Page 128 of Pucked Up Plans
“Oh.” His voice gives little away, but curiosity gets the better of me, and I meet his gaze. His cheeks tinge slightly pink. “I may have devoured them all after you left. Paid for it big time on the bus ride the next day. Had to sit out the first period of the gamebecause my coach didn’t believe it was motion sickness with the amount of vomit I left on the bus.”
“Man, that must have sucked.” I make sure my voice is as genuine as possible. No one deserves that, least of all Walsh.
“Pretty sure I won’t live it down soon, if at all. Just another stupid mistake I made regarding a woman.”
I don’t know if he’s trying to goad me, but I don’t take the bait. And just in time, the doors to the building open, forcing him back to his truck.
“Please tell me this isn’t over. That I still have a chance. Don’t give up on us over a choice I made before I met you. Please, Tate. At least consider it.”
He walks away without my response, which is good because the mortar on the walls around my heart is loose. It’s not just in his pleading tone. It’s in the way his eyes are downcast and the spark in them has dimmed. He’s not done with me. And I’m not done with him. We have so much more to learn about each other, go on more dates, have more sex. Like, lots more sex.
I hold steady in my decision not to cave until the results come in. Either way, I need to know what I’m facing. Once we know what the future holds for him, we’ll carve out the path we need.
Ifthere’s a path for us.
One lone tear slips past the barrier of strength I don’t possess. Swatting it away, I pull up to the door and plaster on a fake smile as I make my way to the passenger side and await my daughter.
But it’s Lennon who perceives me first.
“Tate. Tate,” she calls out, breaking free of the teacher’s hand to dart over to me. “Tate, did you get our flowers? Did they make you less sad?”
Tears threaten again as this little girl I adore dearly regards me expectantly. It’s only been several months, but she’s left an imprint on my heart. A part of me believes she and Aubrey couldstay friends no matter what happens, but it won’t be the same relationship between us.
“Did you help Daddy pick them out?” I manage around the ball of emotion in my throat. Her head bobs up and down excitedly. “They made me so happy. Thank you for knowing what I needed.”
She looks over her shoulder at the man standing behind her. “Told you, Keeley. She just needed some flowers.”
“You were right, Squirt. Good thing I listened to you.”
Aubrey has joined us, her little foot tapping, her hands resting on her hips. “Are there any donuts left?”
“No, Keeley ate them all,” Lennon explains. “Should you make more?”
Walsh’s silent panic mirrors my own, my breath catching in my chest on how to respond. Without letting them down.
Fortunately, Hannah makes it clear we’re holding up the line.
“Bean, we’ll talk about it at home. I may have the ingredients we need.”
“Fine,” she huffs, turns on her heel, and climbs into her car seat.
I let go of the breath I’m holding, and with a wave to the Keeleys, I concentrate on tightening Aubrey’s buckle.
“Too tight, Mommy. Too tight,” Aubrey fusses, batting my hand away from the clip. I’m so flustered, I don’t realize how much strength I put into it.
“Sorry, Bean. Let me fix it.” I loosen it so it’s secure, then briskly walk around the hood of the car, willing myself to calm down. No use in getting more upset. Thankfully, the director of the preschool waves me along, forcing me to be on my way.
It takes the entire short drive home for my pulse to regulate and the butterflies storming my stomach to finally settle.
“Mommy, I think we should have Lennon and Walsh over after school this week. He can bring lunch for all of us and then Lennon and me play. Good plan?”
God, how much I want to consent to her plan. But deep down, I can’t. I can’t have him here, no matter how much I want it. No matter how much Aubrey begs. For the first time in a while, I put my foot down on something she wants, something so innocent as a playdate with her friend.
Of course, I’m not quite ready to admit that to her, so I smile and reply, “I’ll text him and see if he’s free.”
I’m a coward, and now I’ll have to lie more and say he’s busy. Which isn’t fair to anyone, most of all Walsh. Yet the alternative pains my heart too much.
“Great. Let me know what he says.” She unclips the top but can’t manage the bottom. While she usually takes it in stride, like so many other things in her life, today she’s super frustrated. “I can’t do it still.”
