“Is she better?”
My dad breaks in with a succinct question. I don’t have to think about my response, but I let the pregnant pause build because the minute I answer, my dad will work to convince me that all problems are solved. He sees things black and white, right and wrong. If Hollis is better, which she is, then she gets the job, and Zack has to work hard to take it away from her. But in that gray is all the stuff that makes me sick—my cousin hating me for rooting for her, him maybe improving enough to take that starting position away from her, me resenting him for it down the road. And then, Uncle Joel playing politics. That is perhaps the heaviest blanket of them all.
“She’s amazing.”
Now it’s his turn to let my words linger, followed by silence. He never addresses them at all; in fact, just nods when I finally glance in his direction. I meant what I said, and it covers all things Hollis. My nagging worry over my father’s relationship with my uncle finally scratches at me enough that my new worries come out as I exit the freeway.
“I’m afraid Uncle Joel will try to do something, I don’t know, illegal?” I scrunch my shoulders, tucking my neck in at how foolish that sounds. It only gets worse when my dad laughs.
“He’s not going to do anything illegal. Is he going to be loud? Oh, for sure. Will he complain that life isn’t fair? My brother has been doing that since the first time he got in trouble for punching me in the arm. But in the end, it’s all noise. If Hollis wants to walk this path, I’m sure she’s gotten used to hearing a lot of noise. You just need to train your ears on when to tune it out.”
My brow dents at my dad’s incredibly wise advice.
“You sound like Mom,” I compliment. He breathes out a laugh because we both know Mom is the one with the most level head of all.
“I learned a lot from that woman.” He glances out his window and I can tell he’s thinking of her, his mind on getting back to her and making this trip again with her by his side.
I’ve learned a lot from Hollis, too. I’ve known her for a month, not quite even, and when I compare the man I am right now with the one who didn’t think he had much to learn, I’m kinda proud of my progress. Turns out a faster mile time isn’t the only self-improvement on my resume this year.
Full breaths no longer elude me by the time I drop my dad off at his terminal, and I manage to slip back into highway traffic on the verge of rush hour, which puts me back on campus before the sun is down. There’s an off chance Hollis is here still, but when I see my cousin pulling from the school lot with Roland and Jay, I know there’s no way she’d let them quit workouts before her.
I pass Zack and roll down my window, figuring he’d stop to talk, but he doesn’t even glance in my direction as he drives by with the guys. I spend the next few seconds, as I pull in and find a spot, convincing myself he didn’t see me or that he waved and I missed it. That’s not the case, though. With nobody here to witness, he decided to be a dick, and those knots I finally untangled in my chest? They’re back again, and a fuck-load tighter.
Deciding this parking lot is too damn far, I pull onto the curb and drive along the wide sidewalk between the buildings and the fields, getting as close as I can to the places where Hollis could be. My chests thumps with worry, and the quiet out on the baseball field leaves my stomach unsettled.
Goddamn, Zack. What did you do?
I don’t know when her dad will be here, or if she planned on walking or having her mom come. I wasn’t supposed to make it back this fast, so she’s not expecting me, but if something is wrong, she would have called, right? She would have called.
I’m out of my truck in one second, jogging toward the clubhouse with my phone clutched in my hand, hoping to feel it buzz with a text from her that tells my gut I’m wrong. I can make it to her faster than my call would go through. The more strides I take without feeling a vibration from a text, the more my pace picks up until I’m sprinting toward the freezing metal door that shouldn’t be so easy to lock.
Gripping the handle, I pull it open hard, not mentally prepared for what might be on the other side. I don’t know if he hurt her, if they all did, or something . . . worse.
Worse.
It takes my eyes a few seconds to focus on her, my next breath filled with relief that her shirt doesn’t look torn, that her body doesn’t look bruised. Fuck, the evil thoughts were so bad that I’m honestly glad she’s clothed. I feel sick, and arrange my features before she turns and faces me, but I let everything go when I see how soaking wet she is.
“Hollis, are you okay?” I rush to her, expecting tears or rage, but when she spins to face me, her expression is nothing but even.
“Oh! Hey, I didn’t think you were coming.” She grips the front of her T-shirt and undershirt in her hands, twisting to wring out some of the water. It pools on the floor between her feet. Her pants, socks, everything is plastered to her body as if she jumped, fully clothed, into a swimming pool.
“I made good time. Why are you . . ?” I reach forward and tug on
