Page 24 of Outlaw Heartstrings
After a night of absolutely no sleep, I nervously amble across the parking lot of Eggs ’N Oats. I planned my morning carefully to get here fifteen minutes early, hoping to have a moment to myself in order to calm my wrecked nerves.
But when I glance through the dingy diner window now, I see that Easton is already here, sitting at a small table right by the door. Waiting for me.
Flipping fantastic.
He looks as stressed out as I feel. Beard, a little scruffy. Hair, a little wild. Worry lines on his handsome forehead. Knuckles tapping rhythmically against the tabletop.
But realizing that he might be anxious makes me feel a little less uncertain about this mess. He’s taking it seriously. Learning the truth about Jagger means something to him and he’s depending on me to be forthcoming with him.
Guess it’s time to brave-up and face the music.
Last night was, well,rough. My phone call with Easton was brief. Just long enough for us to both agree that we need to handle this situation face to face. So we made plans tomeet up here today. When we ended the call, my nerves were frayed and my anxiety was bubbling in my gut.
But then it was time to face Mom. She was waiting for me in my kitchen. As expected, she had a million questions. There was lots of crying and lots of shock, as I finally spit out the nine-year-old secret I’ve been carrying for my sister.
Way back when I had to break the news to my parents that Raya was going to be a teenage mother, I carefully skirted around any questions about the baby’s father. Raya preferred to just let everyone think she had no idea who the dad was.
To her, it was easier than dealing with the drama she would have faced if the truth ever came out. She didn’t want to be known as the girl who tied down the hometown hero with a baby that neither of them was ready for.
While my mom is hurt that she was left in the dark for so long, ultimately, she just wants what’s best for Jagger. And she agrees that what’s best for Jagger involves telling Easton the truth.
Taking a deep breath, I walk into the diner. Easton spots me instantly, jumping to his feet and pulling out a chair for me.
“Thank you,” I say quietly, sinking into my seat.
Then we just stare at each other, and it’s clear that neither of us knows where to start.
After a moment of awkward silence, he waves the waitress over to take my order. The notoriously chatty Tammy arrives, holding her notepad and popping her bubble gum. She eyeballs Easton up and down.
“My gosh, aren’t you that hockey player?” Her head snaps in my direction. “Alba! He’s that hockey player!” Her eyes dart back to Easton. “Wait! Are you two on a date?!”
“No! Not a date!” Easton and I both shout in unison.
Ears perk up and eyes around the diner swing our way.
A sly smile spreads across the server’s face. “Mmm. Not a date, huh? More of a morning-after kind of thing?” She nudges my shoulder with her elbow. “Well, that definitely calls for pancakes.” She winks at me.
Jeez whiz.
Tammy is one of my mom’s few remaining friends, one of a handful of people that didn’t shun my mother when the truth about Dad was revealed. She talks a lot, but she’s mostly harmless.
Yet still, I can tell that Easton is uncomfortable right now, and I am, too.
“Wow. Somebody’s nosy early in the morning…” he mumbles. He pulls his Sin Valley Saints cap onto his head, dragging it low over his eyes.
I lean across the table to him, ignoring the server who’s now smacking her gum and staring at him like she’d like to eat him up with a side of bacon and eggs. “Maybe we could order something to go?” I whisper.
Easton nods hurriedly. “Good idea.”
“I’ll just take a coffee, please,” I say to Tammy.
Easton looks up at the server. “Could you make that two coffees? To go?”
At first it seems that the waitress is anything but thrilled about losing out on having a hockey star customerandthe tips to go along with it. But Easton tosses down way more cash than necessary and the woman perks right back up.
As soon as we have our coffees, we head outside.The morning air is already warm, but not uncomfortably so. In the parking lot, Easton and I sort of loiter awkwardly, still not sure of the next step to take.
“There’s a park down that way, right?” he asks, pointing in the direction of Lucky Clover Bridge.
