When I came to the Newton town line, I thought about driving by Tackle’s house, but what if he saw me? How embarrassing would that be?
Instead, I stepped on the gas, hoping to catch the stoplight before it turned red. There were two reasons I wanted to. The first was that it always felt like a ten-minute wait before it changed to green again. The second was that the grill was on the right side of the intersection. I tried not to look, but when the light changed and I was stuck there, I couldn’t stop myself. I thought about how I’d picked up Tackle and my brother there on Christmas night.
I was about to turn away when I saw Tackle’s car pull in and park next to the only other one in the lot. The car behind me honked as I watched him get out and greet the woman who had gotten out of the car next to him.
I drove away but could still see in the rearview mirror when he embraced the woman my brother had referred to as Nick.
“What’s wrong, mija?” my mother asked when I slammed one of the bags of groceries down on the kitchen counter.
“Nothing.”
She raised a brow.
“You know how much I hate traffic.”
“There was traffic on a Sunday?”
Actually, there hadn’t been. In fact, I was one of the only cars on the road. Except for Tackle and his girlfriend. I growled at the reminder and then realized my mother was studying me.
“You are acting very strange.”
I shrugged. “I am strange, Mom.” I put my arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek. “Are you just figuring that out?”
“Sit and talk to me,” she said, pointing to the table. I spent the rest of the afternoon with her in the kitchen while she cooked and insisted on doing my laundry for me.
“You aren’t going back into the city tonight,” she said, not phrasing it as a question.
I hadn’t planned on it, so I didn’t argue.
She, my father, and I were just finishing dinner when my mother got up and looked out the window.
“What?” I asked when her brow furrowed.
“Tackle is here.”
While my father got up and answered the door, I went in the opposite direction and ran up the back stairs to my bedroom. “Bathroom,” I shouted behind me when my mother asked where I was going.
To stop myself from listening to hear if he asked for me, or worse, giving in to the urge to go downstairs and confront him, I ran a bath, undressed, and climbed in before I could change my mind.
I don’t know how much time had passed when I heard a knock at the bathroom door. “Sloane?” my mother called out when I didn’t answer.
“Yeah?”
“Are you okay?”
“Fine, Mom.”
“So strange,” I heard her mutter as she walked away.
The next morning, my father and I drove into the city together since he had meetings all day at the State Department field office, located in the same building as DHS.
“Seems you have a lot on your mind, peanut.”
As with everything else that could be remotely linked to my brother’s best friend, his use of the nickname Knox had given me and Tackle had taken up using regularly made my heart ache all over again. Not that it had ever really stopped.
“Anything I can help with?”
“It’s nothing,” I said, looking out the passenger-side window.
“Work related?”
“Have you heard anything about Abdul Ghafor? I mean, anything you can tell me?”
“Funny you should ask. Tackle is coming in for a meeting today on the same subject.”
I spun my head and gaped. “Are you serious? Why?”
“Probably for the same reason you asked about him.”
“I was curious. That’s different than having a meeting.”
“You’re welcome to join us.”
“Thanks, but no thanks, Dad.”
He glanced over at me. “It’s at thirteen hundred hours if you change your mind.”
“Thanks,” I repeated.
“You’re welcome,” he said again, not realizing what I’d offered my appreciation for was that I now knew exactly at what time I’d be heading out for lunch.
“Hey.”
I groaned when I heard Tackle’s voice just as I was about to get into my car. “What?” I said without turning around to look at him. I jerked away when I felt his hand on my shoulder.
“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you.”
“Why?”
“Sloane. Look at me.”
Instead, I got in the car. He grabbed the door before I could close it.
“Leave me alone, Tackle,” I snapped.
“Hot and cold much?”
“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re accusing me of running hot and cold? That’s rich.”
“Yeah, I am. One minute, you’re sucking my cock, and the next, you’re blocking my calls again.”
“You’re such an asshole. Let go of the door.”
“No. I want some answers. Are you seriously pissed because I left Sunday morning?”
“Not at all. I was glad you were gone.”
“Is it because I was gentleman enough to get out of bed when I knew you didn’t feel well?”
“Here’s the deal, Sorenson. I’m not pissed. In fact, I couldn’t care less if I ever see or talk to you again.”
“I don’t believe that shit for a hot minute.”
“Again, I don’t care.” I pulled my phone out. “Either let go, or I’ll call security.”
He took a step back. “We’re not finished,” I heard him say before I slammed the door.
“Oh yes, we are,” I responded, not caring whether he could hear me or not. I put the car in gear and pulled out of the space. This time when I looked in the rearview mirror, instead of seeing him hugging another woman, I saw a very angry man.
14
Tackle
If there were a playbook for how not to handle things with Sloane, I was following all the don’ts to the letter.
First, I’d left Sunday morning without waking her to tell her or even leaving a note. Why? Because I figured it would be easier than lying
