Hold My Breath(10)

“So’s twenty-three,” she chuckles.

“Nah, twenty-three’s right where you wanna be,” I say, stretching one arm out along the back of the booth and twisting to match her. My muscles ache. I’m nowhere near in the condition Maddy is, and I broke myself trying to keep up with her today. I knew I would—that’s why I had to come here to train.

“You all ready?” the waitress asks. I raise a brow to Maddy, and she furrows hers, holding up a finger.

“You go first, then I’ll be ready,” she says.

“Short stack, side of bacon,” I tell the waitress. When I look back at Maddy, her hand is on her forehead.

“That was really fast…ummmm,” she flips through the pages of the menu, like she isn’t going to get what she always gets, what she’s eaten every single time I’ve ever had breakfast with her, which numbers maybe into the hundreds. “I don’t know…I guess…uhhhhh…”

I only catch it because I’m watching her manically turn the pages of her menu. Her hands are shaking with nerves, and the more she rushes to pick something to eat, the bigger those trembles become. I reach forward and push her menu flat, causing her to look up at me, so I wink.

“She’ll have the oatmeal, topped with apples and cinnamon, and a side of bacon,” I say.

The waitress waits for Maddy to look up and nod, confirming it, then tucks her pen behind her ear and tears our ticket off on her way back to the kitchen.

“What if I wanted something different?” she asks.

“Since when have you ever ordered anything else at this place,” I smirk.

She purses her lips, but they betray her and bend into a smile. We both settle into our seats more, and before the silence can win again, I fill the void, continuing to answer her last question.

“I only have one more shot at this, and I know I’m a long shot, but I kinda think maybe I’m better than some of those other freestylers heading to Omaha. I just had to see it through, and if I was going to go, I wanted to be my best,” I say.

She studies me, her arms folded over her chest, and I’m relieved when a refill comes for our coffee so I can give my attention over to the creamer and packs of sugar.

“You were always my dad’s favorite, you know,” she says. Her words hit my gut like a heavy-handed punch. I can’t help but feel like that’s a lie—only Maddy has never lied to me.

“I’m pretty sure you are your dad’s favorite,” I say, the only answer I can think of that doesn’t head down a dangerous path.

“Oh, I can assure you I’m not,” she laughs.

I laugh with her, blowing the steam from my coffee and sipping, the heat stinging the tip of my tongue.

“My dad’s glad you’re here. I can tell,” she says. I glance over the rim of my cup and her eyes look uncertain. She’s never lied to me, but that doesn’t mean she always tells me everything. When I called Curtis, I could sense the hesitation in his voice. He’s always been in my corner, even after the accident. But he also loves his daughter, and I know he had to be worried about what my presence would do to her.

“I’m glad I’m here, is all I know. Nothing’s ever quite felt like home,” I say, leaving out the unsaid things—since my family died.

Our food comes quickly, and for the next ten minutes, we both eat and make comments about how “nobody makes better bacon” and “coffee tastes a million times better with whole milk.” We talk nonsense, like acquaintances, and the world feels right for just a moment. I know it can’t last, though. My phone buzzes with a message, reminding me of one of the biggest reasons it can’t. I glance at it enough to know who it is, then I tap the auto response, hoping that the person who sent this just assumes I’m busy in training. These worlds cannot collide right now. They can’t collide at all. And I just need the universe to give me six damned weeks.





Chapter Three





Maddy





That ease in conversation—it left the second Will got a text message. He said it wasn’t important, and it probably wasn’t, but that disruption was enough to bring everything that is our reality right back to the table. The wall between us is back. It was never really gone, but it was nice to know that, for a few minutes at least, I could ignore it.

My father is spending the day at the Swim Club. My mom is at city hall. She’s a councilmember in Knox, and her passion is rebuilding the city’s youth programs and parks. Unfortunately, she’s the only councilmember under the age of sixty-five, so she’s usually the only one willing to put in the extra hours to make calls for grants and sift through research from staff. The mayor applauded her when she made the commitment publicly, but also told her she’d be working on it alone.

“I’ve already done this for my kids. It’s your turn now,” he said. Never mind the fact that her kid—me—is all grown now, too, so that argument really doesn’t hold much water. He’s just making an excuse to be lazy.

With both of them gone so much, it leaves me here in an empty house. It’s been good for my training because I run or binge on Netflix while I pedal on my dad’s stationary bike during the middle of the day. I can’t call Holly until odd hours because of her classes and hours at the hospital, but we’ll text sometimes.