Page 42 of Between the Lines

I release my fingernail from my teeth and stammer out an answer. “Yes, yes sorry—”

Just then a woman squeezes by me, oblivious to my distress. In her arms is a book about surfing. I almost choke on my own spit. With my hand curled tightly around the stroller handle, I say, “I can pick it up tomorrow, but I need to swing by to get my daughter’s car seat today before you close.”

We hang up, but I don’t put down my phone.

Because there’s only one person who can help me right now, and the idea of calling him fills me with dread.

17

Caden

Maybe I should feel bad for avoiding my lifelong best friend’s girlfriend’s birthday party. I know Morgan considers me a friend too, but I can’t sit through another night of her friends trying to make small talk with me. They’re nice, but I’m not naive. They see me as a wallet. Maybe it’s my looks too. But it can’t be my personality—I know how I come off in social gatherings.

Another game, one I definitely don’t care about, begins on the TV in front of me. But there’s nowhere else for me to be right now. My lawn is mowed, I’ve showered, and I already know what I’m making for dinner . . . Everything is routine.

It’s predictable.

It’s fucking boring.

I don’t ruminate long on that invasive thought though because my phone rings.

“If this is Matt Facetiming me, I swear to god . . .” I murmur and snatch the phone off the coffee table, setting my beer down. Haven’t even had a sip yet.

Fia’s name flashes across the screen.

I crane my neck—her car isn’t in the driveway. She danced around me all morning, waiting til I stepped inside, and booked it to her car, leaving like it was an emergency.

Shit, maybe it was. My stomach drops as I answer.

“Hey, Fia.”

It’s silent for a beat, and I open my mouth, but she cuts in, loud and clear.

“Hey.”

I sit forward on the couch fast. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh nothing.” The sound of cars whizzing by in the background set off alarms in my head.

“Come on, what’s up?”

There’s a small groan, and when she finally speaks again, her voice is pinched. “I really hate to ask you this, but the auto shop needs to keep my car overnight, and Daisy and I are stuck downtown—”

I stand promptly, taking quick strides to the kitchen, and grab my car keys. “Where are you?”

“Are you busy? Because I don’t want to bother you, I’m really sorry—”

“Where are you, Fia?” I growl out.

All I can picture is her and Daisy on a busy street. I’m already in my Jeep before she speaks again.

“I’m at Jergal’s Garage,” she replies, and for a moment it sounds like she might be crying. Or wants to cry.

The trees on either side of the car turn into dark green blurs as I press harder on the gas pedal. I clear my throat, hand resting on the top of the steering wheel. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Ten minutes on the dot, I pull up, immediately clocking her standing outside the shop. A vintage graphic tee tucked into frayed jean shorts, her braided hair hanging over her shoulder. Her arms full with Daisy, a stroller and car seat on the pavement next to her.

I jump out and rush to her side.