Coy and Bree are walking down the staircase as I approach.
“Bellamy, he is awesome,” Bree tells me. “He knows cool music and not just nursery rhymes.”
“Yeah, that’s what I heard,” I say, raising my brows at him. “Was that Matchbox Twenty I heard?”
He laughs.
The sound sweeps over my ears and quickens the beat of my heart.
I take the workbook and baseball mitt from Bree and join the two of them as they walk to the front door. Coy accompanies us to the porch.
“What did you learn today, Bree?” I ask, trying to fill the silence with some mundane conversation to keep me from blurting something out about the kiss.
“You have to arch your fingers like this.” She holds her hands in front of her like claws. “It keeps them from cramping, and it lets you move them easier. Right, Coy?”
She looks up at him and beams. He grins back down at her.
“That’s right,” he tells her. “Gotta keep good hand posture.”
“Can we play baseball now?” she asks, looking at him like he hung the moon. “I want to work on my curveball.”
“We need to get home,” I tell her, cutting in. “I have to meet the nurse for my daddy. Remember?”
“Oh, yeah.” She frowns. “Can we come back tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow is Saturday, so you’ll be home with your parents,” I point out. “But we’ll get with Coy and see what his schedule looks like for next week. Okay?”
She flashes him a big, toothy smile. “Okay.”
“You did good today,” he tells her. “You’re a natural.”
She shakes with happiness. “Thank you!”
“Sure thing,” he says.
“Can I go back to your house and get a snack cake and turn on the television?” she asks. “Just for one show. One. I won’t ask again today. I promise.”
“Just one,” I tell her. I don’t even get the words out before she’s running across the lawn toward my house.
I watch her go, mostly so I don’t have to look at Coy. I can feel him staring at the side of my face, probably wearing his ridiculous smirk, and I don’t know what to say to him about what went down at the top of the stairs.
“You’re a natural too,” he tells me.
“Oh, really?”
“Yup. You lie with the best of them. Hell, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you hated me.”
I roll my eyes as my cheeks get warm again. “Just because you kissed me doesn’t mean I don’t hate you.”
The air between us shifts. Before I know it, I’m facing Coy.
The intensity in his gaze is something I can’t squirm my way out of. He’s so focused, so superficially sincere, that it takes my breath away.
“Why do you say that?” he asks. “Why do you say you hate me?”
Because it’s easier than the truth.
I force a swallow and try to determine how to answer him.
“Hate is a strong word, Bells,” he says.
“You’re right. I probably don’t hate you. I reserve that for the guy who created plastic Easter grass.”
He bursts out laughing. “What?”
“Oh, come on. Have you not ever had to clean that up? It lasts forever and is only second on my list of dreadful things behind glitter.”
“Wow. That’s serious.”
I half-smile and wish that it was enough to distract him from his question. But it’s not.
I sigh. “I have to get going …”
“Answer me, Bellamy.”
“My dad’s therapy nurse will be at the house in a few minutes. I have to be there for a variety of things, none of which are interesting to you.” I turn and walk down the stairs. “Thank you for helping Bree today.”
My steps pick up pace as I cross the lawn.
“This isn’t over, Bellamy,” he calls after me.
It needs to be.
My brain and body are at war, both wanting what’s best for me. I know logically that I need to distance myself from Coy. But the illogical side of me—the side that irrationally holds out hope that the spark between us could sustain a lifelong fire—wants to live in this moment. It wants to grip the shred of everything being okay, if only for a second.
It’s confusing, and I don’t know which way to turn. So, I tuck my head and ignore the tingle on my lips and make a beeline for the other side of the gate.
Nine
Coy
“Boil it down for me, Meadow,” I say.
She’s danced around whatever she’s trying to say for ten minutes now. She started with niceties that I know she didn’t mean and then went all-in with telling me that she strong-armed Willa into nixing her smear campaign against me.
But that’s not why she called. She’s just warming me up.
Meadow takes a long, deep breath that stirs a sense of dread inside me.
“Coy, the label wants to modify your contract,” she says.
“What? What does that mean?”
I shoot to my feet and clamp a hand over the back of my neck.