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His dad sticks his hands in his pockets. “Marty.”
Austin doesn’t say anything in response and I bite at my lip, not sure how to make this less awkward. “I can give you two privacy if you want to talk.”
Mr. Langford shakes his head. “No, I just wanted to say you did good out there coaching. You’ll be a great trainer.”
Austin blinks a couple of times, bewilderment on his face. “Thanks.”
He shrugs his shoulders. “Maybe you can come over for dinner sometime this week?”
“Yeah, okay.”
“The both of you, if you want,” his dad says, nodding to me.
I smile noncommittally, pretty sure I shouldn’t accept without Austin’s approval.
“I’ll see you, then.”
He turns around and leaves, disappearing into the crowd, and Austin and I look at each other with twin expressions of confusion.
“He drove two hours out here just to say that and leave?” I ask. “Did you guys talk again after Tuesday?”
“No, he never reached out. I didn’t either, though. I—” He stops, a change coming over him, his shoulders stiffening.
I laugh, despite myself. If I don’t, I’ll probably cry. “You forgot you’re not talking to me, didn’t you?”
His brows narrow. “You’re the one that doesn’t want to talk.”
What? “I’ve been asking you to talk for days.”
“You literally told me not to bring it up.”
I shake my head, so confused by all of this. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s like we keep having two different conversations.”
“Your texts,” he says, like it’s obvious.
“What texts?”
He looks down at the ground, his voice lowering. “The ones from Thursday.”
“You mean Wednesday? The—” I glance around, but no one’s paying attention to us. “The naughty ones?”
He glances up, heat flaring in his gaze for a moment, gone as quick as it came. So he’s not unaffected by me, then.
“No, Thursday. The night after…. everything.”
I pull my phone out of my back pocket, searching through our texts. “I didn’t text you that day.”
I show him the screen for proof, not sure what else to do. I’m at a loss here. “Can you show me what you’re talking about?”
He stares at me, the anger that’s been lingering around him the last few days clearing. “You didn’t send those texts?”
“What’d they say?”
His gaze searches mine for a moment. “Come on.” He grabs my hand, the first physical contact I’ve had with him in days, and leads me through the crowd. I intertwine my fingers with his and he falters for a second, then squeezes my hand in return. The tight ball of tension in my chest loosens the slightest bit at his gesture.
He stops in the same hallway we talked in earlier, a sign taped to the door in front of us indicating it’s the men’s locker room, then turns to me. “Let me grab my phone.”
He doesn’t leave right away, though.
