“Sure have,” Fletcher said sarcastically. “Have you been keeping up with the maintenance on this thing?” he asked his sister.
“It needs an oil change and new brake pads and honestly somenew tires probably,” she told him.
“So, no. Got it,” Fletcher sighed. He turned around in his seat to look at Taylor. “I pray Jesse will take better care of your truck than she has with mine.”
“Stop talking shit about me when I’m right here,” Lauren quipped. Fletcher sneakily made a pucker face to Taylor before turning back around. Taylor bit back a smile.
“So, how’s school?” he asked his sister.
“It’s July. I’ve been out of school for over a month.” Taylor didn’t wanna be that guy, but she definitely sounded like a bitch. Or maybe he was just upset because she was being rude to his boyfriend.
“You soundreallyhappy to see me, you know,” Fletcher scoffed. “I’m glad you didn’t miss me too much.”
Lauren sighed. “I kind of missed you a little.”
“Dad’s been weirdly nice,” she told him a few minutes later with an edge of concern to her voice. “I quit skating a few weeks ago.”
“Mom told me about that. She said he’s been taking it pretty well.”
“Too well,” Lauren said. “I had this whole speech about why I didn’t love it anymore and how it didn’t make sense for me to do a sport I didn’t love.”
Fletcher gulped. “Let me guess, he spared you the trouble of giving it.”
Lauren nodded. “I expected him to give me the cold shoulder, but he’s been like the complete opposite. He likes to keep asking me how my day is and asks me about my plans for the future,” she said, sounding bothered.
“Has he been going to like therapy or something?” Fletcher asked. “That doesn’t sound like him at all.”
Lauren shrugged. “I honestly have no clue. He’s the new coach for the team so he’s been gone a lot.”
“Yeah, he’s told me,” Fletcher said with a hint of conviction. Taylor wondered if his dad had actually tried to break Fletcher’s contract. He’d probably need to speak to Bedingfield or Rowe about it, but he would probably know if that happened from Pancek.
Lauren pulled into a parking lot of a tall apartment building in the city. She handed the key to Fletcher as she slid out of the driver’s seat with her phone and water bottle in hand. “Mom said she’ll just see you at the house,” she told Fletcher before walking off to find their mom’s car probably.
Fletcher opened the trunk of the car, and an empty Starbucks cup immediately fell out. “I can’t believe she let my car get this dirty. I’m actually like pissed off,” Fletcher complained as he reached down to pick the cup up.
Taylor chuckled. “That’s what happens when you let a teenage girl drive your car.” He remembered how bad Emogen’s car had been when she first started driving.
Fletcher pulled out their luggage and slammed the trunk close as he guided Taylor to the elevator off of the lobby. “It’s not much,” Fletcher admitted. Taylor tried to believe that, but he didn’t really know Fletcher’s version of “not much.”
Fletcher’s apartment was on the fifth floor. Taylor felt surreal being here with Fletcher in Florida. Evil fucking Florida. He could tell how tense Fletcher was and he hated it. He hated seeing him so upset.
They walked silently down the hallway until they got to the very last unit at the end. Fletcher pulled his keys out and unlocked the door, holding it open for Taylor to step inside.
Taylor took in the surroundings and immediately laughed.Laughed so hard that he cried.
“What’s wrong?” Fletcher asked, extremely confused.
Taylor slipped out of his shoes and felt the old carpet beneath his feet as he walked around. Well, there wasn’t much space to walk around.
“Is something wrong?” Fletcher asked again.
Taylor looked at him and laughed even harder before wiping a tear from his eye. “It’s… nice.”
Fletcher narrowed his eyebrows at him. “I told you it wasn’t much,” he said, kind slightly disturbed.
Taylor shook his head and placed his hand on Fletcher’s shoulder. “Usually when a rich person says their apartment is ‘not much’ it still ends up being fancy. But this… Fletch this is bad.” He laughed manically.
He looked around once more, as if he couldn’t believe Fletcher would live in a place like this. It was a tiny studio apartment that was fully carpet except for a little bit of linoleum near the kitchen. It had a white refrigerator and a black oven and orange cabinets. The furniture consisted of a decent sized couch, a smaller table with a massive TV sitting on it, and probably a queen size bed in the corner of the room, backed up against the only window.
