13. Freddie

FREDDIE

THEN – SOPHOMORE YEAR – MARCH

“ J ust a few more steps. And no peeking.”

“Freddie Donovan, if you’re leading me into another one of Ethan’s surprise pranks?—”

“Would I do that to you?” I keep my hands over her eyes, guiding her carefully around the corner of the gym. She’s so small compared to me that I’m practically wrapped around her, and it feels kind of nice, the way she leans against my chest.

“Yes. Yes, you absolutely would.” But she’s smiling—I can hear it in her voice.

“Your lack of faith wounds me, Lexie. Also, watch the step here.”

She stumbles slightly, and I instinctively tighten my hold. Her hair smells faintly of lavender shampoo.

“Seriously, what is this about? I have a lab report due?—”

“And I’m sure it’s color-coded within an inch of its life. Now shut up and prepare to be amazed.” I position her just right, wanting her to get the full effect. The afternoon sun hits the patch of dirt perfectly, making the tiny wooden sign I spent way too long painting look almost professional.

“Ready?”

“I swear to God, Freddie, if this is—” Her words cut off as I drop my hands. For a moment, she just stands there, and panic starts creeping in. Maybe this was stupid. Maybe I read too much into that conversation about wildflowers. Maybe?—

“You made a bee garden?” Her voice is soft, almost awed.

“Well, technically, right now it’s more of a dirt patch with potential,” I say, scratching the back of my neck. “The seeds are just planted, so it’ll take a while. But I remembered what you said about native species and how important wildflowers are. And there was this unused space behind the gym, and my manager’s wife apparently loves gardening, so when I pitched the idea?—”

“Home for the Bees,” she reads the sign, and damn if her smile isn’t the brightest thing I’ve ever seen.

“Yeah, well,” I shrug, trying to play it cool. “Figured if I’m going to keep up my reputation, I need somewhere cool to bring the ladies.”

She turns to me, and for a second, I think she might hug me. Instead, she punches my arm. “You’re such a dork.”

“Wow. I create a whole sanctuary for your precious pollinators and this is the thanks I get? I even used recycled wood for the sign. That’s like, peak Alex Ford approval material right there.”

She laughs, and something in my chest loosens. “It’s perfect,” she says, then adds more quietly, “Thank you.”

I want to tell her that I’d plant a thousand gardens if it meant seeing her smile like that. Instead, I bump her shoulder with mine. “Just wait till spring. This place is going to be buzzing.”

She groans at the pun but can’t hide her grin. “You’re impossible.”

“You love it.”

The words slip out before I can stop them, and for a moment, everything feels charged, delicate. But then she’s turning back to the garden, asking about what seeds I chose, and I can breathe again.

“Did you know Colorado has over nine hundred species of native bees?” she starts, and I settle in for what I’m sure will be a very detailed lecture about bees that I’ve probably heard before.

She’s mid-explanation about solitary bees when I can’t hold it in anymore. The real reason I did all of this was to say sorry.

“Listen, Lex,” I start, my tone serious. “About what happened at the lake?—”

“Oh God,” she cuts me off, cheeks flushing. “Can we not? Really, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.” I run a hand through my hair, frustrated with myself. “I was a total jerk. Dad had just called, and the medical bills are…” I trail off, not wanting to dump all that on her. “Anyway, the stuff about the care home—I wasn’t mad at you. I was mad at… everything else, I guess. And you were just, like, conveniently there being all passionate and sure about things. It’ll be alright; I’ll graduate with a good job thanks to my degree, and I’ll be able to help them.”

She fiddles with the sleeve of her sweater, not meeting my eyes. “Alfie told me. About your dad calling.”

“Yeah?” Great. Now I feel like even more of an ass. “Still doesn’t excuse me taking it out on you.”

I can’t help but be a little pleased that Alfie had my back though. He’s a good guy, really. The guy's loaded—not that you'd ever know it. He never talks about his family or where he comes from, but the signs are there if you know where to look. Like how he insisted on paying more than his fair share of rent, claiming it was because he'd taken the biggest room. Or how he never blinks at utility bills that make the rest of us wince. The guys and I figured it out months ago, but we never bring it up.

He's subtle about it, but he's always taking care of us in his own weird way. Like how the fridge is mysteriously always stocked with that fancy protein powder Troy’s loves but can’t afford, or Ethan’s favorite imported hot sauce that costs more than my hourly wage. When we try to pay him back, he just shrugs it off with some bullshit about how he “bought too much” or “it was on sale”.

Sometimes I wonder if that's why he keeps to himself so much—maybe it's easier than explaining why he's slumming it with us instead of living in some luxury apartment downtown.

“Freddie, seriously?—”

“No, let me finish.” I take a breath. “You were right about a lot of stuff, and I was being defensive because… well, because sometimes it feels like everything’s getting more complicated. Like nothing’s as simple as it used to be.” I gesture vaguely at the dirt patch that will hopefully become a garden. “But that doesn’t mean your passion is wrong. We need people who still believe in making things better. It still makes a difference.”

She’s quiet for a moment, studying the ‘Home for the Bees’ sign.

“Things aren’t always black and white,” she says finally, echoing my words from that day. “I’m learning that too.”

“Look at us,” I try to lighten the mood. “Growing as people. Next thing you know, I’ll be composting.”

That gets a small smile from her. “Let’s not get crazy. Baby steps.”

“Hey, I just planted a bee garden.”

She rolls her eyes, but the tension’s broken. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet you’re still here, about to tell me more about Colorado’s nine hundred species of bees.”

“Nine hundred and forty-six, actually,” she corrects, then blushes when I grin at her. “Shut up.”

“Didn’t say a word, Lexie. Not a single word.”