Chapter Twenty-Four

The restroom at Allsup’s was only a half step above the cedar tree JohnScott mentioned, but at least it had toilet paper. As I came out of the store, I immediately noticed Tyler at the gas pumps, and the confidence I felt at the ball game dwindled. I didn’t want to talk to him—or ever be seen with him again—but I had to get it over with. I stopped at the front bumper of JohnScott’s truck and waited.

Tyler replaced the nozzle on the gas pump, then smiled as he sauntered toward me. His good looks reminded me why I had dated him in the first place, in the midst of rebelling against my parents, against the church, against all the expectations burdening me. I had latched on to him with the fervor of a drowning child.

But I had grown up since then.

“You’re driving the coach’s truck now.” A glimmer lit his eyes. Maybe jealousy. Maybe disgust. Definitely anger.

I felt as though I had been caught red-handed stealing a pack of cigarettes. “He offered.” I gestured to the store behind me. “Too much Gatorade.”

“Babe …” He lowered his eyes, looking at me through his eyelashes. “You’ve got no business playing softball in your condition.” His gaze roamed across JohnScott’s truck, and his eyes softened as though he were forcing himself to stay calm. “You haven’t been answering my calls.”

I fingered the warm hood ornament and didn’t answer.

“You’re upset.” He stifled a laugh.

“I can’t ignore your behavior at the street dance.”

“Fawn … come on … Your old coach has been filling your head with ideas.”

“JohnScott had nothing to do with it.”

His glee from a moment before transformed into spite. “When did you stop calling him Coach Pickett?”

“Why do you care?”

He smiled at a blob of gum on the pavement. “I don’t want him to take advantage of you.” His gaze bounced to my waistline, and my anger swirled like a dust storm.

“I’m not a tramp.”

“No, you’re not, but the man’s been working at your place too much.”

“How would you know?”

He shrugged. “People are starting to talk. Everyone’s saying you’re after the coach.”

“That’s not true.” If that rumor had been flying around, I would have known. Ruthie would have heard it at the United, and JohnScott would have already taken flack about it from the Booster Club.

I opened the driver’s door but didn’t get in. Instead, I used the door as a shield. I had to get this over with. I had to end it.

Tyler lowered his head, not cowering to me, but low enough he appeared contrite. “I’m sorry about the street dance, Fawn. The booze made me step out of line.” When I rolled my eyes, he continued quickly. “But I’ve given up on drinking once and for all because you and the baby deserve better than that. Can you forgive me?”

I held up my hand and tapped my fingers against my thumb.

When Tyler stepped around the door, I thought he might slap me again, but then his eyebrows drooped, and I had a startling realization. He strategically calculated every move, right down to his facial expressions. How had I never noticed it before?

“I know I messed up again,” he said, “but I love you, Fawn.”

I scooted back on the seat, putting more space between us. Being aware of Tyler’s strategy didn’t completely take away his power over me. “This isn’t love.”

He looked away, blinking into the breeze, and his eyes reddened around the edges. Almost real. “You’re going to leave me again. You’re breaking up.”

“I think that’s best.”

Desperation flashed across his face. “We’ll slow down.”

I answered hesitantly, but as I spoke, my shoulders relaxed. “To be honest, I think we’re only together because of the baby, and that’s not a good enough reason.”

“It’s what God would want.”

“No.” I glanced at the gas pumps where two people were filling up. “It couldn’t work, Tyler. We’ve already tried it, and it’s over.”

A train chugged on the edge of town, its whistle stalling our discussion and giving me a chance to calm my racing pulse. I had done it. I had ended things with him, and I already felt better, more free and healthy. My initial reaction was to call Ruthie, but when I stopped to consider my priorities, I realized I wanted to tell JohnScott.

Tyler nodded, accepting my rejection stoically, but his hands gripped the frame of the driver’s door so tight, I imagined the steel buckling under his fists.