I laugh again, and she joins in before throwing the still-wrapped treat at me. Her laugh is bright and melodic. The kind that’s contagious without being forced.
We fall into an amicable silence as we eat. It’s a little harder for me with the bag of ice covering most of my face, but I manage. When there’s nothing left but the stick it came on, I drop the ice onto the bench beside me and lean forward.
"So, smart Sadie, do you make it a habit?"
She shoves her stick into the wrapper, does some weird maneuver to stand that my brain can’t stop from registering as,Jesus, she’s flexible, and holds her hand out to me.
"Make what a habit? Give me your trash."
I slide it into her awaiting palm. "Hanging out with people who do drugs." A hint of pink creeps up her neck and onto her cheeks, and frankly, it’s adorable. I want to make it happen again. Something tells me she doesn’t laugh or let loose—just a feeling, nothing concrete—and that’s a fucking shame.
"No." She walks away, depositing our trash in a nearby bin, then returns. "I just… you said nevermind, so I assumed it was something bad. Like something you wouldn’t want to admit, which equals drugs, I guess… or murder…or—"
"Or I used to play hockey but can’t anymore because I have had too many head injuries, many of which resulted from fighting… i.e., a nose that bleeds easier than others." I raise an eyebrow at her, smirking because I can’t help it. "But see… I knew murder was on your mind. Thanks for confirming."
She scoffs, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "You’re still infuriating, you know that, right?"
"Still? Me? You’re the one that’s accosted me twice in two days." I place a hand on my chest as if she’s wounded me. "You’re lucky I’m such a selfless guy."
That makes her snort, and her hand flies up to cover her mouth as if that will make me forget it happened. "What’s it gonna take, Max?" I raise an eyebrow at her. "Name it. What’s the price for never telling anyone about what happened here today?"
She used to say the exact same thing when attempting to teach me algebra—there was always a bribe involved, and it was never a fun one. I make a show of acting like I’m thinking, resting my hand on my chin and tapping a finger to my cheek. "Trying to buy my silence? That’s murderess behavior, Sade."
"Seriously? I’m not trying to kill you, but if I wanted to, I’d prob—"
I hold up my hands in surrender. "Jesus, okay, let’s maybe not continue that sentence." She smirks, a quiet laugh rolling out of her. "Tell me why you came home."
Sadie looks surprised, like maybe she thought I’d throw her an easy question—I probably should have.
She sits down on the bench facing me, tucking one leg underneath her. "It’s not a great story." Sadie releases a long, steady breath. "I’m on break from work, and I didn’t really have anywhere else to go."
That’s not exactly the dramatic answer I was expecting.
"Oh, hmm." I run a hand through my hair, lightly scratching the skin at the base of my neck. "I’m not gonna lie, I really thought it was going to be more exciting than that. Howie made it seem—"
Sadie holds up a hand to stop me. "You know Howard?"
"Who doesn’t? The man is a legend in this town." Sadie’s mouth gapes, and I smirk at her reaction. "We’re practically besties."
Her eyes widen as the sun reflects off the normally chocolate circles, highlighting tiny flecks of amber. That shock quickly slips into something more cautious as she chews her lip. "What did Howie tell you?"
"Not much." I hesitate. While I’d normally take pleasure in being a shit stirrer, I can’t this time. "Just that you don’t come home often. Did you say you plan events, or I’m sorry? My memory is kinda shitty. What do you do?"
Sadie blows a raspberry, and I can’t help but watch. Xav was right. She’s the girl next door, but also sort of uptight and a little quirky. It’s endearing as hell.
"I manage a youth outreach program that gives kids opportunities and access they wouldn’t otherwise have."
That felt practiced.
"Access to what?"
"Max, what do you do now that hockey isn’t on the table?"
Sadie’s attempt at changing the subject is shaky at best. "Nope. You owe me, remember." She stands, reaching around me to grab her bag and bloodstained sweater. As her fingers wrap around the plush green material, she stares at the stains for a minute. "You really know how to ruin a sweater," she mumbles—hopefully to herself since that’s her fault—walking over to the trash can and throwing it away. I expect her to turn back, but she starts down the path back toward the square.
I should probably let her go. It’s obvious that she doesn’t want to get into it. But the fact that she’s willing to walk away mid-conversation only fuels my intrigue. I stand, following quickly behind her until we’re in lockstep. I’m hyper-aware of how close our pinkies are from touching, so I know there’s zero chance she hasn’t noticed me.
At the crosswalk, I step in front of her, reaching out to press the walk button. A small harrumph coasts out of her, making me smirk in her direction.