebble and watch it roll into the gutter. “I think I said it’s for you to be nice.”
