Laughter hits my lips as Juan salutes me and takes several steps toward the exit. “I’ll see you, Beckett.”
When I turn my attention to Raegan, her eyes are already on me. “Did you have fun?” I ask, closing the distance between us.
“I’m pretty sure I’m deserving of the least valuable player award.” She laughs.
“I don’t know if you missed it, but nearly everyone sucks.”
She closes her eyes, her laugher growing. “I couldn’t believe that guy fell out of his Whirlybug.” She sobers too quickly, her gaze falling from mine. “We should probably get going. You have practice in the morning, and I have class.”
“Look at you knowing my schedule,” I chide.
She shakes her head, the ghost of a smile sparking in her eyes. “This was fun. Thanks for bringing me.”
“I’m sorry about your dad,” I tell her.
“Me, too.” She cuts her gaze to the side, blinking too fast.
I should leave her alone—recognize her emotions are too raw. And I don’t want her to associate me with these feelings of deceit and betrayal when she likely has enough stacked against me. But, the same thoughts have distracted me, leading me to see her after practice with the excuse of Paxton as a convenient intro. “Has he done that before? Acted like that?”
Rae cuts her blue eyes to me, the humor replaced with a sheen of sadness that evokes a keen sense of aggression in me, wishing I could destroy anything that created this level of grief. “I keep wondering if I just never saw him for who he really was or if this has changed him? You know? Did being caught just make him flip some sort of switch? I don’t know. I mean, he’s never hit one of us, that was…” She clasps a hand to her forehead. “Maggie.” She exhales. “We never called Maggie.” She spins, looking at the walls, stopping when she spots the large clock that relays it’s nearly nine. “Shit. It’s too late. I’ll wake her up.”
My feelings for her are being held back by what feels like a simple piece of tape. It’s flimsy, and transparent, and has no chance of holding everything back. “Call her tomorrow. She’ll understand.”
“I meant to call her earlier. I was trying to call my mom, so I could check in with her before I called Maggie so I could give her a better update, but my aunt said she was napping and suggested I give her a couple of days, and I forgot to call Maggie.”
I place a hand on her shoulder, realizing these past ninety minutes are merely a piece of tape for her as well. I don’t have the right words, I’m not sure they even exist, but I pull her toward me, wrapping my arms around her back, feeling each rigid muscle. I stroke a hand over her hair, brushing it behind her ear. “It’s going to be okay. We’ve got this. I’ve got you.”
The doubt remains, her muscles still bunched, but then she leans into me, setting her forehead against my shoulder. “Don’t tell Pax we hung about … whatever this is. I don’t want him worrying. He needs to focus on football, so do you. You guys have two games left before bowl games.”
She remains in place, her breaths slowing as I continue the same path over her hair. “Pax will be fine. We just need to have a come to Jesus conversation with him to kick him in the ass. He listens to you, but we can do it together. I’ll push the message, and you being there will make him listen.”
She nods. “I’ll be there.”
The lights flash, indicating the impending closure, and Rae steps back, her lips lifting with a hesitant smile. “I have to grab my things before they shut off the lights.” I follow her to the benches to grab her coat and purse before leading her back out to the darkened parking lot, the rain a fine mist. Rae doesn’t duck or try and cover her hair like many girls do as they race across campus in this weather. Instead, she closes her eyes and tips her face skyward. Slowly, she lowers her chin, her gaze meeting mine before she smiles.
“Whirlyball. Maggie would love this.”
Her refusal to be swallowed by this situation is proof that she fought just as hard as the doctors who worked to save her. Raegan Lawson is many things, but fighter is at the top of her list.
“What?” she asks.
I shake my head. “I was just thinking of when you were in the hospital… Your nurse called you Zenobia.”
“Zenobia?”
“A woman who defied all odds and became a warrior queen a very long time ago.”
Her brow creases. “I thought you weren’t at the hospital?”
“Mentally, I’m not sure that I was.”
Confusion pinches the outer corners of her eyes.
“I didn’t know what to do. Your parents were there, your brother, Maggie. I didn’t know who knew what and…” I pull in a breath of air, tracing my thoughts during those days, trying to make sense of what happened. It feels like another lifetime ago, and yet the fear feels like it was born just yesterday, still fresh in my thoughts and chest. “I came every fucking night to see you.”
She stares at me, her thoughts once again racing like they so often do. I want to ask her for some insight—a glimpse at her opinions of me with the truth now laid between us. “It’s late,” she says.
It’s not. But before I can object her phone rings, and I already know by the song that it’s Poppy. Raegan doesn’t hesitate, reaching for it as she walks toward my truck.
I trail her, catching her assurances to Poppy before her eyes cut to me. “Yeah, I’m actually with Lincoln.” I can’t hear Poppy’s response, but Rae’s gaze shifts and she turns so her back is to me, and her voice drops with her next reply.
I get into the driver’s side, allowing her the privacy she’s seeking and turning the truck on so it can warm up.
Only a few seconds pass before she opens the passenger door and hops in.
“Everything okay?”
She nods. “Yeah. Everything’s good.”
The drive back to Beam Me Up to get Rae’s car goes too fast, the roads nearly empty, my admission seeming like a greater regret with each second of silence stretching.
I pull into the parking lot and drive to the back where Rae’s white Honda is parked. My headlights cast a beam across the hood of the car, where my full attention is pulled and then stops at the sight of a paper crane under her windshield wiper, and then her flat tires. I scan over the bare parking lot, the darkened coffee shop, the empty streets.
“What’s wrong?” Raegan asks.
My knuckles are white from gripping the wheel as I pull into the spot next to her car. “Stay here.”
“What?” She turns, her hand already on the seat belt retractor.
“Stay here,” I repeat, cranking my door open and slamming it shut behind me before taking a few steps to her car and retrieving the note that is too dry for the current weather conditions. I walk around the car, checking out the tires that are all flat.
With another sweep over the parking lot, I climb back into my truck, pinching the offending paper between my fingers. “You’re still getting these?”
Her eyes shift between mine, likely reading my anger and annoyance and trying to interpret if it’s at her or the letter.
“How many?” I demand.
“They had stopped,” she says. “For weeks.”