Page 15 of Afterglow (Ottawa Regents #3)

Behraz Irani Held My Hand

Fletcher

When her hand drops to the blanket, our pinkies overlap.

She straightens with a jolt, and my whole body seizes.

Neither of us move from the position for a few moments.

And then she does. Just her little finger.

Not away. No. It shifts. Slow, delicate strokes.

Testing. And that gentle touch? It feels stronger, burns hotter than the blazing sun before us.

I want to grip that feeling, hold that tiny piece of her so close it sears into my soul and never let go.

Maybe she pities me after hearing my sob story, but I don’t care. If she wants to touch me, she sure as shit gets to.

“We should head back before it gets dark and the mosquitoes come to feast.”

I nod in agreement and pack up the food, then wait for her to stand before folding the blanket and tucking it into the basket.

The walk home is wordless. I stay on the streetside. Our hands brush every time they sway, like pendulums that keep missing each other.

Then, some asshole on an electric scooter comes flying down the sidewalk, almost knocking into Behraz. I pull her out of the way, but it’s too late. Her pretty pink dress is covered with a grimy splatter of mud.

“Hey!” I scream after him, but he doesn’t stop.

“It’s okay, I’m fine.” She tugs at my hand. “We’re almost home.”

I glare over my shoulder, but Bea holds tight, lacing our fingers together and replacing my anger with nervous tension. And our hands stay like that, locked together, until we get to the door of our apartment. I don’t want to, but when Bea’s hand relaxes, I let go.

“I’m gonna go get cleaned up,” she announces.

“Okay.”

Her bedroom door snaps shut, and I run to mine, launching myself onto the bed like an overexcited child. I roll to my back, kicking the mattress and covering my face with my palms.

Behraz Irani held my hand.

I pat my chest, calming myself through deep breaths, but it’s no use. My heart will never recover from this. My phone vibrates, cutting the swoonfest short. It’s a FaceTime call from Piper. I answer. My niece, Lila’s face appears on the screen.

“Hiya!”

“Hey, Lila! What’s up?”

“Uncle Fletcher,” she intones. “It’s my birthday!”

“I know, sweet girl. That’s why I called this morning. Your mom let you stay up late for your birthday, huh? Big 1-0!”

“It’s only 8 p.m. I’m not a baby anymore.”

“Oops, sorry. You’re still a baby to me.”

“Uncle Fletcher, stopppp .”

“Okay, okay.”

“And where’s my birthday present?”

“ Hmmm .” I tap my forefinger to my chin. “It shoulda been there already.”

“I didn’t get it.”

“ Oooh . I think I know what happened. Do me a favor and give the phone to your mom.”

“Okay, one sec.”

The kid’s getting too big. I still remember holding her at the hospital.

My oldest sister takes control of the phone. “Hi, Fletcher.”

“Hey, Pipe. How’s the party?”

“I’ve got seven ten-year-olds, five eight-year-olds, and three six-year-olds running the house into the ground. How do you think it’s going?”

“Sounds like Christmas at the Donovans.”

“Worse, I’d say.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “I see. Now, what’d ya do with the box I sent last week?”

She sighs. “It’s too much, Fletcher.”

“Oh, come on, she’s ten now. And it’s only a Nintendo Switch. I don’t get to spoil them as much as I want.”

“Fine. But take it easy at Christmas this year. I can’t have the kids expecting bigger and more expensive gifts every year.”

“Yeah, yeah. Can you give it to her now? I wanna see if she likes it or not.”

Lila returns to the screen. “Mommy said she’ll be back in a sec.”

Her face lights up when she’s handed the box, and a giddy shriek sounds out when she opens it.

“You like it?”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She hugs the phone, and my heart grows.

“I’m sorry I missed the party.”

“Come visit soon, okay? I wanna go on the jet skis like we did last summer.”

“You got it, kiddo. Have fun.”

“Bye, Uncle Fletcher!”

We wave to each other before she ends the call.

I lie back on the pillow and sigh out again, glancing at my hand and tracing the space between each finger, memorizing how Behraz’s fingers felt between them.

A crash follows a loud clang. What was that?

“Fletcher?” her voice calls weakly.

Oh, no.