A sudden grin comes over his handsome face. “Your sister, the people pleaser?”
Surprised, I take a moment to answer. “Yeah, you were paying attention to my rambling?”
His grin increases. “Your ramblings are full of interesting bits of information, Opal.”
“Oh, really?” I laugh, though I’m incredibly pleased.
“For sure. Now tell me more about you and this angel of a sister of yours.”
I groan. “Sophie has always been the ultimate good girl. I’ve never understood how she can agree so easily with everything my parents say. Even as a teenager, she was steady and dependable, everything that I wasn’t.”
“Weren’t you supposed to be the older and wiser big sister?”
“Yeah, supposed to be is the key to that sentence. Luckily, she was always immune to my wild ways.”
“The responsible type, then. She sounds like my kind of woman.”
It takes everything I’ve got to keep myself in sync with his irreverent tone. “Yeah,” I say breezily. “If she didn’t have a long-time boyfriend, I’d introduce you.” Because, fuck me, they’d be perfect together . . . something that appeals to me about as much as a returning to my former life. In fact, it makes me want to stab something with the nearest utensil.
He snorts. “Yeah, I’m sure your baby sister would be all over a guy who’s got three kids to look after. I’m a total score.”
Thankfully our food arrives, and I get some time to recover my equilibrium and then process the tail end of that conversation. He does come with three kids, doesn’t he? Why hasn’t that thought crossed my mind at all? Uh, because you’re just friends, Ellie. Get with the program.
The rest of dinner is highly pleasant, wonderful even. We stay away from serious topics, joking around and enjoying each other’s company. Afterwards, the movie is some blockbuster action monstrosity that barely holds my attention. I spend my time stealing peeks of Scott’s profile while I munch on the Twizzlers he bought for me and ponder how sweet it is that he keeps his silenced phone in his hand so he won’t miss any calls from home.
“That was awesome,” he announces, when the credits are rolling. Though I’m more responding to his boyish enthusiasm than the movie, I agree wholeheartedly.
We shuffle along with the people in our row and then, when we hit the steps which are really crowded, he reaches back and takes my hand so we don’t get separated. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve deprived myself of human touch for so long, or if he’s got magic hands, but the energy that arcs between us sends my pulse soaring.
Emerging from the theatre into the bright lights of the Cineplex, he pulls up short and I almost crash into his back. He directs a vehement, hissing, “Shit,” at his phone, which is lighting up. Towing me out of the flow of traffic, he lets go of my hand. “Sorry, I’ve got to take this.” Turning his back on me, he takes a deep breath before he answers the call. “¿Tío?”
¿Tío? He speaks Spanish?
I’m unsure because Scott is mostly listening. What is clear, though, is that whatever’s being said is not to his liking. He paces in the available space, tension rolling off of him in waves. When he does speak, near the end of the quick call, it’s all in English. “Yeah, okay. Yeah, I know where it is.” His eyes suddenly find mine. “I’m about fifteen, twenty minutes away.” Pause. “Okay, yeah, bye.”
Jamming his thumb down on the screen, he ends the call and then hangs his head, like the weight of the world is on his shoulders.
“Hey,” I say hesitantly, “everything okay?”
“Fuck,” he grinds out under his breath. When he finally looks up, there’s strain written into every angle of his face. “Listen, I’ve got to run down to San Jose.”
“Oh, okay.” I blink at him. “Don’t worry, I can, uh, take an Uber home.” I pull out my phone and am launching the app, when he takes hold of my wrist to stop me.
“No, I don’t feel good about sending you home by yourself this late.”
His frustration is palpable and I don’t want to add to it. “It’s fine, Scott. Not a big deal.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not happening.” Then almost like it pains him, he says, “Come with me. I’ll have you back home in an hour, an hour and a half at the latest.”
His tone rings with finality, as if I’ve already agreed. Huh. He really does have a caveman streak. Since it’s clear that a flippant comment wouldn’t be appreciated and I don’t mind going with him, I keep my response short and simple. “Sure. I’m easy.”
All I get is a tight nod as he re-takes my hand and heads for the parking lot. If I were shorter, I’d be hard-pressed to keep up with his long, purposeful strides.
He takes me to the passenger side and opens my door. I get in, but before he lets my hand go, he gives it a quick, reassuring squeeze. I watch him through the windshield as he goes around the front of the truck. Something definitely has him wound up.
It takes a full ten minutes before the silence gets to me. “You want to tell me what’s going on before we get where we’re going?”
“Not in the least.”
Okay, then. I go back to staring out the passenger window.
“Sorry,” he growls, the tightly controlled anger in his voice filling the cab of the truck. “I’m just so sick of this shit.”
I wait for more, but it takes the passing of another minute before he breaks down and enlightens me.
“It’s my mom,” he finally admits miserably. “She’s drunk off her ass and someone I know called me to come get her.” He shakes his head. “Probably so the cops don’t get involved.”
Oh. I bite my lip, unsure of how to respond, but he saves me from having to come up with something by continuing on. “I shouldn’t have to pick up my mother from some random bar on a Friday night, you know? You’d think someone else could do it for a change.”
The slightly shocked, Nosy Parker in me loosens my tongue, “You’ve done this before?”
“Yeah,” he bites out. “It’s not the first time and I’m sure it won’t be the last.”
I watch his grip tighten around the steering wheel as I try to imagine myself in a similar situation. “I’m the last person anyone in my family would call if they needed help.”
He shoots me an annoyed glance that clearly conveys And your point is?
“I don’t know, maybe you could look at it as a compliment. Your family and friends know you as someone who cares.”
Exasperated, he asks, “Are you saying you’d let your mom go to jail?”
“What? No! I don’t know what I’m saying.” I struggle to find the right words. “Just that it must be a nice feeling to know you’re valued by the people around you.”
Laughing bitterly, he retorts, “Or maybe the people around me get themselves into too many bullshit situations, and I’m the only one sucker enough to show up to bail them out.”
Scott is forced to slow down as we arrive in the downtown core of San Jose where the streets are busy with the Friday night crowds.