~
I don’t tell Tripp or anyone else about my run in with Mrs. Kash and I try not to feel guilty about it. I’m not ready to discuss what the conversation might mean. Just like I’m not ready to deal with the idea of having to defend that Gracie is only mine, or having to share her. Or, door number three (gulp), having custody taken away altogether. So, the youngest child in me pops out and I shove those fears to the back where I can ignore them. My ability to compartmentalize and not think about things is a gift—of course, some could also argue that not thinking was how I got Gracie in the first place, but I choose to see the positive here.
I get home in time to shower and grab a piece of toast before racing back out the door with Gracie. Even though I’m keeping up a running commentary, trying to act like everything is normal, I know I’m not on my game when G cocks her head at me as I unload Gracie’s things.
“Rae Rae, what’s wrong?”
I avoid eye-contact and shove some watermelon slices into the fridge. “Nothing, just running late. I had an early workout with coach and I barely had time to shower before we had to leave again.”
“You should have called me, I would have come and gotten her for you.”
The thought of G driving brings a genuine smile to my lips and I finally glance at her. Today she’s wearing jeans, but they are most definitely not the jeans with the elastic waist band and pleats that most grandmothers wear. They’re bright pink and skinny around her even skinnier ankles. And I believe they’re low-rise, so I’m grateful for the oversized Oxford button down she’s wearing…until I realize it looks suspiciously like a man’s shirt.
“New shirt?” I ask as normally as I can. No big deal, just a couple of gals talking fashion…except one of those gals is wearing a black t-shirt and a pair of converse—clearly no fashion expert—and the other is wearing her walk of shame clothes, so, in that light, it is a big deal.
I want to cringe when a slow smile spreads across her face and she shrugs. “Walter left it here last time.”
The way she says last time has me eternally grateful that I only had toast this morning. Anything heavier would for sure be popping back up as I swallow the bile down. Oookay, looks like no question has a safe answer so I just nod. “Well, um, nice. Okay. Um, I’ll be back around five-thirty. Is that okay?”
She waves me off, already settling Gracie into her high-chair for breakfast. “You go get learned, girl, we’ll be here when you get back.”
Despite the awkward conversation, love for this woman flows through me and I lean down to kiss her springy curls. “Thanks, G. You’re the greatest.”
I kiss Gracie, and when I turn to leave, G says my name. “Yeah?” I say and turn back around.
“Whatever’s bothering you, don’t you hold it in for too long. You’re a Reynolds, and despite what your father has done to that name, it still makes you a fighter. We’re all fighters, remember that.”
I give a brisk nod and walk out, unsure if she’s right. How hard will we have to fight if Mrs. Kash threatens what I think she’s going to? And will it matter?
Tripp is waiting for me when I pull into the parking lot, and I can’t help the grin that spreads when he opens my door and leans in to kiss me before I’ve even cut the engine. “Hey. I called you this morning to see if you wanted to drive together.”
And I’d ignored his call because it had been ten minutes after Mrs. Kash had left me reeling in the parking lot and I hadn’t been ready to deal with him. “Yeah, sorry, I had an individual with Coach and then I was in a hurry to get home and change before getting Gracie to G’s.”
He raises his brow, his arm resting on the top of the open door as he leans over me. “You should have called me. I’d have gone over and gotten her so you didn’t have to rush home.”
“It’s no big deal, I’m used to it.”
He opens his mouth like he wants to say something but after a second he closes it and just nods. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing I stopped by Jamba Juice on my way here then.” When he holds out the white cup with the green straw, I could kiss him. So I do, because that’s allowed now that we’re together. Sweet Jesus, is there anything better than kissing Tripp? I mean, I know I’ve only kissed a few people in my life, but I feel like this is something you just know, like how you know chocolate is better than vanilla without even having tasted both of them. His lips are that perfect blend of soft and firm, not overwhelming, not sloppy, just nice and smooth, powerful when they take over, sucking my bottom lip in between them before moving to the top to give it the same treatment. When he backs away, I look up at him from under my lashes and smile.
“Is that all you’ve got?”
He laughs and holds out the cup again and this time I take it, sipping from the straw as I step out of the car. “Thanks for this, I didn’t really eat breakfast and since I’ve got training tonight, too, it helps.”
“Good. Maybe now you’ll realize you can depend on me to help you.”
This stops me and has me turning to face him, my backpack hanging from my fingertips while I hold the smoothie and my keys in the other hand. Before I can ask him what he means, I look at his outfit. The outfit that is almost identical to the one I’m currently wearing. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
“Oh my god. Shit, shit, Tripp, what are you wearing?”
Confused by my change in topic, he looks down at his black V-neck shirt—the boy version of what I’m wearing, though truth be told, mine may be from the boy’s section—and then back at me. I see the minute the light dawns, and then, incredibly, he laughs. Laughs, like it’s no big deal that we look like fucking twins. Christ, right down to the shoes.
“Where are your Vans? Why are you wearing Chucks? Chucks are my shoes. You wear Vans.” I know I sound like an idiot, and I think my voice is suspiciously close to a squeak, but doesn’t he see the horror here? We’re dressed identically: black V-neck, dark blue jeans, all black Chucks. Other than the difference in our backpacks—mine’s polka-dot, his is straight black—we’re identical. Could this be more embarrassing?
Punching him in the arm as he’s now leaning down on his knees he’s laughing so hard, I whip out my cell phone and dial Katie. She answers on the third ring and I can barely hear her over the blare of her stereo.
“Hey, Flow—”
“Where are you?” I ask before she can say anything else.
“Um, at the light waiting to turn into school. Why?”
“Please tell me you have something I can wear in your car. A sweatshirt? A t-shirt? Cause if not, I’m going to have to put on my practice dry-fit.”
“Did you spill something?”
I inhale and then exhale slowly, glaring at Tripp as he stands up and works to recover his breath. “No, Tripp and I look like the fucking Spice Girls. We’re wearing the same thing.” There’s silence on the other end of the line, and then I hear what sounds like choking. Great, now both of my best friends are laughing at me.
“I’ll be right there,” she says and I click off, but not before I hear her giggle.
“So, does Katie have something you can wear?” The amusement in his voice is unmistakable.
A smile twitches at my lips and I slam my fist into Tripp’s shoulder again. “This is not funny. How could this happen?”
He laughs again and grabs my hand. “Relax, it’s a common outfit. I bet ten other people are wearing it right now.”
“But are they sleeping together? Because that’s why this is embarrassing. Jesus, we look like one of those idiot families who all wear the same thing at Disneyland.”
When Katie pulls up, I can see her grin before she even gets out of her car. “Hey guys, if you want people to know you’re together, this is definitely an adorable way.”
“Hilarious. Tell me you have something that will fit me.”
She nods and throws me a scarf in hot pink. “That’s the best I can do. I have an extra small t-shirt but since it shows my stomach, I figured you’d be happier wi
th the scarf.”
“You’re right about that,” I mutter, eyeing the scarf. It’s not that I don’t like pink, I just don’t wear it a lot. Red, yes, purple even. But pink? Not so much, like because it’s so obvious and girlie I’ve never even considered it. I look back at Tripp. No time like the present.
I loop it around my neck and let Katie fuss so it hangs properly. Hitching on my backpack, I’m pleased that we are noticeably different now. Or at least not identical. “Maybe we should get dressed together from now on, just to be sure,” Tripp says with a wiggle of his eyebrows as we begin our walk into school.
I laugh. “Maybe you should keep an extra shirt in your car, just to be sure.” He grabs my hand as we go and I stop. He turns to look at me and I see Katie grinning ear to ear as she stops to stare.
“Something wrong?”
“I don’t wear pink polo shirts,” I blurt out.
He raises his eyebrows. “Okay. Me neither, so it looks like we can cross that outfit off of our double up list.”
“I don’t wear pink polos, and I don’t really hold hands.”
He looks down at our hands and then back up to me. “With me, or with anyone?”
I shrug. “Anyone?”
Stepping closer, he leans down until his lips are a whisper from mine. “How about this: you can keep the black V-neck, I’ll keep holding your hand, and we’ll both adjust to something new, okay?”
He presses his lips to mine and then starts walking, my hand held firmly in his. Even when we get inside, he doesn’t let go, and after a while, I don’t want him to.
Twenty
Dating Tripp is definitely different than just dreaming about dating him (so’s doing him, in case you were wondering).
All week has felt a little like a dream. Every time I turn around he’s there, walking me to class, kissing me hello and goodbye, pressing me up against my car after school and before practice, making me feel things that leave my brain addled and my body on fire. Which is probably his intention, as he’s all I think about until he sneaks into my room later at night after Gracie’s asleep and my mom goes to bed, where I finally take out my frustration on him. He doesn’t seem to mind. In the week since we’ve been officially together, we’ve become a unit, the couple that doesn’t notice the people around them because all they can see is each other. I should feel like an idiot, but what I feel is too perfect to really care about what other people think.
I’ve only run into Lauren once, where she gave a classy “bitch” as she brushed past me, shoulder nudging me as she went. Rather than irritating me, I was impressed with her spunk (which I told her, no doubt compacting her intense loathing of me), and really, is it unwarranted to call a girl a bitch who, for all intents and purposes, stole your boyfriend? Not really, so I ignored her and went back to kissing my boyfriend. Yep. Boyfriend. Tripp’s my boyfriend and we make out with shocking regularity. Put that in your back pocket and sit on it, Lovely Lauren.
Okay, so maybe I don’t ignore her completely, but can you blame me for gloating?
Now, it’s Saturday and the one weekend this month I’m not at a tournament. Instead, I’m pressed up against the side of the auto shop while Tripp does his damndest to get inside my shirt and anything else I’ll let him. To say this boy has game is an understatement. I’ve deduced that he’s some kind of sex whisperer who has the ability to lead even the prudest of people to where he wants them. Obviously, I’m no prude and since I was barely able to say no to him before he was mine, now that he is, my nos are even slower to come (something that I am most definitely not). As evidenced by the fact that I wasn’t going to be whispered outside, and yet, here I am, my mechanic shirt with my name on it half unbuttoned as his fingers play with the flesh beneath, my own hands under his shirt, my mouth on his and one leg curled against his hip as he rocks against me.
Sweet Jesus he’s good.
As his hands reach around my back and slide beneath the denim to find skin, I think of telling him to stop…in just a second. Arching into him, I hear him moan low in his throat and I can’t help but do it again.
“Tripp, some joker in a jeep just—Jesus Christ.”
I freeze at Griff’s voice, my hands yanking themselves from under Tripp’s shirt and going to his chest to shove him away. He doesn’t budge, but he does lift his head and stop his hands’ wayward journey south. My leg drops and I feel heat flush my face when Tripp grins at me.
“Christ, you two better be thankful that I came looking for you and not Mom or Dad. They might have had a stroke.”
“Go away, Griff. I’ll be right in.”
“Seriously, dude, I’m impressed. And a little turned on,” he says and I can’t help the laugh that bursts out of me. Burying my face against Tripp’s chest, I shake my head. His hands rest palm down on the wall on either side me now, shielding me as much as they hold me there, and I can hear his chuckle close to my ear.
“Hey, Tanner, come out here and see who’s all hot and heavy.”
“Griff, Jesus, go away,” Tripp says a second before I hear another set of booted footsteps.
“Whoa, looks like Jackson finally got himself the girl he’s always wanted. Well played, little bro, she’s a hottie. Hey, Rae.”
I don’t look up as I throw a wave their way. I feel Tripp shift until his hand is under my chin, tilting my face toward his. There’s amusement and something else in his eyes as he places a quick kiss on my lips. “Eight o’clock. I’ll pick you up.”
I nod, unwilling to speak with his brothers watching. As if he knows what I’m thinking, he kisses me again, this time deeper, grinning against my lips when his brothers start whistling. “See you later,” he says and pushes off the wall, walking toward his brothers and the garage, taking their teasing with a shrug. Before he heads inside, he looks over his shoulder and grins at me.
I don’t smile until he’s gone, and then I let it loose, laughing as I button up my shirt and smooth my clothes out. My phone rings as I’m headed back inside and I stop to look at it, smiling when I see G’s name pop up. Swiping my finger across the screen, I press it to my ear.
“Hey, G, how’s it going?”
I barely get the words out before she’s speaking over me, her voice pitching as she explains what’s going on. Throwing up. Spiking fever. Screaming.
Gracie’s sick and G had to call the doctor. If she’s still throwing up in two hours, she needs to go to the hospital. “I tried not to call you, honey, but she just got so upset and I was so worried.”
“I’ll be right there,” I say, already running, slamming through the metal outside door that leads to the garage, sprinting past Griff and Tanner as they talk to someone, grabbing my keys off of the hook by the door.
“G, call mom. I’ll be right there. I’m leaving right now.”
I hang up and head out, glancing over my shoulder as I hear my name. Tanner comes jogging out, his face serious. “Rae, what’s going on?”
“Gracie’s sick. G called me and I have to go. Tell your mom I’m sorry I didn’t get all of the invoicing done.”
“God, don’t worry about that. Hold on, let me get Tripp from the bay so he can go with you.”
I shake my head and wrench my car door open. “No, I have to go now. Tell him I’m sorry about tonight and I’ll call him later.”
“Rae, he’ll be worried about you.”
“I’m fine. I have to go, Tanner.” I close the door and start the engine, speeding out of the parking lot and heading down ninth toward Southtown where G lives. When my phone rings, I answer without looking and Tripp’s voice clips out.
“What’s wrong? Tanner said you ran out.”
I glance in my blind spot before accelerating around a Nissan with California plates. “G called. Gracie’s sick—her fever’s high and she’s been throwing up.” Suddenly, I think about G and the fact that she’s almost eighty. I don’t care how healthy she is, isn’t dangerous for her to get sick at her age? I accelerate a little more until I’m going f
ifteen over the speed limit.
“I’m on my way. I’ll meet you there.”
“Tripp, there’s nothing you can do. I’m going to get her, G’s called Mom.”
“Rachel.”
“Tripp, I’m turning into G’s. Finish at work, go to the party tonight. I’ll call you later, okay?” I hang up before he can say anything, doing my best to keep my mind blank and my thoughts in check until I slam out at the curb and head inside. I don’t knock, just push through already calling Gracie’s name, jogging to the back of the house where I find G holding Gracie in her rocker with a cloth on her forehead, her face red and her breathing a little heavy as she fights sleep.
My eyes want to fill, my breath wants to back up in my lungs and I want to scream—but I’m ashamed to admit it’s as much because I don’t know what to do as it is because I’m scared for her. I want to hold her as much as I want someone else to come in and take her, to tell me what to do and that they’ll take it from here. And because I know that all comes from fear, I take a minute and breathe through it, calming my own speeding heart rate as I calm my nerves. G nods her head once, acknowledging what I’m doing and approving. With one last deep breath, I swipe my hands on the thighs of my jeans and step forward to scoop her gently from G’s hold, soothing her as she whimpers and thrashes in my arms until she finds a comfortable spot. I press my cool cheek to her burning forehead and close my eyes, wondering what the hell else I’m supposed to do now.
“Do you think I should just take her to the hospital anyway?” I whisper when G places her hand on my shoulder.
She shakes her head. “No. The doctor said a wet diaper every six hours means she’s not dehydrated. He thinks it’s a virus from her symptoms and unless they change, the only thing you can do is sit with her, keep her comfortable and on the Motrin to get her fever down.” When her phone buzzes, she squints her eyes and glances at it, nodding once before clicking it closed. “Your mother’s on her way. She’ll drive you and Gracie home.” Then she reaches up and places a gentle hand on my cheek. “She’s okay, Rae, and so are you.”
Life Interrupted Page 16