Blindness(19)

I nod and smile softly, and then reach into my pocket to pull out the marker and the twenty, which feels entirely different than it did when I first stormed over here, ready to lay into Cody. “You mind if I leave him a note?” I ask, when I realize Gabe’s staring at me with his brow pinched and a crooked smile.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you gotta do,” he says, shaking his head and laughing. He picks up the box and lugs it back to a corner in the garage, and then reaches down for his dirty shirt to grab it from the pile on the floor. “I’m headin’ out. But, Charlie?”

I wince a little, but let it go, realizing Cody must call me Charlie. And somehow that seems okay. “Yeah?” I ask, looking up.

Gabe takes in another deep breath, and then kicks his feet before nodding and coming back to me, his lips a hard line working against him. “It’s nothing. Just…just keep an open mind, okay?”

I can tell he wanted to say more, but I let it go. I’m not so sure I’m ready to hear more. I smile and cross my heart. Gabe nods and heads down the driveway to a motorcycle parked at the end. When I hear him pull away, I lean over the hood of the car and pull the cap from my pen. I smile to myself when it comes to me.





“Good for one cup of freshly brewed coffee. Offer good for 8 a.m. sharp only.”





I write my note along the bottom trim of the bill. Tucking it under the windshield wiper of the Chevelle, I bite my lower lip, and squeeze my eyes shut, not sure if I’m ready for what I seem to be starting. I stare at it for a few minutes before I finally resolve to see this thing through. I leave the garage and make my way back into the giant house I live in with my boyfriend—the one I don’t want to sleep next to tonight.





Chapter 5: Playing Fair





Trevor left to meet a friend for breakfast at seven, and said he wouldn’t be home for a few hours. I knew about this—it’s why I wrote 8 a.m. on my stupid note to Cody. I have fought against racing outside to remove it for the last hour. My nerves are still a mess, and I know it’s because I’m afraid of being caught.

I sat by the window in my bedroom until my eyes finally forced themselves shut around four in the morning; I don’t know when Cody came home. I never heard the rumble of his truck, but when I came downstairs with Trevor this morning, it was there. I raced to the window to check, and my heart actually leapt at seeing it.

It’s a little after eight, and I’m manically stirring my coffee at the table, regretting the entire stupid idea, when I hear the back door slide open slowly behind me. I know it’s him before he says a word. I can smell him—a mixture of oil and metal and the faintest hint of last night’s whiskey.

“You’re late,” I tease. I hear him take in a deep breath, and the door shutting softly behind him. I don’t hear him move, so finally I turn on my stool to see him standing just inside the door, his head down, and the crumpled bill being stretched between his hands. He finally looks up to me slowly, his eyes full of fear, begging, and regret.

He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. “You’re lucky. It’s buy-one-get-one-free day, plus there’s a 15-minute grace period. First cup’s cold, though,” I say, sliding the mug of coffee I’ve had ready for him in his direction.

He smiles with half his mouth, like the effort to raise his lips is killing him. I can read the genuine remorse all over his face, and I instantly forgive him. I keep that to myself, though, just in case this turns out to be a bad idea.

“I believe you owe me $20?” I say, looking at the money in his hands. He laughs once, softly, and finally moves forward and takes the stool next to me, placing the bill flat against the counter and sliding it over. I notice there’s something written on the other side, and I turn it so I can read it.





“I’m so sorry.”





I run my finger over the words slowly, to show him I see them, and then I clutch the bill in my hand and stuff it in my pocket. “Drink up, cowboy,” I say, tilting my coffee back and finishing it off. I’ve had three cups this morning, and my nerves are teeming from all of the caffeine. I drink coffee when I’m stressed. I realize the contradiction of it all, how I’m working against myself. But it doesn’t seem to stop me.

Cody wraps his hand around his mug and looks at it a good long while before he lifts it to his lips and takes a loud slurping sip, like a kid with hot cocoa. The sound makes me laugh, and he winks at me, his cheeks wrinkling with his smile—it’s back, and it’s heavenly.

After another minute of looking at his cup, Cody sets it down and pushes it away. I’m staring at him now, and I know it, but I can’t seem to stop. He’s wearing a clean white T-shirt, but last night’s jeans—I recognize them. His hands, his face, his hair—he’s a mess, every bit of his rough night worn on his body. But it has my guts twisting, my insides aching. And deep down, I know the way I’m looking at him is about being more than friends. But I squeeze my eyes tightly to wring out those thoughts and force myself to remember that that’s all we are. We’re friends.

“I think you owe me some change,” he says, his voice a little scratchy. He coughs to clear his throat, and I lean forward on my elbow, raising a brow to question him. “The coffee? There’s no way I’m making it to the two-for-one deal. It’s pretty much the worst shit I’ve ever had.”