The Fix (The Carolina Connections, #1)(11)

“Aw, that’s sweet.” I didn’t know how the hell else to respond. “Oh hey, I’ve been meaning to thank you for sending those boxes. You really didn’t need to trouble yourself.” She had evidently shown up at my place while my buddies were packing up my shit. She implied to them that I’d asked her to send some of my clothes and personal items, which I most definitely hadn’t. She packed up a few boxes and sent them my way. It was nice to have some of my own stuff, no doubt, but the way in which I’d received it signaled nothing but trouble.

“Of course! I knew you’d want some of your stuff and I wanted to do something to feel like I was helping out. How is your dad?”

See? Really nice girl.

“He’s doing a lot better, thanks.”

“Oh good. So, listen, I was calling cuz I really wanted to hear your voice, but also because I was thinking of coming out to see you …”

Christ on a bike, there it was.

“Oh, Reagan, wow.” Why didn’t I break things off before I left? “Uh, that’s really nice of you to think of me. The thing is … work is really crazy right now.” Just tell her the truth, asshole! “I mean, I’m working all sorts of late hours and between that and checking on my folks … I don’t think now is the best time,” I finished lamely like the big fucking coward I am.

“Oh. Sure, I mean, I understand. It’s just, you know, I was thinking I could maybe combine it with a trip to the beach too—you know, soak up some rays before the summer is completely over and all that,” she tried again.

I started to sweat.

“I just don’t think it’s a great idea right now.” Or ever. Just say it—or ever.

Silence.

“Okay, no big deal. It was just a thought!” she finally replied, her discomfort evident. “Well, you let me know if I can send anything else or if you need something.”

“I will. Thanks for calling, Reagan. And for all your help. Really.”

“No problem.” Her voice was quiet. “Bye, Nate.” She hung up.

God, I’m such a douchebag.





Chapter Five





Wanted: One Playdate – Willing to Beg





LANEY

Suffice it to say, my talk with Rocco regarding a potential playdate did not go well. In fact, it didn’t even go at all. I waited a couple days after Mellie’s phone call to broach the subject, and like a moron I’d chosen to do it as I was getting him ready for bed one night.

“What are you looking forward to doing at school tomorrow?” I opened with, helping him pull his pajama shirt over his head. Why we even bothered to put PJs on every night when they just ended up on the floor twenty minutes later, I don’t know.

“I don’t wanna go to school tomorrow.” He frowned and twitched his nose.

“You don’t? Why not?”

“I don’t like school.” His eyes started filling with tears and there was that nose twitch again. What in the hell was that all about?

“But school is fun,” I tried. “You get to see your friends and play with toys and run around on the playground. You love all that stuff.”

“I wanna stay home with you.” He sniffled and I dabbed at his eyes with a tissue from the box by his bed.

“But, buddy, I won’t be here. I have to go to work.” Kill me now.

“Then I wanna stay with Uncle Gavin.”

“Baby, Uncle Gavin has his new job, remember?”

“I miss Grandma and Grandpa!” Out came the full-fledged wail. “And I hate school! I’m not going anymore!”

Whose brilliant idea was it to do this at bedtime? It’s like I was a damn rookie or something.

Since that had been an epic fail, I decided yesterday to send a quick e-mail to Mellie asking if she could suggest a good candidate for a playdate. I was surprised when I received a response almost immediately (again with these daycare teacher genes—the e-mail even had a winky smiley face emoji and an inspirational quote at the end of it).

Tucker Peterson, she’d suggested. I had my mark.

My alarm went off ten minutes earlier than usual in the morning and I managed to get Rocco to school several minutes early, thank you very much. A Tootsie Roll had provided sufficient motivation to get him in the car that much faster than usual. As every parent knows, bribery is an essential tool useful in preventing the explosion of one’s head.

I stood by the classroom door, determined to find my target. I had a vague recollection in my mind of Tucker’s mom from the first day I’d brought Rocco to school. If memory served, she had blond hair and was fairly tall and thin. Aha, there she was! And there was Tucker at her side.

Good God. Of all the rotten luck.

The child wore a polo shirt with the collar popped and, I kid you not, seersucker pants. Oh, I’m sorry, slacks.

What five-year-old even owns— Okay, don’t judge, Laney. They are probably great people. Super, even. I gave myself an inner smack to the head and approached with a smile.

“Hi, are you Tucker’s mom?” I did my best to gush.

She turned to me and smiled in return. “Yes, I am.” See? This was going well already. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.”