The next vehicle that passed wasn’t a painted car. It was Brady Higgens’s truck. My chest tightened at the sight, and I began walking faster. Getting home wasn’t going to make the reminder of the other night go away, but I could at least get busy with making Bryony a snack and cleaning my closet or something. Anything not to remember the fool I’d made of myself.
Bryony clapped and waved at the next car that drove by. They had a stuffed lion’s head on the hood. Not sure how they were making that stay. But it sure made Bryony happy. She’d probably enjoy the games. All the fans cheering and guys running on the field. I’d never be able to take her, though. That was a part of my life that was over.
I turned into my grandmamma’s drive just as Brady’s truck came to a rolling stop beside me. Bryony was waving at him as if he were her best friend. I had already been rude in front of my daughter once this week. I wasn’t going to do it again.
“Don’t you have a game to get to?” I asked him. His window was down, and he looked like he was about to speak to me.
“I have about forty-five minutes. Can you talk?”
My response should have been Nope. I can’t. Bye.
But Brady had a game, and he was here for some reason. To him, it had to be important. I looked over to see my dad’s car was also home. Fridays he often got off work early. The game probably had the entire town getting off work early. Leaving Bryony inside with my parents shouldn’t be an issue.
“Let me take her inside,” I replied.
I pushed the stroller to the front porch and bent down in front of her to unbuckle the safety harness. “Mommy is going to talk to our friend Brady, okay? I’ll be inside to fix you a snack in a few minutes.”
She nodded as if this all made sense. I often wondered if it did, if she understood the things she responded to.
Opening the door, I saw Dad on the sofa with a cup of coffee and the newspaper. “Hey, Dad,” I greeted him. “Brady Higgens is out here and wants to talk to me a minute. Can you keep an eye on Bryony for me? I won’t be long.”
Dad frowned. “Brady? Doesn’t that boy have a game to be at?”
My sentiments exactly. I nodded. “Yes, so this will be quick.”
“Sure, I’ll watch her. Tell him I said good luck. I’m rooting for them.”
I didn’t respond. I wasn’t sure what to say. My parents were too enthusiastic about Brady. I was afraid they were about to be let down. I put Bryony down so she could run to see her pops, then closed the door behind me. My father wasn’t the nosy sort, but whatever this was about, I didn’t want anyone overhearing us.
Brady had stepped out of his truck and was leaning against the passenger’s side, waiting on me. I walked back over to him. If he was going to apologize again, I just may have lost my temper. I didn’t want his apologies. I wanted to pretend I’d never gone over there.
“I don’t have a lot of time,” I told him as if he were going to keep me. We both knew he had a game to go win. “And if this is another apology, please don’t. Just let it go.”
He shifted his feet and seemed almost nervous. “I want to be friends. My original offer—or request—still stands.”
What?
“Why?”
He sighed and ran his hands through his messy dark hair. “Because I want to be friends with you. I believe you. I feel like shit about the way I treated you when you first came back into town and the fact that I turned on you two years ago. I was young. That’s the only excuse I have. But I know better now. My team doesn’t get to tell me who I choose to be friends with.”
He sounded so determined I wondered if he was trying to convince himself of all this. And why he felt the need to come see me before his game when this could wait.
“You’ve got a championship to win,” I reminded him. He’d been pretty set on that the other night.
“Yeah, I do. But that shouldn’t stop me from doing what is right.”
So I was what was right. That made me feel like a charity case. The kid at the lunch table with no friends. Something he had learned in Sunday school as a kid. Be kind to those in need. Well, I wasn’t in need. I was perfectly fine.
“I don’t need your guilt friendship. I’m better than that. But thanks anyway,” I said, then turned to head back inside. This conversation was over as far as I was concerned.
“Wait. Don’t. It’s not guilt,” he called out, but I knew the truth even if he didn’t. “The truth is I can’t stop thinking about you.”
I stopped. Well, that was definitely a turn I hadn’t expected.
“Excuse me?” I asked, looking back at him.