by Zoe Lee
But today, Daisy had done the equivalent of stealing keys and getting two people in the same room together one New Year’s Eve. She had questioned everything about his life, everything about how he made his choices and spoke to people, everything about how he saw himself.
She hadn’t torn him down, though. She hadn’t told him that he was stupid or that he didn’t know what he was talking about, not once.
What she’d done was yell, “Damn it, Dunk! You’re more than a jock, more than a coach, more than the comedic relief, more than the guy girls call for some fun! You’re a generous, loyal man who inspires the kids you coach and helps your friends even when they don’t know they need it!”
He swore to God, his eyes had filled up with tears.
She’d changed his life in that moment. He never would have said that he lacked confidence—he would have called himself cocky, actually—but with one tiny, impassioned speech, Daisy had cracked him open, turned him inside out, and shown him… himself. Not the cocky, fun jock, but him.
So he couldn’t look at her and wink and make a joke when she asked him, almost frightened and a little bit resigned, if they would ever have a fight that bad again. He had to take a deep breath before he smoothed his thumb over one of her drink-flushed cheeks and asked, although he knew the answer already, “Are you planning on leaving me anytime soon?”
“No,” she denied vehemently.
“Then, yeah, probably, darlin’,” he told her in a soft voice. “But I swear I won’t give up and run off, and I’ll try my very best not to hurt you just because I’m hurting.”
There was a big, weighty silence. They looked deeply into each other’s eyes. All of the banter, sex and words they’d shared lay beneath their feet, a playing field and a foundation and a garden for good things to grow in.
And then Daisy Rhys’s eyes widened to giant dish-size proportions before her head dropped back and she shrieked with laughter, “Do you really, truly, seriously want to recreate that scene from Ghost with me?”
Dunk gasped in outrage. “What’s wrong with that? He thinks she’s incredibly sexy while she’s doing her art—he thinks her passion’s sexy!”
“More like he thinks her hands working the clay are sexy.”
“Daisy,” he said in deadly earnestness, “hands are always sexy.”
Her hands dropped to his, broad palms with the light dusting of blond hairs running past the bend in his wrists, forearms veined and flexing. “Mmhmm,” she hummed in agreement, eyes going vacant as she stared.
“Besides, you shouldn’t be judging my Ghost fantasy when we should be talking about your thing for my coaching jersey,” Dunk informed her, face splitting into a dopey, wide smile. “Oh, Coach,” he mimicked in a falsetto, “what play are we running next? Please say it’s the Quarterback Sneak.”
“You were a running back!” Daisy squealed.
“I knew you watched me play,” Dunk bragged smugly.
She narrowed her eyes at him, but he could hear the suppressed laughter as she drunkenly continued their banter. “I can’t believe you still live in your mom’s basement and that no one ever asked you if you want to be a gym teacher for the rest of your life.”
Dunk exhaled happily and pointed a finger at her, circling it in the air right in front of her face, dodging her swatting hands. “I told you, Rash asked me about it, and I’m going to work on that. Besides, I can’t believe that you tried to convince yourself that you want to work at the firm,” he retorted. “Also, see? I told you: we’re best friends now. We’ve been through the shit together. We spilled about our deepest secrets, our relationships. We yelled about our families, living situations, careers, bad habits, and fashion choices. Hence, best friends.”
Slumping onto the sticky table, Daisy cracked up, the force of her laughter making the whole rickety thing shake.
“Everybody knows you want your girlfriend to be your best friend too!” Dunk exclaimed hotly, shoving one of her shaking shoulders lightly. “I mean, don’t be some weirdo who has no other best friends, but like—”
Daisy sat up again, cradling her chin in her hands, and replied with a huff of amusement, “Listen, Prince Charming, just… sssh. Cause I’m tired and… oh my God,” she interrupted herself, her skin going pale and clammy in a second, “and I’m, I’m going to—”
Then Daisy threw up, right there on the dirty floor of Irish’s Pool Hall, and Dunk was horrified and impressed all at once.
“Coach,” Irish’s owner yelled from behind the bar. “You know where the bucket and mop are. You get that girl outside then you come back and clean that up. And you’re both banned for a month, damn it!”
“Yes, sir,” Dunk sighed.
He hefted Daisy into his arms and carried her outside, then laid her on a very old, slightly musty blanket on the bed of his truck. After she was settled, he tromped back inside and mopped up the love of his life’s frankly horrifyingly neon puke—Tequila Sunrises, his brain reminded him—before settling their tab and apologizing.
“You call one of the Riveaus to drive you home,” the owner told him sternly, “it’s not last call yet, I know at least one of them is still working.”
Screwing up his face, Dunk considered his options and then called Seth, who hadn’t been a part of any shenanigans in the last two years.
“Hey, Seth,” Dunk greeted him.
“Hey,” Seth said. “You okay? You sound like you have laryngitis.”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Listen… Daisy and I are back in town, we got trashed at Irish’s, Daisy threw up, and—”
“Give me ten minutes,” Seth said with a dry laugh, disconnecting.
“Night, Irish,” Dunk sighed, saluting the owner.
He waited for Seth to walk the half-mile from Wild Harts to Irish’s, watching Daisy sprawled out like a cat in a sunny spot. She was snoring. Not delicate snuffles, but huge lion with a sinus problem snores. He just grinned, utterly charmed.
“When did y’all get back?” Seth called out as he crossed the lot.
“Four hours ago,” Dunk said.
Seth joined him and cocked his head, evaluating Daisy. “She’s out cold, man. You could hold her on your lap, or I could drive to your place at like five miles an hour. It’s much closer to here than hers, right?”
“I’ll sit in the back with her,” Dunk decided, groaning pathetically as he hauled himself onto the bed next to her. “Please don’t fucking take Apple Road though, I’ll throw up if you go over train tracks and the speed bumps over near the middle school,” Dunk told Seth.
With a nod, Seth took the keys and drove them to Dunk’s, then opened the garden apartment door while Dunk carried Daisy bridal-style to his bed. He backtracked to the door, where Seth leaned nonchalantly against the frame like he had all the time in the world.
“How are you getting back? Want me to call a taxi?”
“Nah, I got it covered,” Seth said, clapping Dunk on the shoulder.
He turned, but Dunk called after him, “That’s it? You don’t want to know what happened? You don’t want to know how the road trip went?”
Seth shook his head and smiled a little, answering dryly, “I know you read romances. You know I write love songs. I can always tell when it’s a love song about a breakup and when it’s a love song about forever.”
Then he ambled off, whistling All You Need Is Love.
“Mysterious motherfucker,” Dunk whispered in awe, shutting the door.
Although he was exhausted and still half-drunk, Dunk remembered to get a water bottle and a garbage can to put near Daisy’s side of the bed before he tugged off her shorts and shoes. He stripped, drank like a gallon of water, and lay down on his side, watching Daisy some more, everything but Daisy swimming in and out of focus, and fell asleep grinning like a sap.
Chapter 28
Daisy
Daisy woke up feverish, smothered in her own hair, Dunk’s arm and leg thrown over her, with a headache the size of Texas.
“Uhngh,�
� she groaned piteously.
Dunk’s big hand came up to paw sleepily at her hair. “‘M sleeping,” he mumbled, his voice like gravel at a thousand decibels in her ear.
“Got to let me up,” she groaned, shoving weakly at his thigh.
With a grunt worthy of a professional tennis player, he moved off of her, freeing her to lurch out of his bedroom and across the hall to the bathroom. She stood facing the toilet, swaying a little on her feet, while she considered her stomach and if it was going to rebel again.
Once she decided it wasn’t going to, she brushed her teeth and drank a little water, went to the bathroom, and squinted at the rat’s nest of her hair before knotting it askew on top of her head.
It was an odd moment to have the thought, really, but what ran through Daisy’s mind as she debated redoing the knot was that she didn’t look like an adorable fairy princess. She looked like a woman who’d been rode hard and put up wet, faint smudges under her eyes and blotches on her chest from being overheated while sleeping with a man. Pride swelled a little and she watched her mouth curl into a catlike smirky smile.
Still, she made her way carefully back to the bedroom, where Dunk had dragged himself into a sitting position, all the pillows piled behind his back and neck. He was deliciously disheveled, his slightly too long blond hair tousled around his head, his torso streaked with creases from his sheets. He flashed her a tired but totally happy grin.
“What’s the verdict? Will you live?” he rasped teasingly.
“Did I…” She frowned and sat gingerly next to him.
He nodded almost gleefully and recounted the end of last night.
“Oh yeah, you did. You spewed spectacularly at Irish’s. I cleaned it up —you’re welcome—and then Seth came over and drove us home. You were passed way the hell out. I would’ve put a mirror under your nose to check that you were alive, but you were snoring like a bear, Daisy Rhys.”
She bit her lip, fighting another smile. “Thanks for… all of that.”
“No problem,” he said as he picked up her hand to play with her fingers.
Yesterday had been… a day.
They had done exactly what he’d predicted yesterday.
They’d dug deep, slung questions and accusations and theories, inflicted new wounds and reopened some old ones, bragged and complained. They’d fought and reassured and made promises. By the end of it, they’d drafted a playbook for their relationship—for their future. There were only a few things they’d danced around, the huge things like marriage and when they wanted to have kids, neither ready for that yet.
Despite her hangover, Daisy didn’t think she’d ever been more grateful for alcohol in her life. Not because the playbook was a terrible idea, or because she’d lied at any point, but because it had felt so right that she was still scared. She was still scared to really try to build something lasting and deep, especially when that involved talking and risks and compromises. But those fears were surrounded by the love that flowed between Dunk and her, which made her feel brave and adventurous.
As long as they stayed a team, then she could find a way to fulfill her emotional need to do her art while pulling her weight financially. As long as they stayed a team, Dunk wouldn’t have to finish growing up on his own, and he would have someone at his side when he found a job he really wanted to replace being a gym teacher. And, best of all, as long as they stayed a team, then they would banter and make love forever; he’d be her strong assistant at art fairs and she’d bake cupcakes for his football players.
She sighed, like a teenager watching a romantic movie.
“What are you thinking, darlin’?” he asked.
Then she grinned and leaned over to smack a kiss on his wonderful mouth. “Honestly?” she teased. “I was thinking about bacon. And coffee.”
“Funny thing, I was too,” he told her, grinning back. “Do you want to see if we can go puppy dog face my mom into making us some brunch?”
Daisy laughed and nodded. “Can I borrow something to wear? My luggage is still out in your truck, and everything’s dirty anyway.”
A few minutes later, she was drowning in one of his tee shirts and basketball shorts with the drawstring hanging to her knees since she was so much smaller than Dunk. She stared down at herself in dismay.
“My mom won’t be able to say no to you,” Dunk said proudly, as if she were absolutely perfect.
He took her hand and tugged her upstairs, Tugger nipping at their heels before bounding off to find Fudgsicle.
Daisy licked her lips, trying not to worry what Shelly was going to think of her. They’d met before, of course; almost everyone in Maybelle had met everyone else at some point. And Daisy said hello and chatted about the weather or something equally insignificant if Shelly was gardening when Daisy was coming or going from Dunk’s apartment.
But that had been when they were dating, not after spending a week alone on a road trip, not after she’d clearly spent the night in Dunk’s bed.
When they entered the kitchen, Shelly looked over her shoulder and then whistled, her eyebrows raising up under her bangs.
“Hi, Mama,” Dunk said a little sheepishly, walking over to hug her.
“I thought you were on a road trip with Chase,” she said dryly.
“Oh,” Dunk laughed. “It’s a long story.”
Shelly snorted and snapped the dish towel that had been draped over one shoulder at his chest. “I have popovers in the oven I could probably share with you two,” she said dryly. Then her eyes tracked over to Daisy, skimming her outfit and her lopsided topknot, and Daisy was about to shrink or apologize when Shelly grinned. “Hi, Daisy. Nice to see you.”
That was the grin that Shelly had passed on to Dunk, so Daisy was helpless to respond in any other way but beaming smile of her own.
“Hi, Shelly,” she said. “It’s nice to see you again, too. Are you sure you don’t mind sharing your popovers with us?”
Flapping a hand, Shelly replied, “I made two dozen, didn’t I?”
“It’s almost like you knew I was home,” Dunk said, sliding into one of the kitchen chairs and patting the one next to him for Daisy to take.
“Seth called about an hour ago,” Shelly replied.
“She loves Seth,” Dunk told Daisy.
“I love all of your friends. I helped raise them.” She pulled two trays of popovers out of the oven and set them on top of the stove, then started taking them out and putting them in a big bright green bowl. “So even though you only sent me the odd text letting me know you’re alive,” Shelly began, giving Dunk a bit of a shrewd, fondly annoyed look, “I know you didn’t drive across the country with Chase, since I saw her Tuesday.”
Daisy and Dunk exchanged a look and then Dunk took her hand on the table and kissed the inside of her wrist, making her melt a little.
“It was a set up,” Dunk admitted, though he was still smiling.
“Looking back, it was really obvious,” Daisy put in.
Shelly brought over the popovers, butter and jam. “I saw her, Leda, and your two best friends at the cafe,” Shelly said.
“Conspiracy!” Dunk cried.
“Karen and Stephanie?” Daisy gaped, but then she remembered Chase and Stephanie’s meeting at the carnival and she pouted. That conversation had been conspiratorial, now that it was in hindsight. “Oh. Huh.”
“Best of intentions, I’m sure,” Shelly said. Then she leveled a mom look at Dunk and reminded him, “You had it coming, the way you ‘helped’ Chase and Aden and Leda and Jamie. And the way it looks, it worked out.”
“Of course it did,” Dunk scoffed.
“We just needed to talk about the tougher things,” Daisy said quietly. “Things we should’ve talked about when we were first dating.”
Nodding somberly, Shelly reached out and ruffled Dunk’s hair. “Your father was a quiet man,” she said, “and I never minded because he seemed to like my talking. But one day he left, and I found a letter on my pillow after the kids fin
ally fell asleep. They were so confused and lost, and I had to calm them down when I didn’t understand a thing myself.”
“Mom—”
“No,” Shelly cut him off fiercely, squeezing his hand. “In that letter was a laundry list of complaints,” she said plainly. “It wasn’t all criticisms of me,” she added with admirable tartness, instead of bitterness, although Daisy was sure that had been there once. “It was the simplest, worst misunderstanding there is: I misunderstood his quiet as happiness.”
She blinked a bunch and brushed non-existent crumbs off her top.
Daisy couldn’t help it, she rushed around the table and threw her arms around Shelly’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Shelly,” she whispered.
Then Daisy squeaked when Dunk crashed into both of them, his long, strong arms encircling both of them. “I’m so sorry both of you had idiotic first husbands,” Dunk mumbled into the curve of Daisy’s neck.
From the center of their hug fest, Shelly gave a dry laugh. “All right now,” she said, gently pushing Daisy and Dunk off and back into their seats. “He gave me three beautiful children and did his disappearing act when they were young enough that they weren’t scarred too badly.”
“I was a baby,” Dunk told Daisy, “so I’m not scarred at all.”
“Yeah, you’re perfect,” Shelly retorted with a roll of her eyes.
Daisy agreed with Shelly on this one. A man whose father had walked out not after his oldest sister was born, not after his second sister was born, but right after he was born… that man might have some instinct to be strong, to be useful, to be the life of the party, and to be easy-going. Memorable but never intrusive. Exciting but never demanding.
