“How old are you?” he suddenly asked.
“Same age as Tara. Twenty-eight.”
“And you own a restaurant,” he said again. “For how long?”
“Almost a year.” I stopped at my car and turned to face him.
He had a look of wonder on his face. “Are your parents loaded or something?”
I didn’t know why that question felt like a kick to the gut. Maybe because I knew that, even if I’d asked, my parents wouldn’t have given me money. Maybe because I knew that wehadborrowed money from Raya’s parents. It wasn’t a lot, but enough to show the bank we were willing to put up collateral for the loan. We made payments on that family loan monthly, along with the payments to the bank. And that was all the help we’d gotten. The rest we’d done on our own. Something he obviously didn’t think possible. “Something like that,” I muttered and turned to open the car door.
“Sutton, wait.”
I sighed and faced him again.
“My parents are loaded. They’re the ones who started the boxing gym because I was somewhat good at boxing when I was a teenager. They built this whole thing around me, for me, and I don’t even want it. But I have to stay. At least until it makes enough to pay my dad back. I can’t fail at this.” His face was open, vulnerable, pleading. Like I somehow had all the answers.
“Is it failing?” I asked.
“No. Unless you judge failure by how much you want to be in a place.”
“That’s hard,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“Maybe you should talk to your dad. Tell him how you feel.”
His eyes shot to the ground, then back up to mine. “Easier said than done.” His smile crept back onto his face. His vulnerable expression tucked behind it. “Probably not for you. You seem to have nerves of steel.”
“Coldas steel, my ex would tell you.”
“You’re not cold,” he said.
I let out a single laugh, wondering if he was being sarcastic.
He didn’t return the laugh. He only seemed sincere. “You’re not. Do you think you’re cold?”
“Maybe… sometimes.”
He widened his heart-stopping smile. “You searched out an ice pack for me, then held it on my face when I was being stubborn.”
“After I punched you,” I reminded him.
He took a step closer. “You were very good at comforting me. You’re not cold,” he said again.
I wasn’t sure why those words, of all the words he could’ve said, were drilling into my chest, seeming to fracture the walls I had up. “Okay, well…” I took a step back, toward my car door.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.
My head whipped in his direction. “Why?”
“Because I’m helping you with your mom.”
“That was last week’s homework.”
He shrugged. “Wrap your warm steel beams around it, because it’s happening.”
I rolled my eyes and he laughed. Then he was walking to his car, and I was letting him without further protest.
