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After the food arrives, we eat standing, leaning against the kitchen island, our elbows propping us up. I polish off the last of the food and Oakley feeds the dog.
“Since there’s literally no place to sit down here, I say we go hang out upstairs,” she says, crushing the takeout boxes in the garbage bag tied to a drawer pull.
I nod while I drain the last of my enormous water bottle, excited and dreading it at the same time. Because I am drawn to Oakley. I like how I feel when I’m around her.
And I also feel ridiculously broken, incapable of showing up well in a relationship. I don’t want to get things wrong and end up hurting her.
When we reach her room, Jerry scampers ahead, but I wait on the threshold, unsure of where I should sit. I’m not about to jump on her bed and start bouncing up and down, giggling and asking her to play truth or dare.
She sits against the headboard and curls up her legs and feet. Her brows go high as she pats the bed next to her, her gaze shy. I go to the bed and sink in next to her, and for some reason, I think of my childhood.
“I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone about this, but my brothers and I used to play ‘ship.’ We’d pile a bunch of stuff on top of Sebastian’s bed because his was always the biggest. I swear he was sleeping in a queen sized one by the time he was eight. So unfair.”
“That explains a lot,” she says with a snort.
“He wouldn’t play with us. He was always busy with his brick sets and coin collections. Or he would read in his overstuffed chair while we played. But he never complained about us making a huge mess on his bed.”
She laughs and then traps her bottom lip between her teeth. “So you’d pretend the bed was a boat…” she prods.
“We had complicated adventures on the boat, Oakley. And they usually involved one of us stealing food from the kitchen because, you know, you can’t survive on the high seas without some sort of sustenance.”
“Did you ever get scurvy?”
I laugh. “Tons of times. And usually there was a mutiny and me or Milo would get thrown overboard.”
“Naturally.” A grin splits her face.
“It made perfect sense since we were the youngest.”
“Someone had to go.” She nods her head. “What did your parents think about this?”
“They were working usually, so they didn’t know. Henry would steal a sleeve of Saltines from the kitchen. And Milo, when he was about two, piled a bunch of toys in the middle. Because when you’re embarking on a great adventure, you need things like those little green army guys and plastic blocks. I tore the bedspreads off the beds from the other rooms down the hall, because, you know, we need shelter from the elements on the high seas, right? It wasn’t until Oliver had the brilliant idea of threading the outside hose through the second-story window for a ‘light’ sprinkling of rain that things went south.”
Oakley gasps and drops her hand on my shoulder. “He didn’t!”
“He did,” I say. “The housekeeper slash nanny informed my parents, and we were banned—for a week—from playing ship on any structure of the house.”
Oakley makes a clucking sound with her tongue. “Oliver, Oliver. Somehow, I’m not surprised.”
I grunt a laugh at the memory.
“There’s something about this resort here in Longdale that feels a little bit like home almost, like Sebastian’s built it so we can have a place to sort of gather. Denver’s home, too. It’s where my parents and Gabriel still live. But summers with Stella here? It was the greatest. It would make sense if Sebastian’s long game is to try to get us all here one way or another.”
I smell her cherry bodywash as she shifts on the bed, scooting a little closer to me. “Well, he’s got two of you here with him so far. Three more to go.”
I nod. “Looks like it. I’m happy for Oliver and Sophie. I never thought a woman could settle him down. But Sophie has managed the impossible.”
“What about you? Is this a permanent change for you? Working here for your brother?”
A little piece of me sinks into something I haven’t wanted to name. It’s time I decide what I want to do with the rest of my life. Nine months of figuring it out is long enough, right? I should know by now how to pick up the pieces. But I don’t. And it’s embarrassing and so frustrating. My eyes start to burn, but I force the emotion out of them with a short breath.
“I haven’t wanted to make that decision,” I say. “I thought I could get back into football. Not that I’ve been doing anything to help that. I’ve been sitting around, feeling sorry for myself.”
“I’ve known a lot of guys who’ve done the same thing.” Her smile is tight, forced.
“I didn’t have a plan for after my career in football ended. I always figured I’d have time to sort all that out. I took a lot of classes in sports psychology.” I frown, the short burst of laughter coming from me not genuine at all. “Which is embarrassing, when you think about it, since all it took was one bad injury and I stopped using all my skills.”
“It’s not too late to start using them.” She playfully elbows me.
