17. Chapter Seventeen

The total for the battery comes to one hundred thirty-four dollars and ninety-two cents. I get eight cents in change. And I've got another three dollars left in my pocket from the last table I served today. And probably about sixteen dollars in my bank account.

It's all good. All fucking good.

I'm not gonna panic. Friday's coming up, and Fridays usually mean good tips. So I should be fine.

Totally fine.

I nod a quick thanks to Hank, pocket the receipt and my change, and then lift the battery off the counter by its handle. He grimaces as he watches me—because holy shit, this thing isn't light—but I force a smile.

"Thanks again. I appreciate it," I say, and then I head out.

I'm gonna just pretend I don't actually have to walk three miles carrying this nearly forty-pound battery awkwardly in one hand. At least the weather isn't terrible. It's a bit chilly and breezy, but the sun is shining.

So, yeah, at least there's that.

But after about the first half mile, just as I pass the diner, I'm already wondering how fucking stupid I am.

I briefly consider stopping to ask Mel if I can borrow her car, at least to get the battery home. But she was so out of sorts earlier that I'm not even inclined to do that. When I left at the end of my shift just about a half hour ago, she was holed up in her office on another phone call. And she hadn't sounded happy.

No, I can't ask her. She's dealing with her own shit.

So that leaves Angie, who's out of town today, and Chuck, whose car isn't any more reliable than mine, and...

Shit, I mean, I guess I could call Josh.

God, damn, I can't even think his name without feeling it again—a rush of heat through my chest, a sharp tingling in my hand where he'd touched me. And it's fucking intense and persists longer than maybe it should.

I wish I had the fucking nerve. I wish I wasn't too fucking embarrassed—by my shitty house, my broken-down truck, my ruined finances. It was bad enough that he overheard my phone call with Hank and then insisted I take his money.

I mean, I needed it. More than I want to admit.

But I'd like to think that I have my shit together enough to be able to buy a fucking battery for my fucking truck.

He's got a doctorate and a well-paying job and a shiny new car and a beautiful fiancée. And I'm just fucking happy that Mel didn't kick me out when my rent was weeks late and that my electricity hasn't been shut off yet.

I switch the battery to my left hand and shake out my right arm. Yeah, this is gonna be a long walk. Because I'm really not ready to call him.

I pass by the motel, and another ten or fifteen minutes goes by where I'm having to repeatedly switch which hand is holding the battery. But the time I can tolerate holding it in either hand is getting shorter and shorter. And after I've walked maybe a mile and a half, the ache in my shoulders is a real thing.

"Fuck it," I mutter aloud, and I stop and set the battery down for a minute with a sigh of relief. Fuck.

Why the fuck am I so stubborn? I mean, I guess I've needed to be to, you know, survive and all. But this isn't a fucking survival thing. It's a pride thing.

My life is so fucked-up. And I can blame it on whatever I want—how fucking screwed up everything was after my mom died is probably the biggest reason. I still remember how it had felt to be kicked out of our apartment after she'd died. Nowhere to go, no one to turn to. Fuck, social services hadn't even shown up to send me to a group home or some shit. I don't know why. Being suddenly homeless and broke, with no idea where to go or what to do—that had been a shock enough. But it was the loneliness of being on my own, without my mom for the first time in my life... I think that's what had made it so unbearable. It's still something huge and grief-filled and painful.

But all that's not an excuse. Not really. Everyone has struggles. I mean, I know Josh has had it rough too, with all that fucking messed up shit with his parents. Despite that, he's managed, somehow, and he's successful enough to be able to just throw forty bucks at me without batting an eye.

Yet here I am. Fucking nineteen dollars to my name. And at least a mile and a half left to carry this fucking battery.

God dammit.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a minute, and for some reason, I see her—my mom. She's kneeling in her garden at our house back in Garrington, trimming roses. Happy and content and pain-free. She looks up at me with a soft smile and a quiet expression. And I know it's not real, but I can still wish, right?

Fuck, I miss her. More than I can even say. It's been a long time since she died, but it really does hurt. Still. And even after so long, I don't know how to deal with all this pain. I also don't why I'm still thinking about her now, when all my thoughts are being so intrusive, reminding me what a fucking screwup I am. Barely getting by with my fucking minimum-wage job.

Fuck. All I ever wanted was to make her proud.

My cell phone rings in my pocket, and I blink my eyes back open and dig it out. It's Mel. Of course. I mean, no one else usually calls. I swipe to answer and then clear my throat as I bring the phone up to my ear.

"Hey, Mel. What's up?"

"Hey, Coop. Glad you answered. Look, I just..." She pauses, sounding slightly out of breath or something, and I hear what might be the door to her office closing, followed by a long sigh. "I wanted to talk to you earlier, and I didn't get a chance. Fuck, it's just... I know I've been acting all weird and shit, and I wanted to say thank you again for stepping up like you have lately. You're really... appreciated. And I know I haven't been the easiest person to be around these last few days, but you've just fuckin' been there, whenever I've needed you. And I wanted you to know."

I'm not sure what to say or that my voice would work right now anyway. I take a long breath and let it out slowly. "Uh, I... Shit, Mel, are you dying or something?"

Ah, why the fuck did I blurt that out? It's been on my mind, but, shit, really?

Thankfully, she's not mad, and I hear her hoarse laugh through the phone.

"No, you fucking idiot, I'm not dying. It's just family shit, like I told you. My brother's an ass, and he... Ah, not over the phone, Coop. Fuck. I'll tell you tomorrow."

"I'm, uh, supposed to be off tomorrow," I say, and there's this sick feeling in my stomach as I hope to whatever fucking gods might be listening that she doesn't tell me that's not the case. "I mean, unless—"

"Oh, that's right. Tomorrow's Thursday. Shit, I'm fucking done today. Friday—I'll tell you Friday. It's a fucking shitshow, though, Coop, I'm just warning you now. My family—shit, there's a reason I never head back home."

Home for her is Kansas, I think? But I'll admit I don't really know much. She doesn't talk about her family—ever, really. And I guess there's a good reason for that.

"Friday, then, yeah. I mean, you know if you need me tomorrow, I'll—"

"Coop?"

I stop, and there's a flurry of something in my chest as she says her next words.

"Don't you dare come in tomorrow. Even if I call and beg, your answer's no. Got it?"

"But—"

"You're not the one who needs to carry everything all the time. It's my fucking diner, it's my fucking job." There's another short laugh, and her tone is almost teasing as she adds, "Besides, you've got like a date or something tomorrow, don't you?"

Ah, fuck. Fucking Angie.

"And no, Angie didn't tell me. I can fucking see and hear, you know," Mel says, and I swear it seems like she can read my mind sometimes.

"God, Mel, it's not . . . I . . ."

"Don't come in tomorrow," she repeats, and she laughs again. "And have a good time, Coop!"

"It's not a date, Mel! He's just a friend!"

Shit, she's already hung up.

Ah, fuck.

I stuff my phone back into my pocket, groan as I lift the battery, and then start off down the road again.

***

Amy's Gas and General Store is my next stop. And not because I'm there to buy anything. It's just that by the time I get there, after maybe another ten minutes of walking, I pretty much can't feel my arms anymore. So I stop, still along the side of the road, and set the battery down—again.

Two miles down, one to go.

It still fucking sucks, but I'm almost there. Kinda.

There's the sound of a car coming up behind me, and I step slightly farther off onto the shoulder as I stretch my arms. The car pulls right up alongside me and stops. It's a nice, shiny new silver sedan.

Shit.

The window's rolling down, and I can see him inside the car, and I just want to disappear. Crawl under a rock. Deny that I'm actually here on the side of the road, still a mile from home and with fucking sore arms because I'm too proud to have called and asked for a ride.

Yet at the same time, there's this shiver that runs through me. It's excitement and something warm. And it's followed by some other feeling I can't really explain, but god, it feels good.

"Hey, man, are you..." He trails off as he leans over a bit and glances at the ground, where the battery sits.

Yup. I'm hauling a forty-pound battery with me as I walk home from town. It's what I do for fucking exercise. God, I'm such a dumbass.

He looks back up at me, both eyebrows arched. And fuck, it's a sexy look. I'm not sure he has any not-sexy looks, actually.

I just shrug because my throat's a bit dry, and he frowns. Before I can protest, he's put the car in park, popped the trunk, and jumped out. I'm expecting him to say something reproachful—remind me how he said to call if I needed a ride, tell me how much of an idiot I am, or just... something like that.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he stops next to the trunk, his eyes showing some sort of concern, and he gives me a weak smile. "Let me drive you the rest of the way?"

His voice is kind and genuine, like he actually fucking cares. Because maybe he actually does.

Shit, why is my heart trying to interpret this in all the wrong ways?

I guess I have to remind it that he's engaged and straight. And he's just trying to be nice because he actually is sorry about what happened ten years ago. So maybe we can be friends.

"Uh, thanks, but you—you don't have to. It's only another mile. I can manage."

He still doesn't argue with me, but his frown deepens a bit and then morphs into some other look—skeptical, maybe, with a hint of, god, it's that same sexy. Shit, I'm just so done for.

"I'm sure you can," he says, and yeah, it's definitely some weird, sexy, teasing grin now that's much too fucking hot. "But I'm planning to beat you at bowling tomorrow, fair and square. If you're too sore to move, it won't feel like a real win, you know?"

Shit, he's more than just hot. He actually cares. Like, really actually cares. And for some reason, his teasing me feels so fucking good—almost like old times.

I shake my head, but I can't help laughing. "No, I guess not."

I bend over to pick up the battery—and yeah, I'm just gonna ignore the ache in my back and shoulders. Not groaning. I'm totally not groaning. Then I heft it up into the trunk of his car, and he grins at me again as he shuts the trunk.

"Come on," he says.

I wish I didn't still hesitate. I mean, the battery's already in the trunk. And he clearly wants to help. And I clearly want to spend more time with him.

But it's my heart. It clearly wants something I know it can't have. It wants whatever we were on the cusp of figuring out that afternoon ten years ago. That thing he disguised as curiosity. That thing that I can still feel so strongly.

It wants him.

I nod with a small smile and then jog around to the passenger side and climb into the car.