Page 43 of Rematch
“Yeah, you too.”
Audrey followed me back to my car.
I opened the door for her and helped her climb up into the passenger seat.
During the ride, she leaned her head against the passenger window, the warmth of the drinks likely winding her down from the excitement of the night. I didn’t mind the silence. I was just glad to be in her presence for a little while longer.
“Thank you for inviting me tonight,” Audrey said when we pulled up to her house.
“Thank you for coming. Seeing you out there in the crowd…that meant a lot to me.”
Audrey smiled. “Of course. I, um…” She hesitated for a moment, the words lingering on her lips but reluctant to comeout. She reached over the center dash and grabbed my hand. Squeezing it, she said, “I’m proud of you.”
Her words, kind and genuine, swung through me like a wrecking ball, knocking nearly all my tough exterior down. It’s been a while since someone has said those words to me and meant it for something I’m doing right.
“Thank you,” I murmured, returning the squeeze.
She offered me one last smile as she released my hand. “Let me know when you get in,” she said.
“I will,” I promised.
She climbed out the car and headed up the walkway, her curls bouncing with every step.
The scent of her perfume lingered on the leather seats, a souvenir of her presence. It’d hold me over until the next time I saw her.
Leaning back in my seat, I realized that for the first time in my life, I was glad I’d taken my father’s advice.
Chapter 17
Audrey
The mouth-watering smell of eggs, bacon, seasoned potatoes, and sausage woke me out of my deep slumber.
Last night, I passed out the moment my body hit the mattress. The liquor in my stomach, and the memory of my hand in Max’s, lulled my fuzzy brain right to sleep.
Rolling over, I grabbed my phone and checked my notifications.An “I got home safely” from Gianna, a “good morning” from Carter and a few spam notifications from miscellaneous apps. But the one that made me smile was the bubble with Max’s name atop it.
Max:Just got in. Following the doctor’s orders now.
I hoped he wasn’t lying and actually took some pain medicine like he was supposed to.
I lay my phone back on the nightstand and dragged myself out of bed. Quietly, I crept down the steps and peeked inside the kitchen.
Dad was standing over the stove, stirring potatoes around in a skillet. Papa stood beside him at the counter, slicing up an avocado. A bandana was wrapped around his head, and the small grin I’ve missed was back.
Their deep voices and soft laughter meshed with the simmering of the pot and soft thuds of the knife.
It’s been a minute since I’ve seen them cooking together. When I was younger, before Dad got sick, it was a daily occurrence. In the mornings before school. On the weekends when I woke up. Whenever I came down to visit from college. It was practically a staple in our household. Words couldn’t explain how happy I was to see its return.
“Good morning, baby girl!” Dad exclaimed when he saw me hovering in the doorway. “How was your night?”
“Good.” I walked inside and gave them both a kiss on their cheeks. “Can I help with anything?”
“Nah, we got it. You just sit down and relax.”
Nodding, I made a beeline for the refrigerator. I pulled out the jug of orange juice.
“How was Max’s match?” Papa asked, glancing over his shoulder.
