Page 20 of 10 Signs You Need to Grovel

Sadie doesn’t call me on my partial falsehood. Her thumb moves, rubbing the inside edge of my knee. Forget a lovesick pancake. My stomach’s a malfunctioning Ferris wheel, spinning in wild circles. Her eyes flick to mine. For a second, I think I see heat in their depths again—longing, like the times I’d catch her watching me when I’d be studying.

I’d nudge her those days and say, “Stop being a creeper.”

She’d go all moony and kiss my cheek. “I just can’t believe how lucky I am to love you.”

That was then, this is now.

Her gaze drops back to my neck. My ink. My scar.

“Good choices.” Our little nemesis walks by again, coming from the bathrooms.

I swivel, unable to control my dirty look. (Hiking leader is sounding dumber by the second.) With my abrupt move, Sadie’s hand slides higher up my thigh, and my leg jerks, slamming her hand into the underside of the table.

“Ow.” She winces.

I mumble apologies and reach under the table to grab her hand, make sure she’s okay.

I am not okay.

Our chests are pressed to the table’s aluminum edge, our hands linked underneath, both of us breathing hard. My heart beats wildly. Sweat gathers between our palms. I have no clue if Sadie’s having I-miss-the-love-of-my-life sweats or how-do-I-politely-let-him-down sweats.

Unable to face the possibility of the latter, I extricate my hands from hers. “I should go.”

She leans back and touches her clavicle. “Right, yeah. Me too.”

I shift on my bench seat, unsure what to do with my too-big body in this too-tight space.

Another stretch of uncomfortable silence later, Sadie’s uncertain gaze slides back to me. “But I’ll see you again soon, right?”

“If you want.” I’ve never heard my voice like this. Soft, tender, needy. “I still have lots of questions I didn’t ask you.”

“Me too,” she says quickly. “I mean, as long as you have time. I’m sure you want to know all about Max.”

“Yeah. Sure. Of course. We’ll talk about Max.” At least Sadie won’t be on the hikes with me. Any chance of me acting normal and impressing my son would be toast.

Even thinking about finally meeting him has my nerves rioting, but I need to buck up. This hiking ruse is about his mental health, not my dad deficiencies. I have to earn his trust. Build a foundation with him so when he learns who I am, he won’t shut down further.

I’ve already planned fun outings for him and my troop. The activities should give him a boost to his days. I’ve researched the best trails to hike and explore the area. I’ve reviewed my leadership material, even the babysitting stuff.

Operation Inspiring Hiking Leader and Dad Whisperer is underway.

What could possibly go wrong?

SIX

I check my backpack for the seventy-ninth time, ensuring the first aid kit and emergency supplies are secure. My nature-inspired coloring books and baggies of snacks are lined up on the picnic bench—six baggies for the six kids who signed up for my hikes, zero peanuts in sight, in case one of them forgot to alert me to an allergy. I’m wearing cargo shorts with plenty of pockets for pens and my cell and quick-access bandages. Unfortunately, I’m also wearing Lennon’s company Littlewing Outdoor Camp T-shirt.

First, yellow is not my color.

Second, the shirt’s too tight. He claimed it was the largest he could get, and the tag does read extra large, but it feels like an extra large in Ken-doll size.

Third, thanks to the too-tight T-shirt, some of my tattoos are visible. Not the phallic-shaped knife on my pec, but the blurred bleeding rose on my right forearm and the scythe-wielding skeleton on my left, which looks more like Casper the Friendly Ghost playing baseball, are on display, proving how poor some of my choices have been. Not much to be done about that.

Or about my brother.

“Your cell phone is charged, right?” Lennon asks as he digs through my backpack for his fourth time.

I pat one of my pockets. “Still charged since you asked five minutes ago.”