Page 6

SIX

KIT

Sleep tugged at my eyes, and I shook my shoulders, scooping up the textbook in front of me as I stood to pace the room. A couple more minutes, maybe an hour, and then, bed.

“Coffee?” Derek poked his head into my room, startling me. “Tea? A break?”

I glanced at the clock. Nearly ten, which meant, if I finished this chapter, I’d have six hours of sleep before work in the morning. “I don’t have time.”

“Ten minutes. Just to clear your mind.” His voice was low and pleading.

Had I been this annoying when he was in school? Ripping him away from his books every night? Probably.

The coagulation pathway swirled on the page, a neatly drawn flow diagram turning to mush somewhere between the textbook and my brain. I shut the book. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

Derek led the way into the kitchen, filling a pale blue kettle with water and setting it on the stove.

I rifled through the cabinet, pulling out the mugs we’d made at a weekend pottery class. Despite an enthusiastic teacher and plenty of time, neither of us fully grasped working on the wheel, and we ended the weekend with mismatched coffee mugs as a reminder of our trip.

Derek’s looked like a saggy vase, while mine bulged at the bottom. The final product reminded me of a stomach, and I’d decorated it with a pair of eyes and a frown. I set a tea bag in each mug.

“What’s the countdown?” Derek asked, pouring the boiling water into our mugs.

“Two weeks until the rally. Graduation a week after that and then the certification test right after that.”

“Please tell me you’re not taking your notes on the rally?” Derek asked, scooping his cup up by the exaggeratedly huge handle before sitting at our checkerboard red diner booth, a castoff from a breakfast dive down the block that had since been converted into a farm-to-table gastropub.

“Maybe…” I winced, sliding in across from him. “Sorry, but I didn’t plan this well at all.”

I didn’t really have a choice. I couldn’t take the credentialing board test until after graduation, and I’d signed up for the rally on a whim.

Derek rolled his eyes, an easy smile spreading across his face. “It’s fine. Bring your notecards, but don’t waste the entire rally with your head in a book. You should enjoy the road trip.”

My throat clenched, tears rising unexpectedly. I rubbed my neck, easing the tension. “Fine. I will. I’ll try, anyway.”

“You know, you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. Not really.” Derek pitched forward, sliding his hand across the table and giving mine a squeeze.

“I want to,” I said with inflated confidence. “We’ll go on the rally, do a terrible job, see some weird stuff, and I can sell the car. Done and done.”

Derek frowned, grasping the mug with both hands, his eyes roving mine. He looked uneasy, and I hated making him feel that way. Hated the look of sadness in his eyes that bordered on pity. Hated that my dad’s death was the only event that drove us apart rather than closer.

Because my version of grief turned out to be the exact opposite of his. While Derek cried and drew our friends closer, I pushed them all away. I wanted space. I didn’t want to talk about my dad, and I sure as hell didn’t want to be reminded of his death.

But the car was one hell of a reminder.

When it’d lived at my childhood home, at least I could ignore it. But then Mom, supported by a bevy of therapists, friends, and family, moved across the country. She would have sold the car. All I had to do was ask, but I couldn’t.

I’d been useless at his funeral. I didn’t know his favorite song or his favorite color or what flowers he liked. But, as a kid, I’d sat in the garage listening to rock and my dad dream about racing the Cougar.

Sure, the car would never survive Le Mans or a NASCAR track or even a cross-country race. Rust and time had ravaged the chassis, and even in its current state, I barely trusted the engine at highway speeds. But Dad wanted to race it. Compete with it. And now that he was gone, I could do it for him.

“You don’t have to sell the car, you know.”

I’d whittled down the pile of my dad’s belongings to a box of photographs I didn’t have the heart to look at and the car. Shaking my head, I exhaled. “I’m sure somebody wants that hunk of junk, especially now that it runs. If it runs after five days on the road. Maybe I can sell it when the rally is over, and we’ll fly back home.”

People had sold their cars after other rallies. Get enough car enthusiasts in one place, the ones in the rally and the curious onlookers who come out to the finish line, and someone might buy the car. I could finish the race and close that chapter of my life. Goodbye car, goodbye dad.

“Nobody wants that car,” Derek scoffed. “No offense.”

“Someone might.”

“And certainly not for enough money to get both of us a plane ticket.”

I grinned. “Probably not. But after I get my promotion, I’ll have plenty of money to splurge on things like plane tickets.”

Derek sighed, resting his forearms on the table, leaning closer to me. “Or maybe you can take a breath, enjoy the experience, and not worry about the finish line?”

“What does that mean?” I bristled at the tone in his voice. That mildly exasperated tone he used when I forgot to start the dishwasher or left a trail of clothes on my way to the shower.

His lips twisted, mouth opening and shutting like a fish before he spoke. “I just think you need to enjoy the ride and stop thinking about the future for a minute.”

“Enjoy the ride?” I laughed.

What was there to enjoy about the last four years? Long hours at the hospital followed by hours of studying for a degree I should have gotten in three years. But the death of my father set me back a semester, which turned into a year thanks to the classes I needed only being offered in the fall.

Other than the occasional trip to the pier, I hadn’t touched a beach outside of Virginia in years. I spent my vacation days at home, watching my mom catapult from one extreme to the next. Crying, convinced she’d always be alone to giddy over a new boyfriend, and now, a move across the country.

“I know you’re doing this for your dad.” Derek picked at the words carefully, his hand outstretched and his tone soft. “But you’re doing it for yourself too, right?”

“A car rally down to Florida isn’t really my idea of a vacation,” I admitted. But it’d close a chapter of my life. A stressful chapter. “But, yeah, it’ll be fun. A real hoot.”

“Don’t be sassy with me, Miss Mechanic.” Derek shook his head. “And thanks for mostly getting along with Trent at music trivia. You really had to argue about Monkey Station though?”

“You know how I feel about that band,” I laughed. “Misidentifying their first drummer? Unforgivable.”

“Of all the bands he could have screwed up, he had to pick Monkey Station.” He shook his head. “He made a shitty first impression. Don’t hold that against him forever.”

“He also made a bad second impression, third impression, fourth impression?—”

“You were chatting nicely when he came over for the soccer game.”

“He caught me off guard. I was tired. And hungry. I’m kinder when there’s food.”

“Give him a chance.”

I sipped my tea with a snort. “Sure. I should give him a chance. Hey, at least I’m glad you have one friend who’s a lot of fun since I’m lame.”

Derek shrugged. “You’ll get better after graduation. Especially once you get some actual sleep.”

Sleep sounded nice. Especially as the clock inched closer to midnight. “Just don’t forget about me and make Trent your best friend in the meantime.”

He grinned, brown eyes soft. “Never.”

A warm spring breeze rushed through the dugout as I shuffled through my cooler, removing the snacks and making sure the orange slices hadn’t spilled in the car.

“Andrea! You have drinks, right?” I called to our opponent’s dugout.

“Juice and soda, a couple of energy drinks too, but those are just for Kick-fil-A players,” she teased.

“Hey, that’s cheating!” I laughed at her exaggerated wink.

“So, is it true?” Andrea crossed the batter’s boxes to our dugout, lowering her voice, her eyes searching the field.

“Is what true?” I asked, separating the granola bars from the crackers.

“You’ve got a Norwalk Breaker on your team?”

The rumor mill had certainly been spinning and despite only being a few games in, most of the teams came primed with their Norwalk Breakers’ gear and markers for autographs.

I nodded. “Trent Vogt, and he could have been on your team. He was a free agent.”

“Damn it,” she swore under her breath. “I saw the list, but didn’t want to add an unknown player. Remember that guy who dressed like a pirate last season? I should have looked at the names.”

“Well, you know Derek.” I rolled my eyes dramatically. “He’s got a soft spot for strays.”

She shook her head. “I am so jealous.”

“Don’t be. He’s really not that big of a deal.”

A loud engine drew our attention to the parking lot. A fancy yellow sports car that stood out among the midsize sedans and minivans pulled into the parking lot, straddling two parking spaces. The engine idled and then died before Trent exited the car.

“Is that him?” Andrea gripped my elbow, pulling me close. “What’s he like?”

“Exactly what you’d expect. Cocky, rude, and annoying.”

“And hot. You forgot hot.” Her voice dipped, grip tightening.

I didn’t forget hot. As much as I disliked Trent, looking at him and not immediately admitting that he was fine was next to impossible. But his personality destroyed that hotness.

“He’s an ass.”

“Hey, Kit!” he boomed, waving an arm in my direction.

My cheeks burned at his perfectly timed greeting.

“An ass?” Andrea raised an eyebrow, not bothering hiding her disbelief. “Seems friendly enough.”

“Trent,” I responded with a terse smile.

“Introduce me.” Andrea nudged me toward him as Trent entered the opposite side of the dugout, dropping his duffel bag and rifling through for his gear.

I suppressed a sigh. “Trent, this is Andrea. She’s the captain for Kick-fil-A. Andrea, this is Trent. He’s terrible at kickball.”

“Hey, I eventually kicked the ball at our last practice,” Trent said with a smile. “Nice to meet you, Andrea.”

“You kicked the ball straight at first base,” I deadpanned. “Straight into Gavin’s hands.”

Andrea didn’t notice, her eyes huge and locked on Trent. “It’s so nice to meet you!”

I couldn’t blame her. Despite how I felt about the guy, his fame coupled with a natural charisma won people over.

He beamed at her, eyes locked like she was the only person in the world.

“I can’t believe you’re playing for a rec team,” she tittered, cheeks growing red and voice breathy.

“I tried out for the pros, but they wouldn’t have me. And hell, this league was damn near impossible to join. They told me to start my own team, but most of my teammates leave Virginia during the off-season.”

“And you didn’t want to join them?” I probed. Why wasn’t Trent on a yacht in Greece or clubbing through major metropolitan cities or hell, at least in Texas? “What made you stay in Virginia?”

Trent pulled his attention away from Andrea. She wilted like a flower before pressing a manicured finger to her chin. “Yeah, why are you here? Family? Friends?”

Trent’s nose twitched and his eyes flitted to the field. His smarmy, charming smile dropped for half a second. “Um, just didn’t feel like traveling, I guess. I wanted to stay local. Train.”

He had a terrible poker face, but for a fraction of a second, I actually felt bad for him. Andrea didn’t follow Breakers’ gossip, but I sure as hell did. And while I hadn’t bothered to form a theory about why the NFL’s biggest social butterfly spent his time off on a kickball team, I found myself suddenly curious.

“I should get on the field. Nice to meet you, Andrea.” He jogged away, which for anyone else would have been a full-on sprint.

“Jesus, he’s fast,” Andrea sighed. “And hot. And really nice.”

I added Andrea to my “charmed as hell by Trent” list. A growing and unwieldy list that seemed to include everyone but me.

“He’s something.”