Page 42 of Back to December
I ignore him and continue on to Reed, the lead wide receiver for the team.
Weston’s leaning back in his chair, quietly amused, tossing a marshmallow between his hands like a football. “Careful, man. You’re about to be the one catching heat next.”
“And you—you’re afraid of ruining the friendship. Get out of the friend zone already.”
All the attention shifts from Logan to Reed as I air out each team member’s dirty relationship laundry.
“What did I ever do to you?” His eyes fly up into his hairline. “I told you that in confidence.”
He told me way more than that after he saw Quinn and me talking. Turns out they have a history. Sometimes I think we forget how small the world is, even though it seems huge.
“You told me that because I’m friends with her,” I say, shaking my head. “What are you so afraid of?”
“Probably the same thing you’re afraid of,” Reed says. “Losing what we have.”
I get it. But I hate the attention being on me, even if they might offer me some sage wisdom on how to navigate the next steps with Laila. We’re all oblivious, though, I think. Just wading through and trying to figure out how to get to that same storybook ending Cade will get tomorrow.
And then after.
That’s the word that sticks in my head—the after. The part no one really plans for but everyone hopes lasts.
I think that’s what I want most.
“I’m afraid she’s trying to protect me,” I say. “From her mom. From her mess.”
From herself. But I don’t say that part out loud.
Cade angles himself toward me. “Then show her you don’t need to be protected, man.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Logan clears his throat. “You’re not a kid sneaking in her window anymore, just like she’s not sneaking into yours.”
“Sneaking into windows, huh?” Reed smirks. “Never took you for the type.”
I chuckle. “So what do I do then?”
“Turn on the porch light,” Cade says. The guys snicker, and Cade frowns at them. “I wasn’t done.”
“Sorry, go ahead,” Logan replies.
“It’s a metaphor. You’re a man now—leave the porch light on for her. Be her safe space. If she loves you, she’ll find her way. Promise.” He pauses, then adds, “Think of it like leaving a trail, Something she can follow back when she’s ready.”
Breadcrumbs and porch lights. Every quiet thing I’ve been trying to give her, all blending together. That’s what I’ve been doing all along—leaving a piece of home burning for her, so she never doubts where she belongs. Maybe that’s what I’ve been trying to say this whole time, without words. A light to keep her safe from whatever lurks in the shadows, like her mother.
Maybe soon I’ll find a better way to say it. Something she can hold on to, even when I’m not there.
It’s more than I expected from this conversation, but if anyone understands a woman bruised by a maternal figure,it would be him.
He’s telling me to do what I already do for her every day.
Weston tips his beer toward me across the firelight. “For what it’s worth, man, timing’s never perfect. But you miss a lot of touchdowns if you wait for the wind to die down.”
But maybe it’s time I stop waiting by the window and start opening the door.
So I guess the next step really is asking her to be mine.
fifteen
