Page 85 of Romance Is Dead

I hesitated. The idea of snapping a cozy photo of the two of us felt strangely intimate—it didn’t feel like friends with benefits, it felt like something more. But Teddy’s face was so hopeful, and deep down, I was curious to see what we looked like together.

“Ok,” I relented.

Teddy inched closer and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. I nestled into the crook of his neck, inhaling his woodsy scent. He tapped the screen and the flash momentarily blinded us.

“Let me see!”

“So eager,” he teased. He tipped the screen my way and there we were, overblown by the bright light. Usually, I didn’t like myself in photos, but I liked this one. A small smile curved my lips and my eyes were closed like I was in bliss, my head nestled on his shoulder. Teddy had also avoided looking at the camera, gazing at me instead.

It was beautiful, I had to admit. We were beautiful.

As Teddy made sure the photo was saved, I nudged him with my elbow. “You’re welcome, by the way. Childhood trauma conquered.”

He chuckled, a low rumbling sound, but didn’t say anything.

My brow crinkled. “You ok? You were great out there. You’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“It’s not that.”

“What’s up?”

“I guess. . .” Teddy hesitated, visibly uncomfortable. “I wish my dad could have seen that, is all. He would have gotten a kick out of it.”

I rolled onto my side. “He’ll see the movie, won’t he? And you can show him before it comes out. Maybe rustle up a game of backyard baseball. Or tee-ball, if you get nervous again.” It was supposed to be a joke, but he didn’t laugh. “Sorry, that was dumb. I didn’t mean—”

Teddy shook his head. “No, it’s just. . . My dad died. Like a week after the baseball thing happened.”

“Oh my God.” My stomach bottomed out as I regretted the dumb joke about tee-ball even more. I reached out to touch his arm, rubbing the firm muscle under the fabric of his hoodie. “I never would have tried to joke about that if—”

“How could you know? I don’t talk about it much. Not because it’s too painful, but because people tend to be weird about it. They either don’t know what to say, so they say nothing, or they make a huge deal of it, and I wind up telling them that it’s ok.” He ran a hand down his face. “It’s exhausting. So, I just don’t bring it up.”

I wanted to kick myself. Now the whole thing made a little more sense—of course losing his father would make the memories of his disastrous little league season all the more painful. Of course he would freeze up, having to think about all that trauma.

“I’m sorry. I probably fall under the camp of people who react badly.”

“Not at all.” Teddy turned to look at me, his face so close I could count his eyelashes. “I told you because I wanted to. I trust you.”

Something stirred deep in my chest, a desire to assure him I was worthy of that trust. “How did it happen?”

He tilted his head to the sky, moonlight gleaming off his blue eyes. “A heart attack, out of nowhere, when he was at work. My mother picked me up from school during lunch. I remember I was in the middle of this awful bowl of chili. I could tell she’d been crying, but she wouldn’t tell me why until we got home. Then we went to my grandmother’s, and it’s all a blur after that.”

“That’s terrible.”

“You want to know the fucked-up thing? Sometimes I wonder if my mom and I would be as close as we are if he hadn’t died. Not like I’m glad that it happened. It’s just. . .”

“Something you think about,” I finished.

“Yeah. Even when she had to juggle, like, three jobs she’d always make sure to be home to read me and my brother a bedtime story. Or if she couldn’t, she’d stop by school the next day to have lunch with us. Looking back, it must have been so fucking hard. But somehow she made it seem easy. She always made us feel loved.” His jaw tightened. “All I want is to make life easy for her now.”

“She sounds amazing.” My chest squeezed with aching affection. Teddy was so good. At that moment, I thought he was maybe the best person I’d ever met. “Were you close with your dad before he died?”

“He was my hero.” Teddy laughed softly. “I’m sure all boys think that about their dads though.”

“No, I think there are a lot of crummy dads out there. You were lucky.” I pushed myself up on my elbow. “My dad, for example, is a murderer.” I immediately cringed—there I was, making jokes again, and a bad one at that. But Teddy burst out with a laugh, and some of the tension ebbed from his body.

“That must have been so fun, seeing all that as a kid.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and I rolled over to rest my head on his chest.

“Most of the time. I don’t think my mom liked it. She was pretty eager to move away and have a more normal life, away from the industry.” I traced his collarbone under his shirt. Maybe I was more like my mom than I thought. “But it’s hard to beat going to movie premieres when you’re seven or Mike Myers coming to your fifth birthday party.”

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