I refuse.
“No . . . I mean, yeah, I have been practicing, but it wasn’t that. That was just from yes—” He waves a dismissive hand through the air and clears his throat. “Uh, never mind. No, it wasn’t planned.”
“Well, it was good.” I’m curious about what he was going to say, but decide not to push it. “Hopefully she’ll remember it after you scrambled her brain cells before we left.”
I laugh remembering the dazed expression on Jen’s face, but when I glance at Quinton, he’s staring at me with a blank look.
“Scrambled her brain cells? What are you talking about?”
“You know.” I shrug. “When you hugged her all tight and it looked like her head was going to explode all over the place.”
“You hugged her first.” His voice takes on a hard edge. “Why was it wrong when I did it?”
“Whoa there, killer.” I raise my hands up in surrender. Not sure how me trying to be nice to him got us here. “I didn’t say it was wrong. Just that, well, you’re you. A hug coming from you is a lot different than one from me.”
“What does that even mean? I was just being nice.”
Looks like being nice is backfiring for both of us.
“Come on, dude.” I stop walking and turn to face him, ignoring the not-so-nice words the man behind me mutters as he passes by. “You have to know what you look like. On top of that, you’re the starting quarterback for a professional team. So you’re young, famous, rich, handsome, and occasionally not a jerk.” I tick off my fingers one by one. “There’s a lot of people who would love the chance to try and shoot their shot.”
He mumbles something beneath his breath that I don’t quite catch and starts to walk again. His strides are long and measured, but his shoulders are slumped and his spine is bowed. It’s like he’s trying to curl into himself. By itself, that’s concerning body language, but from the ever confident Quinton Howard Junior? It’s downright alarming.
“Hey!” I call after him and try to pick up my pace. But he’s moving really fast and his legs are a lot longer than mine, so this really isn’t fair. “Wait for me!”
He doesn’t answer, but he does slow his steps until I reach him again. And I’ll take what I can get.
“Are you okay? I missed what you said before you walked away,” I ask when I’ve caught up, only slightly out of breath.
“I didn’t say anything.”
He ignores my question about whether or not he’s okay, but after spending the time I have with him, I know he can be short with words. Most of the time, I’d brush this off as him being a dismissive asshole again. But something is wrong. I can see it in the way his throat is working, as if he wants to say something, but the words are stuck . . . threatening to choke him.
And it’s something I recognize. I know all too well what it looks like to pretend everything is fine when in reality, you’re in so much pain you don’t know which way is up or down anymore.
Brynn’s parting words from the bathroom run through my head again. Maybe I don’t know what this man is going through. And it is my job to find out. So instead of ignoring him and hopping in my car that’s finally come into view, I make a new plan.
“Hey.” I rest a hand on his forearm to stop him, ignoring the jolt of electricity that flows through my fingertips at the feeling of his skin. It somehow feels even smoother than it looks. “I’m actually starving right now and there are still a few little things I’d like to discuss with you about the event. I know you have to be at the team’s hotel later, but would you want to grab some lunch and go over everything with me?”
“Um, yeah.” He glances down at his Apple Watch. “I have time for lunch.”
“Oh good!” I try to find some excitement that I don’t really feel. Fake it till you make it, am I right? “Are you in the mood for anything?”
“I’m fine with whatever. I’m still new to the city.” He looks along the building-lined streets of Downtown Denver, probably ready to shout out the name of the first restaurant he sees to get this over with. “I don’t know what’s good here.”
“Well, lucky for you, you’re with a Denver native and I grew up not far from here. I know a place and it’s never crowded.” I reach into my purse and grab my keys and phone. “I’ll text you the address. It’s not far.”
“Sounds good.” He taps on his watch when the text goes through. Technology is so wild. “I’ll see you there soon.”
“See ya.” I open my car door and slide into the seat, then, before I can close the door, he does it for me, like the old-school gentleman he’s most definitely not, then turns and walks away without a backward glance.
What an odd, odd man.
Ten
I didn’t think this plan through.
When my dad died, I made the decision to stay far away from the neighborhood that housed too many memories to face on a daily basis. And I’ve managed to do just that.
Until today.
Driving down the tree-lined roads, memories I’ve been avoiding like the plague hit me hard and fast. The corner where my dad helped me set up a lemonade stand every summer until I decided I was too cool to do it anymore. The street where he dropped me off for the bus each morning. The park where we would play basketball together. All of those amazing memories that should bring a smile to my face, but are chased away as I drive past the street where our house is.
Was.
Where our house was.
The hospice nurses setting up his bed. Watching the rise and fall of his
