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Bailey makes a choking sound, and I clamber to my feet, the blanket Van brought me puddling around my feet. As grateful as I am for his help, it’s way too early for talk of peeing in potted plants.
“You slept on my patio?” Bailey manages.
“His orders.” Van points to me.
“You’re good to go. Thanks.” I gather up the blanket and toss it at him. Maybe with a little more force than necessary. It lands on his head, and for a moment, he’s cocooned in fabric. “I’ll get your coat back to you at practice.”
No way am I taking it off now. The morning air is well beyond crisp. Not muumuu weather at all. My breath gusts out of me in tiny wisps of cloud. We’ve got a later morning practice today—no ice time, just the weight room and then a strategy session with the coaches. I’m going to need to add in some serious stretching time beforehand to work on the cricks I’m feeling. The effects of sleeping sitting up on concrete.
“See ya,” Van calls, already jogging toward the parking lot.
When he’s gone, I turn to Bailey, fully expecting her annoyance to have blossomed into anger. I had no right to stay here, after all. It’s a few steps beyond intrusive. Instead, her brown eyes are almost gold in the morning light as she offers me a soft smile.
“You stayed,” Bailey says, wrapping her arms around herself. She’s drowning in a puffy coat that looks warm but too big, blue scrubs underneath.
“I needed to know you were safe.” I stuff my hands into the pockets of Van’s coat, my fingertips immediately brushing against something sticky. Feels like an unwrapped peppermint. Gross. “Are you mad?”
“Not mad,” she says. “Just not used to …this.”
I hear a lot of unspoken things in that one word. A lot of ways Bailey hasn’t been cared for in the past. A lot of ways people have let her down, or maybe not shown up at all. Plus, without her parents or other close family besides her gran, she’s soalone.
Wanting to show her the care she deserves feels like a challenge. And I’ve already got ideas.
Holding her gaze, I offer up what I hope is my most endearing smile. “Better get used to it, future Mrs. Hopkins.”
“I’m getting too old for this, Elvis.”
I startle at the sight of my mother sitting on a chair just inside the front door. She has one eyebrow arched dramatically and a mug of coffee in hand. It’s the kind of look you’d give a teenage boy sneaking in after a wild night out.
Not an adult man coming home with a crick in his neck after protectively sleeping outside someone’s door.
On the drive home, I thought exclusively about two things: drinking coffee and telling Mom about Bailey and me getting married. Which probably needs to involve a little priming the pump first, like telling Mom Bailey and I are dating orhavebeen dating. That it’s pretty new but serious. Imminent engagement serious.
But any rehearsed thoughts have vanished from my head. A mom lying in wait will do that to a person.
“I don’t have a curfew, Mom. I’m an adult. Remember?”
“Remains to be seen.” She grins, and the one arched eyebrow turns into a pair of waggling ones. “Did you and Bailey have fun?”
Funhas at least three syllables. “Definitely less fun than whatever you’re imagining.”
Mom takes a sip of coffee as I toe off my shoes by the door. “You don’t need to be embarrassed, Elijah. If you can’t talk to your mother about sex, who can you talk to?”
I slap my hands over my eyes. “Anyone! Anyone else! But we don’t need to talk about sex because, again, this is notthat.”
I drag my hands down my face with a groan, feeling the grit of stubble on my jaw. My mother doesn’t believe in boundaries. Or, if she does, she treats any topic I don’t want to talk about like a starter’s pistol. I need to get ahead of this—and fast—or I’m going to mess up and tell her the actual truth.
“But … if there’s more coffee, I would love to talk to you about some things.”
“I lovethings,” Mom says. “Would these things involve Bailey?”
“They would.”
She squeals and tries to clap her hands, forgetting about the coffee she’s holding. I pluck the mug from her hands before she gives herself a second-degree burn. She pops out of the chair with more energy than should be possible this early.
Another good day. I can tell by her fluid movements and the easy way she stretches up to kiss my cheek. I hand back the coffee and lift the chair, urging her toward the kitchen with it like I’m some kind of lion tamer.
It feels a little bit like that.
