Page 25 of Wild Love
“It’s cool. I have to get back into the routine of it again anyway.”
I start down my old path toward the high school. The neighborhood is older, lots of retired couples live here, and the streets are quiet this time of day. At the end of the block, we turn right.
I take us up and down each street scoping out the changes instead of taking the direct route to the school. The morning air is heavy with humidity. The sky is clear, and the sun is already hot on my skin.
By the time the track and football field comes into view, sweat drips down my back.
“Wow,” Johnny says beside me. He’s been quiet. “Nice field.”
“The football team is likeeverythinghere,” I mock in my best high school cheerleader voice.
“You don’t sound bitter at all,” he says sarcastically.
“Eh, I’m not really. They redid the field my sophomore year, and that included the track, so I benefited.”
We come up short at the chain-link fence, staring in. A few morning walkers are moving along the rubber circle.
“How come you don’t want to be inducted into your school’s Hall of Fame?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You tossed the invite in the trash.” He quirks a dark brow.
“I don’t even run anymore. Not for real, you know? I don’t deserve to be in it, and even if I did, it’s silly.”
“So? Who cares if it’s silly? And don’t even get me started on the ‘I don’t deserve to be in it’ nonsense. Who are you, the selection committee authority? Let them celebrate your general ballerness. I mean, you work at a Hall of Fame. You know how much it means.”
I’m quiet. It’s so much more complicated than that, but I appreciate him thinking I’m baller anyway.
“Come on. We should get back. It’s another long day on the road.”
We take a more direct path back to the house. A block before Dad’s house, a guy has his back to us with the hood of his sports car up. Maybe the neighborhood has aged down since I lived here. Teenage me spent a lot of time running these streets hoping for a new, hot neighbor.
He turns as our feet hitting the pavement get closer, and my breath hitches. He takes me in, recognition dawning and his mouth curving up. “Dakota?”
My high school track coach leans down to grab a water bottle at his feet, his eyes never leaving me. I don’t want to notice the sweat beading up on his chest and abs, but I do. Hans Hote. Coach McHottie is what we called him, and the name still fits. I manage to wave and keep my feet moving, one in front of the other. I push my legs harder as my pulse kicks up another notch.
“Morning,” Johnny says, keeping my pace. My lungs burn as we round the corner to my dad’s street.
“Want to tell me who the hell that was and why we sprinted away?”
“Nobody,” I lie. “Come on. I’m starving.”
Shortly after breakfast, Maverick and I walk outside, ready to make the last leg of our trip.
“Miss you, DJ. Knock ’em dead up there in Minnesota.”
“I will.” I wrap my arms around him and soak up the smell of his aftershave. “Thanks for letting me borrow the furniture.”
I didn’t see what they put in the trailer, but Johnny said they got a couch, chair, nightstand, and bed. The apartment will still be bare, but it’s everything I need.
I pause before I get into the passenger seat. Maverick’s already behind the wheel with his sunglasses on. Dad stands in the front yard. I miss him. I miss my mom. Years later, and I still sometimes forget that she’s gone.
“Bye.” I wave.
“Don’t let him talk you into any tattoos,” Dad warns. A small smile tips up the corner of his lips. “Drive safe with my DJ.” His voice softens. “Bye, Charli!”
“I’m pretty sure your dad likes my dog more than me,” Maverick says as he pulls away from my childhood home.
