Page 42 of Please Don’t Go (The Midnight Strike #1)

DANIEL

“I don’t think you’re socially awkward.”

“You met me at my worst, so I don’t think you have a clear judgment of who I am.” She folds her arms against her chest as if she were self-conscious. “But I’m done sharing; it’s your turn.”

It threw me off when she shared a tidbit about herself without me having to goad her or beg for a crumb of her life. But that’s not what continues to spike my anxiety, rising it to levels it hasn’t been in a while.

I don’t like talking about myself, especially talking about Adrian. Not because I don’t want to talk about my brother and all the good he did in his short life, but I become a mess. I struggle to come back from it, and usually it’ll take days before I feel like I’m not drowning.

It’s why I had to get out of the house; I felt like I was suffocating and was close to having a panic attack.

Opening Day does that to me. It always happens, but it goes away. Which is why I like to be alone, so no one has to worry about me.

Maybe I should’ve left the house, gone somewhere else, because I can see the look of concern on Josie’s face. I don’t want the weight of my problems on her; she already has enough going on. I don’t want to be the reason she has more issues added to her plate.

I’m not her problem.

I draw in a long breath, perusing a list of things I could share with her that isn’t about my asphyxiating need to…I clear my throat.

“Left and right—I always confuse those two in Spanish. Derecha and izquierda . Which is which? And don’t get me started on sixty and seventy in Spanish too.

Sesenta and setenta ? Like who thought of that and why would they make them sound almost the same?

Am I right?” I playfully say, hoping I don’t give more away than I already have. “Now you take?—”

“Daniel,” she deadpans. “While I totally get where you’re coming from because they used to confuse me too, that’s not what I meant.”

“I know, I’m sorry. There just isn’t much to say.”

Her brows quirk.

“What?” I ask.

“I’ve said that before.”

Oh…

For a moment, silence gathers. The sound of seagulls and the ocean lapping in the distance fills the gap between us.

She doesn’t speak. She only stares at me patiently as though she has all the time in the world. Her stance and expression feel like they’re saying, there’s no rush; I’m here for you .

I tip my head back, contemplating what I should do. Part of me wants to retreat, but the other part of me is so tired. I can’t fake my smiles or act like I’m in control right now because I’m not.

“Growing up was rough. My parents worked in the fields, picking fruit and vegetables. They hardly made anything; it was just enough to put food on the table and pay what we needed to get by. We didn’t go on vacations.

We didn’t get brand-new clothes on the first day of school or really ever; everything was secondhand.

Most Christmases we didn’t get presents.

On birthdays they’d make our cakes. You get the point.

Eventually they had saved up enough to start their business, the bakery.

They said they missed the bread from Mexico, so if they couldn’t get it, they’d make it here, and Dad had experience from when he worked at one in Mexico.

Because it was the closest bakery in the area and they lived in the predominantly Hispanic area, it took off.

It’s doing really well now; they’ve opened more bakeries and have vans that drive to different areas to sell bread.

And they have a food truck for occasions like the bonfire. ”

Josie’s brows lift a bit, surprise and admiration shining in her eyes. She shrugs the dark-green button-down off her shoulders and pulls on the rolled-up sleeves to get it to come off. She tosses it on the ground next to my hoodie.

She hikes the strap of her tank top up her shoulder, lips pursed as if she were thinking.

“My mom immigrated here alone. She didn’t want to, but her family wasn’t supportive and they were hardly getting by in Mexico.

When she got here, the only place she could work underage was in the fields.

One night she snuck into one of the pools at the high school.

The swimming coach found her, and instead of calling the police, she had her swim again.

Long story short, as Mom would say, the coach took pity on her, sponsored her, and the rest is history. ”

I know her mom’s story, I found out a lot about her during my research on Josie.

I wouldn’t say that’s stalking—after all, it’s all online.

Claudia was an insanely talented swimmer.

I hardly know anything about swimming, but I understand Olympic gold medals, and she has a lot of them on top of many other awards.

Raising my hand over my head, I grab the neck of my long-sleeve shirt and pull it off, dropping it on top of the other clothes.

Her gaze roams over the tight black Dri-FIT before lifting to meet my eyes.

“Like what you see, Josie?” I brazenly ask.

She rolls her eyes in response, but I don’t miss the soft shade of pink that colors her cheeks. “Don’t deflect. It’s your turn.”

I wasn’t, but at the same time, I was. I like that she was checking me out, but I also don’t want to continue doing this. Still, I do because sharing what I did with her made me feel a little less anxious.

“My dad wanted Adrian and me to play soccer. He always had us watching soccer games, teaching us, and scrounging up enough money to sign us up to be on a team. We liked it enough and played in middle and high school, but baseball had our hearts. You should’ve seen the look on his face when we told him we wanted to pursue it and not soccer.

You would’ve thought we had told him we became an America fan from the look on his face.

He’s a Chivas fan, by the way,” I add because she looks confused.

“They compete in Liga MX, the top division of Mexican football. You don’t keep up with it, do you? ”

She shakes her head. “That or anything else, but I did watch something kind of cool today. It involved a bat and a baseball player who’s about six five.”

My lips stretch of their own accord. There’s nothing fake about this. “You watched me play?”

“I did.” She rocks on her heels. “You’re kind of good.”

I scoff, affronted. “Kind of good ? Josefine, what game were you watching because that isn’t an adjective I’d used to describe how I played today or ever.”

Her lips press in a thin line, but they quiver, and her cheek twitches. “Don’t make me say it. You’re cocky enough as it is. I don’t want to over inflate your ego. Your head will get massive until it explodes, and then I’ll be toast mateless.”

For the first time since I woke up this morning, I feel lighter. I beam at her. “Am I rubbing off on you?”

“Shut up,” she mutters, scowling at me like it pained her to say it.

My grumpy girl. “How much did you watch?”

“I only missed the first five, ten minutes of it.” She removes the shell clip from her hair, letting the long wavy locks that were held by it fall with the rest. “I removed something,” she says as if she could hear the question in my head.

“I thought it was just clothes?” I ask anyway.

She shrugs, her lips curling cunningly before they flatten.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I don’t watch a lot of TV.

Mom didn’t let me watch it. She said it was a waste of time and I had to focus on swimming.

Instead, she’d play the films of my meets and of others, and had me study them for hours.

So, I guess I got used to not watching it. I never really picked up a remote.”

Dad was like that at times with soccer then with baseball, but Mom would force him to let us watch other things.

I’m grateful for that because at times I felt like I was getting burnt out.

It makes me wonder if Josie got burnt out?

Is that why she stopped swimming? I want to ask but we agreed, no questions.

And I can tell that took a toll on her. She looks less like herself, more like the girl I met seven weeks ago.

Quick, think. “You know, now we’re going to have to rectify that.”

She looks puzzled. “Rectify what?”

“You watching TV. I’m sure you never watched the Final Destination series?” She shakes her head at my question. “You haven’t been privileged of being traumatized like the rest of us. That’s going to change. The log scene will blow your mind.”

“Log scene?” She sounds intrigued.

“Yes, it’s crazy and traumatizing. There’s also this bridge scene and—I’m going to shut up. I don’t want to spoil it for you. Matter of fact, tonight, don’t make any plans, and if you have them, cancel them.”

She lifts a brow in astonishment. “Got any other demands?”

“None as of now, but I’ll keep you updated if anything comes to mind,” I reply, keeping a straight face. “So, you, me, the couch. It’s a date.”

I hear the hitch in her breath and catch the way her chest rapidly expands for a second before it falls. “We live together. It doesn’t need to be a date.”

“It’s Valentine’s Day. Humor me, Jos,” I playfully supply.

I’d prefer it to be real. I want it to be real. I want and need her but…I’m too fucked up. So, playing pretend will probably be the only way I get to have her.

“Will this date include food and drinks?” she questions just as playfully. Although I swear I hear something behind her words, but I’m sure I’m hopelessly and delusionally overthinking it. “Actually, I should probably pay for those. After all, you got me?—”

“Josefine, no. As my date, all I want is for you to be happy and to let me treat you. You won’t be paying for anything, so don’t argue with me. Matter of fact, that’s my second demand. Third is that you keep calling me hot.”

She rolls her lips then they twist as if she were trying to attempt to stop herself from smiling. “You know, you’re very pushy and not so humble from what they’ve said.”