My hands clench the steering wheel tightly as I drive aimlessly along Knoxville’s back roads. When I first backed out of the café’s parking lot, my blood ran hot. I was angry, partly with Lola for pushing me away and partly with myself for thinking that this was different. That I could be enough for her.
Of course, she doesn’t want me to meet her dad as her boyfriend. He’s going to hate the idea and reject me off the bat and she doesn’t want to disappoint him like that. After all, haven’t I always been a massive disappointment? A giant fuckup?
Why the hell did I believe that this would be different than anything else in my life? On what planet am I living that I started to believe that things with Lola could be for real?
My knuckles pop as I hang a right.
Fifteen minutes into my drive, my anger cooled. It burned too hot until it burned right off, and in its place, numbness spread. A quiet acceptance. This is who I am. Unlikeable, unlovable, un-fucking-worthy River Patton.
Lola Daire is going places. She’s larger than life even as she tries to hide in the shadows. A badass woman in a male dominated field. A gentle soul in a world full of assholes. A good person, with a good head on her shoulders, and good intentions for her future.
She’s a fucking good girl and I’m nothing but a bad boy. Sure, women think it’s hot. For a fuck or a weekend or maybe a short fling. But intelligent, respectable, driven women don’t fall for the bad boy. They don’t start real relationships that go the distance with the fuckups of the world. All we’d do is drag them down.
So, really, Lola’s behavior shouldn’t come as a surprise. I hate that her rejection hurt as much as it did. That it cut deep when I should be used to it by now.
I take another turn, my eyes narrowing when I note that I’m near the cemetery. I park my car and pull on my coat, zipping it to provide some protection from the cool breeze. Making my way to Chiara’s tombstone, I plop down and grab a handful of grass.
“Hate to tell you, kid, but she’s too fucking good for me,” I start, staring up at the blue sky. “Called that one, didn’t I?”
Silence, save for the sound of the wind, wraps around me.
“Wish you were here, Chi. You’d force me to take you for an ice cream cone, convince me that some rocky road would cheer me up.” I drop the blades of grass. “And you’d be right, for a little while.” I lean back against her tombstone, remembering how much she liked our favorite ice cream flavor. Always rocky road because weren’t all paths bumpy as fuck for kids like us?
She used humor to navigate the tough days. The awful nights. The fucked-up bullshit of it all. She wrapped herself so tight in smiles and laughter and bright eyes that no one knew. Not a single one of us could imagine the pain that lived inside her. The dark cloud of depression that swept through her bloodstream. The hurt that resided in her throat, always to be swallowed back, never to break free.
“Fuck.” I tap my head back against the marble. The Mercers went all out on Chiara’s funeral, as devastated by her death as I had been. It shouldn’t provide me with comfort, knowing that other people in the world are suffering from her loss, but it does. I like knowing that she touched more hearts than just mine. She was so fucking wonderful that she deserves to live on in the lives of other people. Good ones too. Not just my pathetic existence.
“You’d still like her,” I add. Maybe that’s what aches the most. Knowing that Chiara would have truly liked Lola. That she’d understand her in a way that I can’t. That she’d advise me to be patient, to keep trying. Chiara would want me to keep at it with Lola, even when she pulls away and rejects me, like she did today.
Chiara would say, “Not everything is about you, River. We all have demons.” I never believed her though, assuming my demons were bigger, badder, than other people’s. Than hers.
But she was right. Chi just fought hers quietly, with heart. While I vanquished mine with outbursts and anger.
I sit for a long time in the cold, thoughts of Chiara running through my mind, mixing with thoughts of Lola. By the time I pull myself from the ground, I’m tired. Deflated and defeated in a way I’m not used to. Usually, I can dig deep and prove them all wrong. Everyone who ever doubted me.
But this time, that’s not a possibility. If Lola doesn’t want me to be part of her life, part of her future, then I’ve got to let her go. If she just wants to be in my bed, be something casual, then that’s all we’ll be. The truth is, I don’t fault her.
I drive around a little more before my car stops in front of Gayle and Ken’s place. I look at the tidy home I spent some of the angriest years of my life living in. Still, the Sullivans gave me love.
Climbing the front porch steps, I peer in the large bay window, spotting Gayle in the kitchen. Her hair is cut into a stylish bob and a worn apron is tied around her waist. If anyone knows how to bounce back from rejection, it’s her. God knows I’ve spent the past decade giving her hell and still, she opens her arms wider, always ready to receive me.
Guilt rides low in my stomach. Gayle deserves better from me. I ring the bell before opening the front door, knowing it’s unlocked, the way it always is.
“Gayle,” I call out to let her know it’s me. I kick off my shoes and shrug out of my coat.
She comes around the corner, her face bright with a sunny smile. “River! I’m so glad you’re here. I just took a banana bread out of the oven. You can be the official taste tester.”
I smile back, something pinching tight behind my nose. In a world of constant change, Gayle Sullivan has been an anchor. I never realized it, or appreciated how much I needed that, until this moment.
“I’d love to,” I admit.
Surprise ripples through her eyes but she doesn’t comment. Instead, she leads me to the kitchen.
I flip my chin to her leaky faucet. “It’s still leaking.”
“Oh.” She waves away my comment. “Ken’ll get to it.”
I snort. We both know that as well-intentioned as Ken is, he won’t get to it any time soon.
“Hang on,” I say, backtracking to the laundry room where Ken keeps a tool bag with everyday tools. When I reappear in the kitchen with it in hand, Gayle shakes her head.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” I cut her off. “I’m not in a rush so…”
“I’ll put the kettle on.” She sounds hopeful.
“Sure. Put the kettle on.”
Gayle busies herself with preparing tea as I duck underneath the sink, putting my head inside the cabinet to sort out what the issue is. As I work, Gayle hums, and slowly, my body relaxes.
My muscles unclench, my mind slows, and I allow myself to feel at peace. At home. In a place I swore I’d never belong.
The leaky faucet is an easy fix and I get the job done in ten minutes. Gayle’s adding honey to our mugs when I wash my hands and test that the faucet turns off completely.
“Thank you, River.” She beams at me.
“Glad to do it,” I admit, knowing I could rebuild their entire home and it wouldn’t be enough for the gifts the Sullivans have given me. Love, home, acceptance. Even when I scoffed at it and tried to hand it back.
I take a seat at the kitchen table and Gayle places a mug of tea and a slice of banana bread in front of me. Helping herself to a plate, she takes the seat across from mine. We sit in comfortable silence for a beat, wrapped up in the coziness of her kitchen, the heart of the Sullivan household.
I take a bite of the banana bread, closing my eyes as the sweetness fills my mouth. “It’s delicious.”
Gayle beams.
I clear my throat. Then, I go all in. “I met a woman.”
Gayle’s eyes widen. “What’s her name?”
“Lola.”
“Beautiful,” Gayle says, her smile wide. “When can we meet her?”
I chuckle. “It’s complicated.”
“Anything worthwhile usually is.”
I dip my head in acknowledgement.
“Why is it complicated?” Gayle asks gently.
I take another bite of the delicious banana bread. “She doesn’t want anyone to know about us.” I heave a sigh. “Not the people who matter anyway. We shouldn’t really be together.” I try to paint a picture of the situation without coming out and admitting that I’m fucking my teammate’s daughter.
God, talk about messing with team dynamics. What the hell did I think was going to happen? That because Lola means a lot more to me than some casual fuck, Brawler was going to welcome me with open arms?
Gayle is quiet for a long moment, studying me. She takes a sip of her tea, pats the corner of her mouth with a napkin, tucks her hair behind her ear. “You seem happy,” she says finally. “She makes you happy.”
I tilt my head. “Only ‘til I fuck it up,” I remind her of my track record. Remind myself.
Gayle shakes her head, her eyes filling with sadness. “Your happiness is worth fighting for, River. Always.” She reaches across the table and places her hand on mine. Squeezes lightly. “You deserve good things. You always have.”
Her words cause me to physically ache. They are the exact opposite of what I deserve and yet, Gayle says them convincingly. She says them like she believes them.
I clear my throat and pull my hand out from under hers. Pop the banana bread in my mouth and polish it off.
“I gotta go. Thanks”—I tip my head to indicate the table, the conversation, the words I can’t fucking give her—“for this.”
She smiles softly, dipping her head in acceptance, the way she always does. Accepts all the limitations I have and loves me for the half man I am. Fuck, I deserve Gayle about as much as I deserve Lola.
Not at all.
“Thanks for fixing my faucet,” she says, walking me to the door.
I snort. Step into my shoes. Pull on my coat. But before I walk out of the house, I wrap my arms around Gayle and hug her. Not one of my usual, one-armed cop-outs. I hug her for real. A big bear hug with a squeeze at the end. I hug her the way she should be hugged. I hug her the way a man hugs his mother.
“Thanks for the tea, Gayle,” I murmur.
She plants a hand in the center of my back, holding me for a moment longer. When I step out of the embrace, tears gather in the corners of her eyes. “Thanks for coming, River. Any time, you know. The door’s always open.”
I smile back. “I know.”
I give Gayle a little wave before I leave, slip back into my car, and drive down more side streets with no destination in mind.
Lola’s face this morning, Chiara’s tombstone, Gayle’s words—they float in my head. Blending together in a snapshot of my life. My hopes, my failures, my future.
As much as I know Lola could do better, I still want her. I still want this with her. I want to prove to her that I can be the guy she needs, the man she wants, the one she’d be proud to introduce to her dad, even if he’s going to pummel my ass.
I need to convince her that I’m all in. That she can trust me. That we can figure things out because we both deserve happiness. That we’re worth fighting for. We deserve this.
I want to tell Axel; I want to do the right thing. I want to do right by my girl. Convinced that this is the way forward, I point my car in the direction of Lola’s apartment, hoping she’s home by the time I get there.