But I am physically chasing Everleigh right now, and it feels like a big, flashing, neon symbol of what’s happening between us right now.
She doesn’t need to play hard to get, and I want her to know that.
And by the same token, I don’t need to play games, either. I don’t need to give my brutal honesty on a podcast just because it means she’ll have to spend a few more hours thinking of me. I don’t know whether that was my true motivation during that call, but I’m also not sure I can honestly say it wasn’t.
Fuck. This is all so goddamn confusing.
I miss the days before she was sitting in Jack Dalton’s office waiting to take my ruined life—I mean myreputation—over.
But I’ve learned the hard way that it’s easier to live in the present than to be wistful over the past.
And so wepush on.
I catch up to her fairly easily. “Trying to lose me?”
“If only that were an option,” she says, panting.
“You could quit,” I suggest.
“So could you.”
“Fair enough. I won’t,” I say, my breathing still even.
“Neither will I.” She pants a little and slows to a jog before she asks, “What are you, some superhuman? Why aren’t you out of breath after chasing me?”
“I run harder and faster than that on a daily basis,” I point out. “I was just letting you think you were getting away from me.”
“Said every stalker ever.”
“I’m not a stalker. You said I could come with.”
“Out of common courtesy. Not because I wanted you here.” She slows to an even slower jog, and I have to wonder why she spent all that energy sprinting at the start. Some people never learn, I guess.
So I ask. “Why’d you really take off?”
“I don’t know. I’m angry.”
“I know you are. But just so you know, burning your energy too hard too fast will just wear you out too soon, and then there won’t be anything left in the tank when you need it.”
She frowns a little as she glances at me. “Interesting metaphor, don’t you think?”
My brows draw down as I try to get her meaning.
She clears her throat. “Like us. Are we burning too hard and fast too soon?”
“I don’t know,” I mutter. Something to think about, anyway.
We get to the park, and we leave those thoughts behind us even though they don’t stray too far. She unbuckles Jack from his stroller, and she sets him in the baby swing. I stand in the back and push the swing to her, and she pushes it from thefront so she can watch the baby and take pictures of him while he flies through the air with his baby giggles.
It’s sweet, really—and I don’t do sweet. But he’s happy, and she seems happy, so I’m trying to push away the cloud that has hung over me for a decade.
“Any word on your mom?” I ask quietly.
She presses her lips together. “Nothing new. It’s so weird, like they expect us to be patient with this stuff when we don’t know how long we have. I don’t want to be so patient that I run out of time, you know?”
“Yeah. I do know. My mom has gone downhill faster than we were expecting, and half of me feels like I should be by her side, while the other half of me knows she wouldn’t want me to be.”
“How do you know that?” she asks softly—almost fearfully. Like she’s been considering leaving here to be with her mother.
