by Mariah Dietz
Her eyes dance with mischief joining the sarcasm. But before she can reply, Dad approaches us and pats my shoulder. “This is looking great,” he says. “Debra said she doesn’t have any more projects for us today.” He rubs his hands together. “Why don’t we get some lunch?”
Rose smiles. “It was wonderful meeting you, but I have a prior engagement, and unfortunately, have to be going.”
Jealousy burns in my chest, recalling Arlo telling me she hasn’t been dating or seeing anyone since last year. I didn’t realize until this moment how much assurance and confidence I’d found in hearing that.
Dad looks from me to Rose. “That’s too bad. It was nice meeting you, Rose.”
“I should probably get going as well,” I say. “We had some holes in our defense last night, and I need to go over the tape from the game.”
Dad slowly looks between us again before nodding. “Sure. Sure. You’ve met your time allotment with your old man. I get it.”
“I told you, I’ll see you come February,” I tell him.
He laughs. “That’s right, after football season.” He turns his attention back to Rose. “Drive safe. Rose, I hope we’ll get to spend time together again, next time without the manual labor.”
She shakes his hand. “With my sister as your campaign adviser, I have no doubt I’ll be attending your election celebration party.”
Dad smiles. “There are a lot of ways that this could go. I don’t want to get my hopes up too soon.”
“My sister’s intelligence is only contested by her determination. You have nothing to be concerned about. Have a great day.” She turns away without looking at me or saying another word.
Dad releases a whoosh of breath. “That’s her, huh?”
I follow her with my gaze. “That’s her.”
“I had no idea it was Bill’s daughter when you told me.”
“Would it have changed anything?”
He shrugs. “I’m not sure. She’s beautiful.”
“That she is.”
“She comes from an accomplished family and has a good support system.”
My attention cuts from Rose saying goodbye to Anna to my dad, wondering what he’s saying. One of the reasons I respect his opinions so much is because he doesn’t give a shit about money or bloodlines.
Dad blinks, a visible frown forming. “I don’t want to tell you what to do, Son. You have a lot of goals and dreams, but, seeing you together … you guys definitely share something.” His gaze shifts to where Rose is now saying goodbye to her dad, a couple of feet between them as they exchange pleasantries. “Bill and I haven’t been close friends since college, but I know his wife passed a few years back. There were whispers of a scandal involved, but I never heard the details—didn’t want to hear them because it seemed cruel and unfair when he was losing so much. Knowing the two of them, I can’t imagine it was true, but you know how rumors can be. Anyway, I know you mentioned Rose is hard to get close to, and that kind of loss can build walls.”
Rose starts to turn toward the building to leave, and I set my hand on my dad’s shoulder. “I’ll see you later, Dad. Have a good lunch.”
He grins. “I thought so.”
I go through the building and step outside to find Rose wandering through the parking lot with her phone raised above her head. “What are you doing?”
She looks at me and then her phone. “I’m looking for a signal. Anna drove me, and she needs to be at that lunch, so my dad doesn’t railroad her plans.”
I tip my head in the direction of my truck, though she’s not looking at me. “Come on. I’ll give you a ride.”
She slowly lowers her phone and looks over at me.
“Come on. You’re on my way home.”
Reluctance keeps her frozen in place.
I move to my truck, refusing to give her more time to consider my offer. I open the passenger door and turn to her, daring her to object.
Her chest swells with a silent breath, and then she moves closer, climbing into the seat and reaching for her seat belt as I close the door.
“This feels like a small world moment,” Rose says as I close my door.
“That our dads went to school together, or that your sister is leading his campaign?”
Rose releases a laugh and shakes her head. “All of it.” She clears her throat. “Thanks for giving me a ride. I blame my lack of caffeine for not thinking about it earlier.” She crosses her arms, setting her hands on her knees, which are pressed together.
“Why are you nervous?”
Green eyes flash to me. “I’m not.”
“No?”
“I’m just trying to catch up on your family stalking mine, that’s all.”
I chuckle at this. “What do you have going on this afternoon?” I ask, hoping I don’t sound half as possessive as I’m feeling.
“I have a yoga class, and then I’m meeting someone.”
“Someone from the team?”
“No. I’m interviewing Tyler tomorrow. He’ll be the first story.” Her eyebrows lower. “You were on the email chain.”
I nod. “I saw that Hoyt asked you to meet today.”
“What is with you and Hoyt?”
“You said you were going to allow Pax or me to be there for all the interviews, so we’re not blindsided again.”
“And you will,” she says. “I sent invitations to you and Paxton for each interview that’s been scheduled.” Her voice is curt, her patience stretched.
Unfortunately, the feeling is mutual. I hate this uneven ground we’re still on where our admissions are told through long stares. “What happened last week?”
“I need a little more context? Are we referring to what happened in Syria? Or in a particular class? Or are we talking about something else entirely?”
“You ditched Labor Economics.”
“I needed to meet someone.”
“Right,” I say, feeling anger and resentment crawl across my skin, creating that same urge to be on the field and hit someone so I can release a fraction of this overwhelming betrayal I feel at the thought of her with another guy.
I turn into her apartment complex, my knuckles white because I’m gripping the steering wheel so damn tight.
Rose is silent, infuriating me further from months of witnessing her avoid uncomfortable conversations and subjects she doesn’t want to broach. “We have a target on our backs. If you’re meeting Hoyt to have sex, do it behind closed doors.”
Her eyes snap to mine, and she rears her head back. The words feel twisted and ugly even before her brow lowers with accusation and betrayal and her green gaze turns icy, but before I can apologize, she pushes the door open and hops out of my truck.
“Rose,” I call her name, but she doesn’t turn around. “Rose.” Thank fuck she has to fish for her keys, slowing her down.
“You’re not invited inside,” she sneers.
“I wasn’t trying to insinuate anything.”
Her eyes narrow. “Yes, you were. You don’t want me to spend time with Hoyt because you think I want to have sex with him, which, quite frankly, is offensive and none of your goddamn business. Goodbye, Ian.” She sticks her key in the door and twists it open before slipping inside.
In a prouder moment, being a better version of myself—the version I wish I could be around her—I’d knock and ask her to have this conversation again, but her anger is rushing through me, and so instead, I head back to my truck and leave.
Rose
I take a deep breath, and then another, working to slow my heart which currently aches. I don’t know if it’s his disapproval toward this fictional relationship I have with Hoyt or the fact he threw it in my face that hurts more.
I kick off my shoes and make it halfway to Olivia’s door before Juliet sashays out of the room, her tail curling around the door.
“Hi, Jules,” I whisper. “How’s our patient?”
She threads herself through my legs, meowing softly. I pet her black fur. “You
were right,” I tell her. “I should have stayed home.” I give her a final pet and quietly open Olivia’s door to peek inside. She’s on her other side, the blanket I’d set on the bottom of her bed now pulled around her.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, eyeing her glass of water and the untouched crackers.
“Freezing.”
“Want me to turn up the furnace?”
“I don’t want you to be miserable.”
I shake my head. “I’ll turn it up. I’ll be right back.”
We haven’t had the furnace on all summer, causing it to smell like something’s burning as it kicks on. I go to my room and find a pair of warm socks before returning to Olivia. I dangle the socks in front of me as a warning before I flip up the blankets and find her feet, freezing and curled. I slip the socks on her and rub her feet between my hands for several minutes.
“How was brunch?” she asks.
“Anna and my dad are working for Ian’s dad with his campaign.”
Olivia’s eyes stretch with surprise. “I need details.”
I shake my head. “Those are the details,” I lie. It’s not because I don’t trust Olivia with my thoughts or even my battered feelings, but while she’s sick, the only thing I want her focused on is feeling better and resting. My drama can wait. I place my hand on her forehead. “You still have a fever.” As hard of a time as I sometimes give Anna for her hypochondriac tendencies, I feel the same fears prickle my thoughts when someone I care for doesn’t feel well.
The front door opens, and a few seconds later, Arlo appears, a plastic bag in his hand.
“You need to stay away,” Olivia warns. “You can’t get sick. You just started to play again.”
He kicks off his shoes. “Try and stop me.” He walks to the bed and gently brushes Olivia’s hair back. “I brought you some sports drinks. Those orange ones you like. And my mom said you need some zinc, so I picked some of that up, too.” He empties the contents of the bag onto her nightstand. “How are you feeling?”
“Like a bus hit me and then backed up and ran me over again.”
I smile, flipping the blankets to cover her feet again.
“Rose has been taking good care of me.”
Arlo looks at me, fondness in his soft brown eyes. “I know. She’s been texting me with updates. Sorry it took me so long to get here. The trainer wanted to test my knee and make sure it was okay before he let me go, and I needed to pick up some clothes at my place, and then my mom called and told me to get the zinc.”
“She’s been sleeping a lot and is currently on a water strike, so good call on the sports drinks. I have a yoga class and am going to pick up Bree first, but then I’ll stop by the store and get some more of those mashed potatoes you liked. If you guys need anything else, just let me know.”
Olivia shakes her head. “Don’t worry about going to the store.”
“I’m not worried about it,” I tell her. “I was worried about leaving you alone.”
Arlo is already climbing under the blankets beside her.
“Drive safe,” Olivia says. “Text me when you get there.”
“I will. Get some rest.”
“Thanks, Rose,” Arlo says.
I nod once and head back out to the living room. For months, watching Arlo and Olivia’s love has influenced my thoughts and judgments about relationships, and while I’m incredibly grateful he’s here, for the first time I can recall, it leaves a stinging sensation that reaches my eyes.
I flip on every light in my room to make it as bright as possible and take a quick shower before dressing in a pair of yoga pants and a sports bra. I pull on a loose, pink top and some socks and shoes. Then, I grab my yoga bag and double-check that the shopping bag is inside before grabbing my phone and purse and head back out.
Twenty minutes later, I’m pulling into the driveway of a small rancher. It’s blue with a light blue trim. The paint is peeling, the bushes around the house are overgrown, and the grass is too long. The numbers on the house are bulbous and appear like they’re from the seventies.
I get out of my car, stepping on a pile of dried pine needles that crunch under my feet.
The door of the house opens, and Bree appears on the cement stoop. “Hey, Rose!” She waves, and behind her, a man I estimate to be in his late thirties with a high widow’s peak and same narrow frame as Bree steps out. “This is my dad, Greg. He insisted on meeting you even though I told him you volunteer with Beacon Pointe.” She rolls her eyes.
I chuckle. “He should,” I tell her, stepping forward to meet them. “It’s nice to meet you.” I offer my hand, and he shakes it with an amiable grin.
“You, too. Bree mentioned she was going to attend a yoga class?”
“Yeah. I’m an instructor, and I want to start offering some classes for teens and kids, and Bree offered to help me out. I hope that’s okay. I’ll be with her the whole time, but her input would be incredibly valuable.”
He looks at Bree. “No causing trouble, okay?”
“You’re telling this to the wrong kid,” she chides.
He smirks. “Keep me posted.”
“I’ll have her home around four. Is that okay?”
He nods as he reaches forward and musses her hair. “Smell you later.”
She hits him with a glare. “Bye, Dad.”
I work to hide my smile as I climb back into the driver’s seat. Due to the new playground equipment and bridge being delayed, they canceled our park cleanup for the next couple of weeks, freeing up my Monday afternoons. I’m surprisingly disappointed by the change. As much as I didn’t want to participate, I’ve enjoyed the long afternoons outside and hanging out with Bree and the others.
“How has your weekend been?” I ask her as I wait for her to get situated and her seat belt on.
She nods. “I got an A on my history test, so my dad let me play an extra two hours of video games.”
I smile. “Nice job on the test.”
Bree’s eyes pinch. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, why?”
Her inquisitive brown eyes remain on me as I retrace my way back to the main road. “I don’t know. You just … you look sad.”
I shake my head. “It’s because I don’t wear makeup to yoga. Without makeup, this is how I look. Stay young, kid.”
She doesn’t react to my attempt at a joke, but she also doesn’t inquire any further, and I’m grateful because I’m still not certain what branch I’ve climbed out on with her. I don’t know if I’d ever actually consider any teen or kid yoga classes, and inviting her has cost me more money because I bought her a yoga mat and some clothes and gear that I know she’ll need, but I don’t care about the cost. She offered her advice as a way to repay me for the joggers she’d stolen, and I want to ease her guilt and clear the slate. Plus, as weird as it is, there’s something refreshing about spending time with her and not worrying about boys or school or parties. Instead, the world seems vaster, as do my thoughts and our conversations.
16
Rose
“Are you wearing lipstick?” Olivia draws her head back from where she’s seated on the couch to look at me. It’s Friday night, and the first time she’s been out of her room for more than a shower all week. Her face is pale, and her eyes are heavily shadowed with exhaustion.
“Hey, you can finally pronounce the letter ‘R’ again. Congratulations, you’re beating the cold.”
She tucks some of her dark brown hair behind one ear. “Whatever this bug was, it was terrible. I can still only breathe out of one nostril at any given time.”
“You should lead with that fact when Arlo gets here.”
“I will,” she says.
“You want me to heat up some soup for you?”
Olivia shakes her head. “I’m not hungry.”
“You should still eat.”
“I will. But first, I need to know what’s going on. My best friend has only worn lipstick on a handful of occasions, which means something has happened.
I need details.”
“I’m going out with Chantay tonight.”
Olivia does a terrible job of hiding her surprise and judgment. “You are?”
I nod. “I haven’t gone out in months.”
“Where are you guys going?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll keep you posted on my plans.” I open my wallet to make sure I have some cash on me. “What are you and Arlo doing tonight?”
“An exciting night out to the living room,” she jokes. “But he’s picking up some pot stickers and pizza on his way over. You know, you’re always welcome to join us.”
“And I love you for that, but you guys should have some fun tonight now that you’re feeling better. Besides, I need to get out. This week has been a doozy. I’ve had so much school work, and I had two interviews with the team and four articles.”
“Speaking of which, did you see who was posted today on the rumor?”
I shake my head. “I haven’t been watching it.”
“It was Paxton again,” she says. “Not the one you received originally, but still a damning picture. You can tell he’s wasted, and he’s naked and playing cards. The tagline was a rumor accusing him of having a gambling issue and selling himself for payment.”
“Selling himself for payment? That’s not only laughable—that’s stupid. Whoever is running this site is getting more and more desperate, and their claims are becoming increasingly more absurd.”
Olivia shakes her head. “I know, but the crazy part of it is, people believe it. It’s like because this person has hit on the truth—or near it—a couple of times, everyone now believes everything posted as fact.”
“This makes my head hurt. Everyone who reads and believes this site should be stamped with a gullible sticker so I can follow up and sell them an alpaca farm.”
“You’d be rich,” she says.
I nod. “Hopefully, the picture blows over. I know Ian was worried about Paxton.”
“Yeah, Arlo was worried about him, too. Also, next Friday, the guys are throwing a carb-loading barbecue. Be there or be square.”
