He looks the way I feel—utterlywrecked.
Ducking his head, he places a featherlight kiss on my lips before dropping it back to the pillow and letting out a satisfied sigh.
Coated in a sheen of sweat, I place my hand over his heart, letting the gradually slowing beats soothe me to sleep.
31
Steph
“NoMatty,I’msorry,but I expect you to be home in an hour,” I say into the phone as I pull my keys from the lock and make my way down the library’s steps to the sidewalk. It’s shortly after nine, and I’ve just locked up for the night.
“But Mom,” he whines, “the guys are all heading back to Carter’s to play video games now.”
“I’m sorry, but you know the rules. Ten o’clock curfew on a school night.” There’s silence on the line, and I pause, dropping my head back and closing my eyes. I refrain from saying anything more, allowing him his moment tosulk.
“Fiiiine,” he finally concedes, impressing me with the level of attitude he manages to infuse into that single word. It’s a talent I’ve come to believe is latent in all teenagers, though Alex is typically the moodier of my two sons. I resume walking, making my way quickly down the block to where my car is parked, pausing once more to retrieve my other set of keys from my purse and groaning when they’re not easily discoverable.
“Matty, I’ve gotta go now,” I say absentmindedly. “It seems I need both hands to excavate my car keys from this damn bag.”
“Alright, Mom, see you at home in a bit,” he grumbles, though it’s half-hearted, his mood already seemingly improved.
“Be safe!”
“Mm-hmm,” he says, and I can easily envision the accompanying eye roll before he hangs up. So much for that improved mood. I sigh, then place my phone down on the hood of my car, followed by my purse, so I can get in there and dig with both hands. It’s a frustratingly long moment before I manage to unearth those dang keys from under a pile of loose receipts at the bottom of the bag, and when I do, I raise them in triumph like I’ve just discovered the holy grail.
Then I remember I’m standing alone in the street and huff out a laugh, my breath visible in the cool night air. Shaking my head at myself, I glance around to ensure that I am, in fact, alone, and nobody saw my goofy little performance. Two cars and a truck are parked a little further down on the other side of the street, but they all have their lights off.
It’s late March, and winter has yet to give up its grip on our town, so it’s unsurprising that there are no other signs of life on the street this late. Relieved, I press the remote to pop the locks and climb in, letting out a groan once I’m off my feet and settled into the seat. It’s been a long day in a week, no—a month—of long days, and I’m bone weary. I turn on the ignition and pull away from the curb, only vaguely aware of the sound of another engine roaring to life behind me. I’m counting down the seconds until I can soak in the tub with a good book, followed, hopefully, by a goodnight call with Riley before I crash.
It’s not until I’m pulling into my driveway that I realize the truck I’d seen parked down the way from the mine had looked awfully familiar.
I’mretrievingasweatshirtleft behind on one of the armchairs by the front window of the library a few days later when I spot him. Or rather, his truck. I watch as it passes slowly on the street, makes a U-turn, and then cruises by once more, before turning the corner onto Wrexham, where I can just make it out pulling to the curb, and cutting its lights.
I wait, watching to see if he’ll exit the vehicle, but after a few moments with no movement, I return to the circulation desk and toss the hoodie in the lost and found box tucked beside Piper’s chair. I proceed with the remainder of my closing-up routine, checking that all the computers in the back are shut down and there’s nothing left on the carousel to be shelved, before circling back to the front windows. The darkened truck is still sitting there with no sign that Riley is planning on coming inside. I’m certain it’s him, though.
Retrieving my phone from my pocket, I check the time. Nine fifteen. As far as I know, he’s supposed to be at the bar tonight. This isn’t the first time I’ve thought I caught a glimpse of his truck when leaving work, but I’d brushed it off since he was supposed to be at the bar those nights too. Plus lately, I’ve been seized by a constant desire to see him, to be with him, to the point I swear he’s everywhere I look. It had been easy enough to play it off as my mind playing tricks—or so I thought.
Hmmm.
I tap out a quick text and hit send, then squint my eyes at the darkened truck on the corner.
Steph
Busted
It’s faint, but I see the moment his cab brightens with the light from his phone and my incoming text.
Riley
…
…
I don’t know what you’re talking about
Steph
I see you parked out there, and something tells me this isn’t the first time. What are you doing?
