“I take off at twelve thirty. Hoping to sleep on the plane,” Colby says. I try not to keep my smile from growing too obvious, but I’m clearly failing, based on the crease forming between her brows.
“What?” she finally asks.
There’s a little snap to her tone which muffles my courage, so I clear my throat and hem and haw a bit before spitting out, “I decided to swing by to see my mom, too. So, looks like we’re on the same flight back.”
Colby’s eyes freeze open, and I swear I catch a twitch in her lashes, as if her lids are attempting to blink but simply can’t because I’ve stunned them inoperable.
“Oh.” She finally speaks, but the blinking remains nil.
“Well, we might as well give you a lift and drop you off at your mom’s place,” Rick says, dropping his gaze to the ground as he feels for his keys in his pocket.
My lungs tighten, and the air in them sours. This was a bad idea. An impulsive, dumb move on my part. Rick doesn’t want to spend time driving me around. He wants to spend time with his daughter, celebrating his late wife—Colby’s mom—whom my dad killed when he was too blitzed to see straight on his way home from the bar.
“Oh, I’m covered. I ordered a ride share.”
I did not.
“The guy should be here soon.”
There is no guy.
“Oh, I mean . . . I know you’re making the bucks now, but you still gotta save. Cancel it. It’s no trouble. It’s on the way.” Rickpats my back again, then walks away as if it’s settled, and Colby’s gaze slides from her father back to me. I don’t think she’s blinked since I dropped this on her.
I shrug.
“Fuck it. Fine,” she mutters, following in her father’s footsteps, her eyelids finally fluttering enough times to make up for the glitch. The eyeroll beneath them is an extra touch just for me, I think.
Rick’s pickup truck is parked in the family section, so it doesn’t take us long to get to it. It’s a newer model of the same truck he’s had since I’ve known him, a maroon Ram crew cab. I peek into the bed before hopping into the back seat.
“Always loaded down with buckets of balls and pop-up nets,” I say with a chuckle.
“Ah, you know what they say . . . you can take the coach out of a pickup truck, but you can’t . . .” He stammers, as though not sure how to finish his clever play on words.
“Take the Texas out of the coach,” I finish for him. He laughs out once as he slips behind the wheel, and when his eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, the crinkles around them show his amusement.
“Now, that’s a fact,” he says, his drawl coming out heavy.
“I like the new ride,” I say, running my hand over the stitched leather seat next to me.
“You win a few state championships, and the district pays you more,” he says with a sigh.
“And yet, you teach a dozen kids how to read and your job’s in jeopardy,” Colby mutters.
There’s not really a response to that, so the three of us sit in silence as her dad whips through a U-turn and heads north, toward Katy.
It’s a clear day, the blue stretching from horizon to horizon, barely a cloud in the sky. It’s humid, though, so the moisturemust be lurking somewhere. It’s pop-up-storm season here. Usually, you can smell it coming. So far, all I smell is the remnants of Rick’s last cigar and the sweetness of nearby basil and lemongrass crops.
Small talk fills the short ride to my mom’s hospital. She gets off her shift soon, so I thought I could take her out for an early dinner before my flight. I didn’t really think through much beyond that, especially the part about getting to the airport after, and meeting up with Colby by the gate. And the look she keeps giving me over her shoulder, the closer we get to the drop-off zone at my mom’s work.
“I appreciate the ride, Coach. Coaches, I mean . . .” I clear my throat as I release my seat belt.
“Jayden, it’s no trouble. And if you want to join us . . . when you’re done visiting with your mom . . .”
Rick shifts in his seat so he can look me directly in the eyes, and I can’t tell whether his expression means he’d genuinely like me to come or that this is merely a courtesy invite, words uttered to be polite. He can’t want me there. I’m sure Colby doesn’t.
“Oh, I’m not sure I’ll have time. But . . . thank you.”
I swallow hard, instantly knowing thatthank youwasn’t the right response. But I’m at a complete loss for something better. I reach my hand over the console before I say more stupid things, and Rick’s gaze drops to my palm about a half second before he takes it in his fist and covers the back with his other hand.
