Maybe that’s why I can’t sleep. Part of the reason, anyway.
But bringing it up now would be so awkward. Yet if I don’t bring it up, how are we going to get through the next three or so months of this job? That’ll be even more awkward.
I close the door of my bedroom and flop back on my bed with a groan. Clarence jumps up beside me and sniffs my head. Deciding that my distress is not life threatening, he lumbers around in a circle, shaking the entire bed before he lies down with a sigh.
Tomorrow is Saturday, and Harry has a nine a.m. game. I know Luc’s going to be there because I heard Emmett asking him after school yesterday. Maybe I can find a minute to explain. And, of course, that won’t be weird at all.
You see Luc, there’s this family curse…
I’m sorry, but I can’t kiss you because I’ll get pregnant...
I have to keep a vow of chastity for the next ten years…
Then again, maybe I can just buy him some popcorn and pretend like nothing happened.
“Can I get a Coke?” Emmett asks as we walk toward the bleachers. He’s leading the way, carrying a blanket. Mattie’s got a second blanket and an insulated cooler. I’m holding yet another blanket and our three bleacher chairs. It’s cold and we’re going to be here a while.
“Buddy, it isn’t even lunch time. And I brought hot cocoa.”
In front of me, I watch his whole posture sag as if he’s a marionette. “But I had a Cha Cha Moo Moo at breakfast.”
Harry had to be here at eight-thirty, and since an ideal hot breakfast was not going to happen at our house, we were all at Hub City Diner at seven this morning. A Cha Cha Moo Moo is just chocolate milk, but Emmett loves saying Cha Cha Moo Moo.
He said it at least thirty times at breakfast, chanting it as a cheer before Harry threatened to give him a murphy lock. I thought this was a wrestling move, like a half-nelson or a head lock. It turns out I was wrong.
Harry informed the table that it is an irreversible wedgie. Emmett stopped chanting.
“I told you when you ordered we were bringing hot cocoa to the game. Drinking chocolate milk at breakfast was your choice,” I say, trying to use reason with an eight-year-old.
“It’s not called chocolate milk. It’s a Cha Cha Moo Moo,” he argues back over his shoulder, reminding me why using reason with an eight-year-old has its drawbacks.
“Whatever it’s called, it was your choice to order it despite my advice. No Coke.”
Emmett gives a wordless whine as we approach the stands. The game won’t start for another half-hour, so there are only a few bundled figures in the bleachers. My eyes fall on the broad-shouldered one sitting alone on the third row. Even with the hood on his sweatshirt up, I know it’s Luc. I don’t think he’s seen us yet. It’s only a matter of time, there are so few people here, but if we can climb to the top of the bleachers without him looking this way, then maybe I can avoid an awkward encounter for the time being.
Maybe by half time, I’ll have found the courage to talk to him.
But Emmett has other plans. “Cha-Cha-Moo-Moo-Cha-Cha-Moo-Moo-Cha-Cha-Moo-Moo,” he chants, exacting revenge for my Coca-Cola denial.
“Make him stop,” Mattie groans beside me.
“I don’t think I can,” I confess, wondering if this hill is worth dying on. I certainly can’t give him a murphy lock.
Emmett reaches the aluminum steps that join the bleachers, and he starts marching, stamping his feet in rhythm. “Cha-Cha-Moo-Moo-Cha-Cha-Moo-Moo.” He pitches his chant louder to be heard over the clanging of each step, and of course, everyone in the bleachers, including Luc Valencia, turns to look.
Great.
“Hey, Luc!” Emmett stops his Cha-Cha-Moo-Mooing, his hand shooting up in a wave. He looks back at me excited. “Luc’s here. Let’s sit with him.”
I freeze, horrified. “Buddy, maybe we shouldn’t. It’s his day off. He might—”
“But he’s by himself!” Emmett’s voice probably carries all the way to the visitor stands, and he takes off running toward Luc’s spot.
“At least it got him to stop that stupid chant,” Mattie says, passing me up before climbing the steps.
I stand there for a second before I make myself look at Luc. His eyes meet mine for just an instant, and then he’s focusing on Emmett. He puts on a smile, but there’s no dimple in sight.
Oh God. The last thing he wants is to sit with us. Sit with me. I need to put us out of our misery.
Emmett runs right up to Luc and plops down beside him. I open my mouth. I have to do something.
“Hey, buddy, Luc might be saving seats for his family.” I point to the top of the bleachers. “Let’s go sit up there.”
Emmett’s eyes follow the line of my finger to the top. “But it’s gonna be windier up there,” he says, and he’s probably right. We’ve only been out of the car for a few minutes, but already his cheeks are pinking with cold. Then, to my growing horror, he turns to Luc. “Are you saving seats for anyone?”
Luc’s smile grows just a little, but not enough to reach his eyes, and not nearly enough to bring out Les Dimples. “Nope. Y’all can sit.”
“Yes!” Emmett hisses in triumph, looking back at me. “See? Luc wants us to sit with him.”
If I had a free hand, I’d palm my face. Instead, I mutter an okay and busy myself setting up our bleacher chairs. I try to plunk Emmett’s down just a little further away from Luc so my baby brother isn’t practically in the guy’s lap, but Emmett just hops up and slides the seat right next to Luc before bouncing into it.
He immediately starts jabbering away, talking first about how cold it is. Then about Japanese Macaques who take baths in hot springs to warm up, and wouldn’t it be great if we could watch the soccer game from a hot spring? And then he asks if Luc has ever been to Hot Springs, Arkansas.
“Stop swinging your legs,” Mattie interrupts, trying to make Emmett be still. I strategically placed her bleacher chair next to Emmett’s to give Luc as much distance from me as possible. Even so, I can still hear his and Emmett’s whole conversation, which Luc is contributing to—Lord, bless him—whenever Emmett gives him the chance.
If Luc hates me now, I’m grateful he still treats Emmett with patience and kindness. Beyond grateful, really. I steal a quick glance in their direction and feel a surge of warmth in my chest. Emmett thrives on Luc’s attention, and when I look over, Luc is chuckling at my little brother’s description of geothermal springs and fumaroles, whatever those are. A dimple marks Luc’s left cheek, and I relax a little. If he were only smiling or laughing to be polite, it wouldn’t be there. Whatever Luc thinks of me, he likes Emmett. And it’s no secret Emmett worships him. I’m relieved to see I haven’t screwed that up for either of them.
“Ugh!” Mattie growls at Emmett through gritted teeth. “You’re driving me crazy. Be still!”
Emmett looks up at her, surprised, I can tell, but not contrite. “Don’t blame me. It’s the Cha-Cha-Moo-Moo.”
Mattie scowls. “Don’t start—”
“Cha-Cha-Moo-Moo-Cha-Cha-Moo-Moo,” he chants, swinging his legs in time with each cha and moo.
Mattie fists her hair by the roots. “Grrr.” She reels to face me. “You have to switch places with me or I’m going to punch him.”
“Mattie...” I attempt to cajole.
She just glares. “Switch or I ditch.”
My head jerks back at this. “What?”
“Switch with me, or I’m out of here.”
I stare at her, stunned. “Mattie—”
“Seriously, I don’t see why I have to sit here freezing my butt off on a Saturday morning—the first day of Thanksgiving break—when all of my friends are still asleep. Switch with me or I’m calling an Uber.”
For a moment, I’m speechless. This is my little Mattie? Mattie The Worry Wart? Mattie The Peacemaker?
Mattie, who’s going on fifteen and has more than enough reasons to be angry with the world, I remind myself.
“Sure. I�
�ll switch with you,” I say softly, pitching my voice several decibels lower than hers, hoping to disarm her. But she jerks out of her seat and elbows past me as I move. My eyes meet Luc’s for a split-second, but he glances away before I can shoot him a look of apology.
So I sit. My sister stews on one side of me. My brother rides his sugar high on the other. And beside him, the guy whose face I nearly kissed off a week ago won’t even look at me.
And the game hasn’t even started yet.
Chapter Fifteen
LUC
Millie doesn’t want to be sitting here. It’s written all over her face. And why would she? I might maul her again.
“I don’t want this.”
She’d said it twice. Made that damn clear. The look in her eyes had felt like a guilty verdict. And I was guilty. I broke every one of my rules with her in the span of three minutes. Everything about professionalism. Boundaries. Respect.
Restraint.
A part of me wishes she would fire me. Then I wouldn’t have to come face to face with my failure every day. My failure to be the man I thought I was.
The other part of me is so damn glad she hasn’t.
Because I’m not sure when it happened, but I need to see her. And if I don’t see her, I need to know she’s okay.
Right now, she’s just three feet away from me. So I know she’s okay. Stressed out, as usual, but okay. So I don’t have to look. I just want to.
I’m gripping the metal bleachers, ready to bend them like The Incredible Hulk I want to look so bad. Thank God the game is starting. Thank God for Emmett. That kid is a killer distraction. He can talk my ear off for the next hour and a half if he wants to.
And I know if he’s talking to me, he’s giving her some much-needed peace. Which means I’m giving her some peace. I don’t know when this happened either, but I’d give her anything she wanted.
“I don’t want this.”
I have to believe her. Not believing would disrespect her, and I won’t let anyone disrespect her. Least of all me. But when I close my eyes and let myself fall back into that kiss—and I have about a thousand times—I know what I felt.
Certainty. Clarity. Unity.
In that perfect, self-contained three minutes of history, we wanted the exact same thing. That time—that world—may not exist now, but it existed then. It was real. I didn’t imagine it.
If I don’t believe that, I think I’ll lose my shit. Because I was there. And if that wasn’t real, nothing is real.
So I have to hold these two opposing beliefs—Millie didn’t want it and Millie did—in my head. Every waking minute of the day. Because if I don’t, I’ll either lose my mind or lose control.
“I need a piss,” Emmett announces, bouncing in his seat and jerking me from my fucked up thoughts.
“Emmett!” Millie practically chokes. “Language.”
“Sor-ry,” he says, sounding anything but sorry. “I need the bathroom.” He gets to his feet.
“I’ll go with you,” Millie says, moving to rise.
Emmett scowls. “No, I’m not a baby.”
“Of course, you’re not a baby, but…” Millie’s words dry up, and her gaze flicks to mine. A tell. She doesn’t want to lose Emmett as a buffer.
I stand. “I’ll take him.” I’ll take him to the bathroom, and then I’ll go stand on the sidelines. Leave her alone.
Emmett’s face falls. “You think I’m a baby?” he accuses, sounding betrayed.
“No, jefe, I just…” Now my words have dried up.
Mattie shoots to her feet. “Well, I actually need the bathroom.” She looks down at her little brother, all pissy attitude gone. “Will you be a gentleman and escort me to the bathroom.”
Emmett screws up his face, but when she moves, he follows. “Why do you need an escort to the bathroom?”
“Just come with me, okay?” They move down the length of the bleachers, their argument hanging in the air behind them. I can’t help but feel Mattie’s doing this on purpose. To leave Millie and me alone together.
I chance a quick glance at Millie, and she’s frowning at her lap.
I want to tell her I’m sorry. Not for the kiss. I’ll never be sorry for that. The memory of it is my most valuable possession.
But I’m sorry I’ve made her uncomfortable. I pray I haven’t made her afraid.
That thought spurs my tongue. “I’m sorry—”
“I need to apologize—” she says at the same time.
We look at each other. Really look at each other for the first time in a week. She looks miserable. I’m sure I do too.
I shake my head. “Don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong.” I will bear all the blame. All the shame. None of that will touch her.
Millie’s eyes pinch at the corners like she’s hurting. “I didn’t really explain.”
I keep shaking my head. “You did. You said enough.” Please don’t say it again. I know you don’t want me.
Now she’s shaking her head. “No. I didn’t. You don’t understand—”
“I do.”
She holds up a hand, looking irritated. “You don’t. My family—” She stops. Closes her mouth and presses her lips together. “I have to think about my family.”
From where I sit, all she does is think about her family. Who thinks about her? I want to ask, but bite back the question.
“The four of us are all I can deal with right now.”
So, no room for me.
I want to argue that I could help her deal. I’d be good at it. She could lean on me. I could be her brick wall.
You sound like a fucking coño.
I grind my unspoken promises between my teeth. Swallow them down.
Instead, I apologize for my real regret. “I never meant to scare you.”
Her eyes flash, a little of that ire I’ve seen sparking in them. “You didn’t scare me.”
You ran.
I don’t say it aloud, but maybe she reads it in my face because she looks away, eyes going to the game that I’m sure neither one of us has even seen one play of.
“You don’t scare me.”
She could have said it like a challenge. The way she challenged my assumption that she was a nurse. The way she challenged my stupid cock-up about her lingerie. But she doesn’t say it like that.
Her voice is feather soft.
If I don’t scare her, then maybe she feels safe around me. Without even thinking, I sit up straighter. Not just to shed the shame I’ve carried all week, but to be her safety.
Her protector.
I don’t take my eyes off her profile, so when the corner of her mouth curls up in a smile—showing up like a friend I never thought I’d see again—I don’t miss it.
“Do I scare you?” she asks.
My laughter feels like a presidential pardon. I lean my head back and laugh clouds of relief into the cold air.
She turns to me, grinning, but waiting for the answer.
“Honestly?” I say when I can speak. “You scare the hell out of me.”
Her eyes light up like this is the best news she’s had in years. “Good!” she says, laughing too.
A moment later, the sound of Emmett and Mattie arguing makes her turn to track their approach. But she looks back at me, quick and nervous.
“So, are we good?” she asks, then bites the corner of her mouth. The mouth I want to kiss now more than ever.
I bite the corner of my lip, mirroring her. Remembering the moment I took her lip between my teeth. Remembering the moment she bit back. Remembering everything that was unsaid but so clearly spoken in those moments. But I get it. I can’t have her. And that sucks. But she doesn’t hate me. In fact, I’m pretty sure she likes me.
And that’s fucking fantastic.
“Yeah, we’re good.”
Her brother and sister come back, but this time, Mattie sits beside me and Emmett is on the other side of Millie.
“Alejandro is looking good out there,” Mattie says, watchin
g the field.
Since I haven’t taken my eyes off Millie, I don’t miss the way she sits up, ramrod straight.
“He sure does,” I reply, but I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been able to concentrate on the game at all, and the scoreboard is no help: 0-0. At least the Lions are holding the Rams at bay.
“His offensive game is amazing,” Mattie says, sounding awed. “So intense.”
Millie watches her sister with hawk-like attention, but Mattie appears clueless.
I’ve forgotten all about Mattie’s crush on my brother. “Do you two have any classes together?”
At my question, Millie brings her bird of prey glare to me. I answer it with a wordless What? Her mouth tightens like a purse string, and she narrows her eyes, Stop it! her clear reply.
Mattie sighs. “No, but he has AP Bio in the lab right before I do,” she says with a kind of dreamy regret.
I’d offer to introduce her to Alex, but I like having my head firmly attached to my neck, and the look Millie is giving me is all the warning I need. But I don’t understand.
Millie telling me she has no room in her life for a relationship is one thing. I don’t like it, but knowing what she’s dealing with, I can accept it. But what’s wrong with Mattie crushing on my brother? They’re both good kids. Smart. Talented. Focused. I don’t mean I want to see them eloping, but why get all worked up about an innocent crush?
I reach into my back pocket for my phone because I have to know.
Me: Is it because we’re Latino?
Maybe this is something I shouldn’t be asking, but if this is the reason, it would be better to know now. Know the situation for what it really is.
Back in high school, I wasted time once with a white girl who was all kinds of sweet. She laughed at my jokes. Flirted back. Gave me all the green lights until I asked her out. And then Mary Catherine Turner told me her father would choke her to death if she dated a Mexican.
I will never forget it. We were sitting on a bench under the big oak tree in the quad. Right here at Lafayette High. I bet I could leave the bleachers and find the exact spot in less than ten minutes. It was junior year. School had only started a couple of weeks before. The day was hot and damp, even under the trees. But when she said that, I felt a splash of cold hit my face.
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