Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

Drake

The last bit of daylight fades while Miranda rambles about catching a baseball. I try to show some enthusiasm for her, but all I can think about is Lila. It's hard not to think about the past when she stands beside me. The love we shared still lingers in a small corner of my heart. Being with her is like a game of catch between past and present. The thought that keeps haunting me is, what if I had found her before meeting Miranda? Would Lila and I have gotten together? Do second chances really exist, or were AJ and my sister anomalies?

These are the thoughts I shouldn't be having when I'm holding my girlfriend in my arms.

Cue the fucking guilt.

"I knew we were heading to something great when you entered my parlor." Miranda presses close, her body heat seeping into mine, and I should feel anchored by her presence. Instead, there's this itch under my skin, a longing glance toward Lila, whose eyes crinkle when she's really happy.

I can't help myself. I'm lost in her beauty. I sneak my phone out and snap a picture of her like a stalker as she watches her son's futile attempts to catch butterflies.

The simple act brings me back to the meadows and fields where we used to sneak away. Oh, how I loved our nature walks. My mouth waters as I remember the taste of Lila's kisses, sweet with a hint of honey from the flowers we would pick on our walks. What started as an innocent venture always ended with us doing dirty deeds.

"Drake!" Miranda's demanding voice slams shut the vulgar thoughts toying in my mind. "Are you paying attention to me?"

"Yeah." I clear my throat and wrap my arms around Miranda's waist to ward off the funny sensation. What felt right this past month now feels wrong. I clear my throat. "You were talking about catching my baseball."

"It was more than that, but I shouldn't expect you to be romantic." She huffs.

"I can be romantic." I trace my nose along the nape of her neck and lower my voice. "I can show you later when we're alone."

Lila stiffens beside us, and I suddenly feel like a dick—quite possibly the one everyone accuses me of being. I've had years to polish my dirty talk game, so making sex references comes naturally to me as dressing for a game. But I hadn't meant to disrespect Lila. And what makes me the biggest asshole of all is that I secretly wish I was holding her.

Which is unfair to the woman in my arms.

I promised myself I would give us a real go. That I would put in the effort. For once, I want to keep that promise. I just hadn't expected to run into the true love of my life.

I'm so fucked.

"Mom, I caught one!" Jake's joyous voice rings through the air and pulls our attention.

"Be sure not to harm the wings," Lila says.

"I know, Mom."

"Still the martyr." I smile at the memory, picturing her saying those exact words every time we went to the fields.

"Of course." Lila's smile meets mine, and it's like we're sharing a secret, just us and the ghosts of our younger selves. I suppose we are, in a way. I'm unwilling to admit to Miranda how close Lila and I were. It's complicated with them being roommates. I don't want to cause friction and definitely don't want to be the reason behind un-housing a woman and her child. It's best to keep what we meant to each other in the past where it belongs.

"Makes sense, coming from someone who wanted a big farmhouse with lots of land," I say.

"Oh, I still want that."

"Why?" Miranda asks, her nose scrunched as if the thought was pungent.

"Because it's perfect."

Lila's answer is whimsical, much to Miranda's dismay. She rolls her eyes as if that's the stupidest answer ever. But I know precisely what Lila's talking about. After we'd made love, we would lie on the blanket holding hands while watching the clouds. We often talked about our dreams. Mine was easy—play ball. But she wanted a big farmhouse to open a bed and breakfast inn. She wanted enough land so her dog could roam. Not that she owned one, but she dreamed of having the biggest, fluffiest breed.

"Do you still want that bed and breakfast inn?" I ask. Her mouth parts, forming the perfect "o" shape. That's right, sweetheart. I remember everything. I haven't forgotten one damn thing.

"No," she says, a soft smile ghosting her lips, her eyes mesmerized. "But I still want that big farmhouse with lots of land for my Tibetan Mastiff."

"Seriously? You've never changed your mind?"

"No!" She laughs, and the sound wraps around me like a familiar embrace. "That was always the dream."

The one I was supposed to be starring in.

"You achieved part of it anyway. You groom them." Miranda's voice grounds me back to her, but I can't take my eyes off Lila.

"What is it you do?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"I'm a pet groomer down on East Broadway Street. That's the closest I've gotten to my Mastiff."

"I can see you doing that. You always had a way with animals."

"If she'd play her cards right, she'd have a way with the owner of that Mastiff," Miranda mumbles.

"That's not true." Pink coats Lila's face as she shakes her head, but something about her expression indicates a hint of truth to Miranda's words.

A pang of jealousy hits my chest out of nowhere. I clenched my teeth, wanting to know how this faceless guy measured up to me.

Fighting the urge to ask if she wants it to be true.

Wondering why I even care.

"Whatever. The poor man comes in weekly. No one needs their dog groomed that many times." Miranda rolls her eyes as her fingers graze my arm, a subtle claim that goes unnoticed by everyone but me. I unfurl my fingers so she can slip hers through. With a grin that says she wants more than my hand, Miranda asks, "What kind of dog did you want?"

"Drake doesn't like dogs," Lila says with such ease that I can't help but meet her gaze again. But this time, I feel Miranda's suspiciousness oozing as she looks between us.

"I had an incident when I was younger. I can tolerate them now, but owning one? Lila's right. It's not going to happen."

"That's good because I don't have the time or want to deal with the furry creatures," Miranda interjects.

I have to hold back the "good thing I wasn't asking," which is on the tip of my tongue. I'd shut down any talk about the future with any other girl, but I'm trying to be committed. For once in my adult life, I want to be a good boyfriend. I am not sure if the forced smile is working, though.

"That is something you won't ever have to worry about." I squeeze Miranda for added affirmation.

"I am curious as to what happened?" Miranda asks.

I take a deep breath and force my gaze away from Miranda's. But Lila knows this story well. She knows everything about my childhood, but we share this story. "I was attacked by a wild dog when I was eight."

Miranda gasps. "Seriously?" She starts looking me over as if it just happened. "Were you hurt?"

Lila and I lock eyes. From their depths, I see reflected the memory of a terrified boy covered in blood, his screams echoing through the woods. She was so brave that day, grabbing my knife and stabbing the dog. She saved me.

"I was. Bad enough that I needed stitches." I lift my tattooed arm to reveal an old scar running down the side of my forearm—an ugly reminder of that day.

Without thought, Lila's fingers trace along the scar.

"That's why you got inked? To cover it up?" Lila asks, voice soft.

I nod, unable to say anything else.

Miranda clears her throat loudly, pulling our attention. But before she can say anything—to complain or reclaim me, or whatever she plans to do—I stand up, gathering the scattered plastic plates and cups.

"Let's pack up," I say, more curtly than I intend. My pulse races with a mix of emotions—lingering touches, forgotten memories, and Miranda's suspicious gaze—I don't quite understand.

Miranda's lips tighten into a thin line, her hands folding over her chest as she watches me clean up our picnic spread. From the corner of my eyes, I see her glance at Lila, who is also standing up and helping gather Jake's scattered toys and blanket.

In the following silence, my mind replays every moment of our conversation. Lila's soft touch on my scarred skin sends a chill down my spine that has nothing to do with the cool Boston breeze blowing around us. It feels too intimate—too reminiscent of a time when we were more than friends who just happened to share a past.

"I'm sorry about the damn dog," Miranda says, finally breaking the silence as we load everything into the trunk of my car. "But had I grown up with you, I would've been there for you."

I hold back a sigh. Miranda doesn't strike me as a nurturing person. I can tell she tried with Jake, but she didn't pull it off. His body language alone screams they aren't close. I'm not sure why she's pushing it.

"Mama Lila, can we get ice cream on the way back."

"Oh, I like that idea," I say, much to Jake's excitement. From the look on Lila's face, I worry I've overstepped. "That is if your mom is okay with it."

Miranda sighs, a faintly annoyed expression pulling at her immaculately styled eyebrows. Her gaze flickers to Lila, who stands watching us with a detached calmness that stings more than I care to admit.

"Sure. Why not?"

Jake's face lights up like the Fourth of July fireworks, and he runs up to me, wrapping his tiny arms around my leg. I chuckle and ruffle his hair. This little kid is cute.

"Yay! We don't have to until Saturday."

"See, life has a way of working out," Lila says, though I don't know what they're referencing. "There's an ice cream truck right over there."

"Let's go. I like chocolate. What do you like, Gun Man?"

"Chocolate's my favorite," I say.

Miranda lets out a disgruntled huff, turns, and walks in the opposite direction toward the row of high-end boutiques lining one side of the park. Without sparing me another glance, she calls over her shoulder, "I'll meet you guys back at the car."

"Are you sure?" I ask as guilt claws at my insides. She waves dismissively without looking back, signaling she doesn't want to discuss it further. The iron knot of unease in my chest tightens.

I need to pay less attention to Lila and more to my girlfriend. These feelings for Lila are nothing more than nostalgia creeping back into my life. Yes, I had loved her once, but that was in the past. High School stuff. She has a kid. And I'm certainly not wanting to be a fill-in dad. I've just now come around to the idea of being a boyfriend—a rather shitty one at the moment.

But I can't deny the spark between Lila and me. I just need to suppress this endless need to get to know the adult version of her. This is nothing more than a test. One I won't fail.