Crew: I can do that. Tomorrow morning.
I smile so big it’s ridiculous.
Liv: I’ll be by around eight.
Crew responds with a thumbs up and I put my phone in my pocket and get down on the ground with Dylan who has moved from the truck to the ukulele I bought him. “Ba-da-ba-ba!” He wails happily like he thinks he’s Kid Laroi or something.
“You might skip hockey and be the first Garrison pop star,” I tell him and he grins at me.
* * *
Hours later, I’m settling Dylan in his room for the night when the door to his room creeks open behind me and I jump, my heart lurching into my throat.
"It's me!" I turn and see Tate standing there, arms up like he's in a robbery. "Sorry, I thought you heard the front door."
I press a hand to my chest, my heart thundering. “I didn’t. I…”
I can't finish that sentence. There is not enough air in my lungs or this room. I move away from Dylan's bed as he yells "Da!” and lift his arms toward Tate who scoops him up and kisses his cheek.
I walk out of the room, make my way downstairs, and into the back yard where I stare at the stars and listen to the canal water tapping Tate and Mallory's paddle boat, and force long, slow breaths into my lungs. A few minutes later, Tate walks out to join me.
“Sorry,” I say. “Did you get Dyllie down okay?”
“Yep. He’s out,” Tate replies and watches me intently. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I was startled.”
“That’s an intense reaction for startled,” Tate notes and I feel judgment from him, which I don’t like one bit.
“Remember when we were kids and there was a bat in the barn gym,” I say as I recall the building on his parents’ property that they converted into a gym for off-season workouts. “You were the one who discovered it and it swooped down at your face and you freaked out for weeks afterward when anything flew by you, from a moth to a sparrow?”
“I was nine.”
“Yeah and I was physically assaulted,” I remind him. “That’s gonna take a minute to get over. I am not abnormal.”
“I never said you were abnormal,” Tate replies, his shoulders tense as he gets defensive. “I think jumping at noises or unexpected things is very normal after what you went through. I don’t know if sleeping with a freshly divorced, anti-relationship hockey player on a random trip to Vegas would be considered normal though.”
It’s like Tate just dropped an anvil on my head. I take a sharp breath and my exhale is shaky. “He told you about Vegas?”
“He didn’t have to,” Tate explains. “I ran into him that morning when I went back for my wallet. He was on our floor in a woman’s hoodie. I didn’t know at the time it was your hoodie and he was leaving our suite, but I’m not an idiot and it was easy to piece together once he said he met you in Vegas.”
“He’s been divorced for a year so I wouldn’t call that fresh,” I argue. “And we are dating now, his idea FYI so I wouldn’t call him anti-relationship anymore.”
“Does he know? What happened to you?”
“No. And I don’t see why he has to,” I mutter. Tate frowns and it makes me sigh. “Look, I will admit that maybe the whole reason I ended up with Crew the first time was because I was responding to trauma. However now it’s something else. At the moment I see it as a bright spot, the only good thing that came out of this random attack I had to endure. That I’m still enduring until the asshole’s trial happens.”
Tate scratches the hair at the back of his neck and hangs his head a little. "Look, he's my best friend so I have to look out for him too. I need to know this isn't just a distraction for you because he's been really fucked over by a woman before and if you do it too…”
"Tate, do you realize who you're talking to?" I demand, exasperated. "I was going for a one-night stand, trying to be like you, or Tenley, or my mom. But I fell for Crew, okay? I’m not going to hurt him.”
“I don’t think you will,” Tate agrees but then adds, “On purpose. I just think someone with unresolved trauma might not be thinking clearly. And you even trying to have a one night stand when all you’ve ever talked about is the perfect romantic relationship, is a sign that?—”
“I’m done having this conversation." I flip up my hand, palm out to get him to shut up, and then storm past him, back into the house where I grab my book bag and purse before heading to the door.
“Wait! I have to drive you, remember?”
“I’ll walk.”