I roll my head toward him, smirking. “Scared? I mean, I know it’s been a while—and you’ve got a bum knee.”
“What do you know of my bum knee?” He glances over at me, curiosity stretched across his face.
A small smile presses gently into my cheeks. “This whole town was rebellious when you played for the Giants. It’s practically a sin to fly flags that aren’t Texan, but every business flew your colors and everybody watched your games.”
Blue flags with red letters once lined the streets—bright against brick and dust, a small-town kind of pride that didn’t ask permission. Then the injury happened, and slowly theydisappeared one by one. As if leaving them up felt like saying something no one knew how to say anymore.
“Did you watch?” he asks, almost a whisper.
“My daddy never missed a game,” I say. Then after a beat, “And I watched with him.”
I never missed a game. I’d made Milo promise me to give his all—and he did. It was surreal seeing him on the screen, his photo with stats beside it making pride and loss ache within me.
Milo smiles. “Did you cheer for the other team? Send them cookies?”
I laugh, and it’s a laugh I can feel through my toes. “No.”
“So, you saw . . .” He trails off.
I swallow. “I saw the hit.”
He nods as he puts the truck in park and turns toward me. The engine clicks as it cools, metal ticking in the dark like it’s exhaling, too.
For a moment, neither of us moves.
“Did it hurt?” I ask, knowing it’s a dumb question. How could a hit like that not hurt?
He breathes heavily out his nose. “I knew it was bad the moment it happened.”
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I know how much you loved playing. I imagine it’s like if I went blind and could no longer read my books. I could listen to the words, but it wouldn’t be the same as absorbing them in their ink, feeling their meaning as they imprint themselves on your soul.”
His hand reaches out for mine, squeezing it. “I suppose so.”
I don’t let go of his hand. I let the warmth of his skin press into mine as I stare out the front windshield.
The water tower looms ahead, its legs cutting into the night sky. I’ve driven past it my whole life, but tonight it feels different—less like a landmark and more like a dare.
“What made you want to climb the water tower?” Milo asks.
I inhale deeply. “It’s going to sound stupid.”
“You’re talking to the guy who wears fake glasses and sips from empty mugs,” he says, squeezing my hand again.
I grin. “True.” I let go of his hand and pull my legs up on the seat beside me, shifting so I’m fully facing Milo. “In high school, I always heard about how everyone climbed the water tower. One day, in the girls’ bathroom, I overheard someone say how Little Miss Goody Two-Shoes would never.”
“You’re here now,” Milo says.
“Ten years later,” I add.
“Better late than never.” He pauses, letting those words hang in the air between us before he asks, “You ready to do this?”
A tiny thrill brushes against my spine. “I’m ready.”
I tuck my hair behind my ears and inhale deeply as Milo opens his door and hurries over to open mine.
He extends his hand. “It’s time to climb your tower, Rapunzel.”
I take his hand again, a smirk tugging at my mouth and eyes. I use his grip to pull myself out of the truck quickly, darting ahead and yelling back, “Race you to the ladder!”
