Page 27 of The False Start (Off the Bench)

Chapter Nineteen

LILA

T he next few days fly by, and whether it’s because work is so busy that I don’t have a second to breathe or because I’m still reeling from my conversation with Cal on the beach, I’m not sure.

He made it clear he has no real expectations, and I enjoy spending time with him, but I’m not ready for anything serious again.

I was so sure about Dennis in those first few years.

And even when we started breaking up, there was always the thought we would end up together in the end. But this time feels real.

It’s easy with Cal, easier than breathing, and I have to catch myself from falling over and over again.

Because it’d be so easy to jump, to leap, off that cliff.

But I can’t, not yet. What if he doesn’t catch me?

What if he decides afterwards that it’s not worth it, that I’m not worth it?

Or that he’d rather have one of the perfect models that are always surrounding professional athletes.

But he makes me feel so safe and taken care of. Like he genuinely cares for my happiness, and if I asked for the moon, would find some way to get it for me, wrapped up in Gucci gift paper.

It’s fucking scary.

We’re driving up to Theo’s parents’ lake house tonight together, and the idea of sitting in a car next to him for hours uninterrupted makes my heart race.

I wish I had a car so I could drive, but he already offered and given that it’s a known fact that I don’t own a car, it’d be a bit ridiculous to rent one.

I took a half day just to give myself plenty of time to pack and get ready, but I’m regretting it now.

I’m packed and ready to go—have been for over an hour—and I still have another ninety minutes until when he said he’d pick me up.

It’ll just be me and my anxiety sitting here, waiting.

It dawns on me that I could go on a coffee run and have one for him ready to go.

Hey, I’m gonna grab a coffee before we leave, do you want anything?

Cal

That’d be great.

Black coffee with 4 sugars.

Wait are you serious?

. . . ?

FOUR sugars?

Never mind

No, I got it. I’m just making sure it wasn’t a typo or something. I know how touchy those autocorrects can be.

Black coffee 4 sugars. Got it.

I smile to myself. Who would’ve thought that Callahan Basset likes his coffee sweet enough to rot your teeth. I pace my apartment and contemplate calling Katie just for something to do, but she’s already up at the house likely getting drunk on cherry wine with Theo.

I eye my suitcase. I’m sure I packed for any situation, but one last check can’t hurt. I unzip it, taking in the contents that are half folded, and immediately pull everything out and dump it in a pile on my bed.

God forbid anyone sees the inside of my suitcase, because I’ve yet to master the art of folding. I repack more carefully, taking my time with each item.

I grab my keys, and head out the door to grab our coffees, ordering them on the app on the elevator down. I’m just picking them up when my phone buzzes.

Cal

Leaving in 10

I’ll be ready out front!

I grab a few extra sugars, just in case, and hustle home. The last thing I want is to be late.

I’m dragging my overly full suitcase through the lobby, taking care not to spill the two coffees balanced in the other hand, when I see a black Mercedes coupe pull up out front.

I blink back the surprise at the choice of car.

I always pictured him driving something a little more practical.

But every boy likes his toys, so I shouldn’t be that thrown off.

He gets out of the car, coming around the back to take my suitcase from me, lifting it easily and sliding it into place next to a leather duffle bag in the trunk of his car.

“Thanks,” I say, flushing slightly as he smirks over the roof of the car at me.

“Don’t mention it.”

He walks toward me, and I’m momentarily stunned. Is he going to kiss me? But he passes me, opening my door and gesturing for me to get in.

“Here,” he says, taking the coffees from me as I climb into the low-seated car. He hands them back to me once I’m settled and closes the door before walking back to the driver side and sliding in much smoother than I did. I hand him his coffee.

“Four sugars, as promised,” I deadpan.

He rolls his eyes. “I never make fun of your drink choices.”

“Yeah, because they’re reasonable drinks. You have, like, an entire day’s worth of sugar in that cup.”

He shrugs, taking a sip and savoring it.

“What did you get? Some over-priced pumpkin latte?”

I hug my vanilla sweet cream cold brew to my chest.

“No,” I say, defensively.

He snorts. “Sure, whatever you say.”

The radio is on, and we pass through the city and onto the highway in amiable silence, zipping along at speeds that would make me nauseous with less pricey suspension.

“Did you have anything you wanted to listen to?” Cal asks as we’re passing the Wisconsin border. “We’ll lose the signal here in a bit.”

“I can start a queue,” I say brightly. “Anything on the veto list?”

“Uhh . . .” He pauses. “Maybe just nothing too slow. I wouldn’t want to fall asleep at the wheel.”

“Nothing too slow, got it.”

“And no true crime.”

The first couple hours pass easily. We chat every so often about the song or what we imagine Katie and Theo are getting into unsupervised, but the silence is comfortable between conversation bursts and doesn’t need filling.

His elbow rests on the center console between us, his long fingers tapping on the gear shift, almost restlessly. I’m torn between watching the road and admiring his hand.

He has short, clean nails—he probably gets manicures for his nails to be shaped so perfectly. A few times each hour, his hand will twitch slightly toward me, like he wants to rest his hand on my thigh but pulls back at the last minute.

I part my legs, letting my left leg lean against the edge of the seat, that much closer to his waiting fingers, giving him the option if he wants it. I know I do.

The first raindrop hits the windshield and jolts me out of my hand fantasies. It’s quickly followed by several more, and soon we’re in the middle of a downpour.

“Do you maybe want to slow down a bit?” I ask, a hint of a joke in my voice as I clutch the seatbelt across my chest.

He spares a glance at me and frowns but pulls the car back to a reasonable speed. “Are you okay?”

“Thanks.” I smile gratefully at him. “Yeah, I just don’t really like driving in bad weather.

I had a bad accident in college where I hydroplaned and crashed my mom’s car.

” His face softens and his hand comes down and squeezes my knee reassuringly.

My heart skips a beat, and as if he can feel the odd stall in my cardiovascular system, he releases it and takes the wheel with both hands.

It’s easy to see why after a few moments.

The rain has turned into sleet as we’ve continued north. Many of the cars around us have slowed to a veritable crawl by highway standards, most with their hazards on.

“Wow, it’s really coming down out there,” I say.

He grunts, focused on the road, his knuckles turning white from gripping the steering wheel so hard.

“Do you want to pull over and just wait it out a bit?” I ask.

“No, it’s fine. Just let’s maybe turn the music down? I’m not used to driving in weather like this.”

“Oh, of course.” I reach toward the knob on the console just as he does the same. He must sense my tension because he lets me manage the radio and keeps both hands firmly on the wheel.

It’s another twenty minutes or so, and this time the silence is anything but comfortable. Cal is clearly stressed driving through the storm, but there’s nothing I can do except try to not be distracting.

We seem to be through the worst of the storm, the sleet coming down lighter and lighter and Cal eases up on the wheel.

“Just be careful. The road is probably really slick.”

“Yeah, but at least I can see now.” He chuckles.

“Do you want the music back?”

“Oh right, yeah sure.” We’re coming up to a bend in the road, and just as I reach for the knob to turn back on the playlist, we hit a patch of ice made slick by the rain and spin out.

The colors spiral around me—the black of the car, the green of the pine trees outside, the grey of the road, the white of the snow all blurring together.

My pulse is racing, and I’m not ready to die.

I’m not ready to let Cal die either. I blindly reach toward him as the car skids off the road into a small ditch.

We come to a stop and look at each other, my hand clutching his arm.

“Are you okay?” He asks frantically, cupping my face and turning it as if to check my neck isn’t broken.

“Cal, I’m fine, I’m fine. ” I grip his hands, still on my face but no longer tilting my face back and forth.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I can’t believe we spun out like that.”

“Yeah, the roads can be really dangerous when it’s in between rain and snow like this.” I gesture out the window to the loose flurries now floating by. “We’re both okay though, right? That’s what matters.” My hands are shaking slightly, and I shove them under my legs to hide them from sight.

He nods. “You didn’t hit your head or anything right?”

“No, if anything I’ll just have a bit of a bruise from the seatbelt,” I joke, trying to lighten his mood. He only frowns. “I’m really okay, Cal. We can try to get out of here, or I can call AAA.”

“Here, I’ll try first.” He revs the engine, but eases into gear. The car doesn’t move, and he gives it more gas.

“I think the wheels are just spinning.” He groans. “I can try pushing it if you want to take over?”

“Oh yeah, I can help push if you want?”

“I got it, just try to steer.”

He opens the door, and a flurry of snowflakes drift in with the gust of cold air, and I clamber over the center console into the driver’s seat. I roll down the window a bit so I can hear Cal outside and signal I’m ready.