I don’t know why I’m here.
It’s because I want to apologize to Luke.
I don’t know why I’ve sat staring at the front of his house.
It’s because I really want to see Grayson.
I don’t know why I’ve spent the last thirty minutes watching the porch swing move ever so subtly under the influence of the intermittent soft breeze. Why I keep glancing at the blue BMX bike lying on its side in the driveway or the baseball bat propped beside the front door.
Even more, I don’t know why I keep staring at the lights in the windows and wondering what’s going on inside.
I should start my car and drive away.
But I can’t.
Something happened to a little boy yesterday, and it was because of me. My dad may say I’m heartless and only think of myself, but no matter how many times I told myself to stay home, I couldn’t. And then as I told myself I was just going out for a drive to clear my mind, my hands kept turning the wheel to navigate the streets until I ended up here.
With a deep breath, I climb from the car and make my way up the front steps. The house is quiet except for the undertones of the television coming out from the open window.
I hold my breath when I knock, letting my hand fall to my side as my heart pounds in my ears and nerves jitter in my stomach.
Last time I stood on this porch, I told myself that it was just Grayson. He was just some guy from high school I hardly knew.
This time it’s so much more. This time, I get that. It’s Grayson. It’s Luke. It’s a whole different dynamic from what I’m used to.
“I got it.” The television is clicked off. The door opens.
Grayson seems shocked to see me standing on his porch. He’s in athletic pants, a plain blue T-shirt that looks like an old favorite, and a baseball hat pulled low on his brow.
He isn’t trying to be as handsome as he is, which makes him simply stunning as he stands there—irritated expression and distrustful eyes included.
“What are you doing here?”
“I heard about Luke.”
“Heard what about Luke?”
“The fight. The picture. The—”
“Goddamn small-town bullshit,” he mutters under his breath.
“Is it true?
He glances over his shoulder before crossing his arms over his chest and shrugging. “What does that have to do with you?”
I open my mouth to say everything and then stop myself. That’s exactly what he expects me to say. That’s exactly who he has painted me to be.
I try again.
“I heard it started because—”
“And like I said yesterday, the world doesn’t revolve around you.” A shift of his feet. A huff of a sigh. Impatience that radiates off him.
“I know it doesn’t.” His snort is one of complete derision. It’s one that I deserve, but I’m here trying to make things right, and the sound frustrates me. “Just once, can you be nice to me? Why is that so hard for you?”
“You tell me why I should be?” Grayson gets the words out seconds before I see something fly by my head. I yelp and flinch.
“Nerf wars!” Luke shouts at the top of his lungs before another foam dart hits me squarely in the chest.
“Luke!” Grayson warns just as he skids to a stop beside his dad. His left eye is a bluish-purplish color, and there’s a scratch on his cheek that makes me feel horrible, but the smile on his face widens when he recognizes me. “Miss Sidney? Why are you here? Are you here to go on a date with my dad?”
I sputter out a laugh that sounds like I’m choking on air and shake my head violently, more than shocked by his question.
“No. I’m not here to go on a date with your dad.” I glance to Grayson, who’s standing beside his son. His eyes are narrowed, and I know he’s trying to figure out what I’m really doing here.
Get in line, because I don’t know what I’m doing here, either.
“In fact, I came to see you.”
Both of them jerk ever so slightly in response. “You did?” Luke asks.
“Yep. I had kind of a weird day, and I thought you might be able to help cheer me up.”
“Why was it weird?” He angles his head to the side. I keep my eyes on his, not looking over to Grayson, because I don’t want to see his response.
“Just work stuff. What about you? It seems to me you got into a fight with a Creeper.” Thank God for the conversation between a mom and her little boy in the soap store earlier, otherwise I would have no idea what a Creeper even was.
His eyes widen and then narrow. “You play Minecraft?”
“No.” I laugh. “But I know Creepers can be pretty vicious. So, who won? You or the Creeper?”
“Well . . . uh . . .”
“I bet it was a hard fight, but that you were victorious.” I resist the urge to reach out and touch him and then am startled by the want to.
“Can we help you?” Grayson places his hand protectively on Luke’s shoulder as he speaks. The warning to leave is loud and clear.
I look at him, see the confusion in his expression, and can only hope he doesn’t see how hard I’m working at talking to a little boy when I have zero to no experience in doing so.
“Dad, she came to see me.” Luke rolls his eyes and reaches out to grab my hand. It takes everything I have not to think of the millions of germs on his little fingers and let him take hold of it. “Let me show you my Minecraft collection.”
“Luke, I don’t think Sidney really cares about your Minecraft figures.” Grayson grabs on to my opposite arm and holds me steady in the doorway. His eyes search mine, demanding answers as to why I’m here and telling me I’m not welcome, all in the same look. “Give us a sec, bud. She’ll be right in,” he says to Luke but never takes his eyes off me.
“’Kay.”
The minute Luke’s feet pound on the stairs, I try to yank my arm from Grayson’s grip, but he just holds tighter and pulls me in to him. “Don’t think for one second that I’ll let you use my son to get to me,” he says, voice near a growl.
I should have a witty comeback. I should tell him to go to hell and that I’m not here to manipulate anyone . . . but, for that split second, with the mint of his breath in my face and his hard, lean body against mine, my synapses misfire. My words falter.
“I—Cathy Clementine told me about the fight. That it was started because of the picture. I didn’t mean for him to see—”
“He doesn’t know it was you in the picture.” He spits the words out almost as if they are a challenge. Will I bail now that I know Luke doesn’t know it was me, or am I still going to stick around?
“Oh.”
“Exactly. Oh.” His fingers dig deeper into my arm. “Since your conscience is clear, you can take off the jeans and tank top you wore to let me know you’re just like us,” he says with sarcasm dripping from every word, “put back on your skirt and red-soled shoes, and stop pretending you care.”
“That isn’t fair,” I argue and hate that he saw right through me. The attempt to dress down and not be so . . . Sidney.
“You and your fair bullshit. I’ll tell you the same thing I said before. No one said life’s fair.”
“I promised him I’d see his Minecraft—”
“Like you really care.”
“It doesn’t matter if I care or not, Grayson.” I grit the words out. “It only matters if he thinks I do, so—”
“Miss Sidney, are you ready to see all of them? There are tons,” Luke calls from behind Grayson, and his words are followed by the distinct sound of things being dumped all over what I can presume is the table.
I look at Grayson and shrug as I step past him and into the living room. At first glance, I’m surprised by how put together the house is. I know that sounds stupid, but maybe I expected a single dad to have a house that’s a mess, with clutter everywhere. Grayson’s house is the exact opposite. It’s dark wood with blues and grays. There’s a television on one wall and an inset den across from it with shelves lined with books. The kitchen is small but homey, a butcher-block island in its center. Luke is sitting at the dining room table and has a heap of miniature figures in front of him.
I take the seat next to him, my grin matching his as I say, “I have no clue what any of those are, but I have a feeling you’re about to teach me.”
And he does. For the next hour, Luke goes through each character, explaining their significance in the game. Figure after figure. There are so many that I wouldn’t even be able to remember the names if I tried (like I would want to), and yet, his nonstop enthusiastic chatter tells me whoever designed this game hit the nail on the head marketing to their demographic.
Grayson sits in a chair across the room, alternating between his iPad and a magazine. I catch him staring at us every so often, and I know he’s quietly enjoying this display of my complete incompetence with Luke. I forget the characters’ names immediately. I use the wrong terminology, which earns me Luke’s exasperated but secretly-happy-he-has-an-audience sighs. Regardless of my flaws in knowing how to relate to him, there is something about this little boy that captivates me. Maybe it’s his willingness to listen or his eagerness to share. Maybe it’s the subtle way he asks every so often if I’m sure I’m not here for his dad. Maybe it’s that shy little smile he gives me as he bumps his shoulder against mine when he shows me a character he deems as “really cool” that has me actually enjoying my time with him.
“C’mon, Luke-ster. That’s long enough. It’s time for bed.” Luke’s protests fill the room as Grayson rises from his chair and takes a few steps toward us. He meets my gaze, and I hate that I can’t read what his says, but it definitely says something.
“Aw, Dad. But I don’t have to go to school tomorrow. Can’t I stay up a little later?” Luke walks the few steps to face his dad, and I smile because they both have the same stance as they stare each other down.
“You don’t have to go to school tomorrow because you can’t. You were suspended for getting into a fight.”
“But I didn’t—”
“A fight is a fight, Luke. And staying up is a privilege, and privileges aren’t given when you use your fists to solve a problem.”
Luke huffs loudly and looks to me. “Are you going to the Harvest Festival?” he asks me, his eyebrows raised and hope in his voice that makes me say yes just so I don’t let him down again.
“Yes. Doesn’t everyone go?”
“See you there,” he says and then squeals as Grayson moves swiftly to pick him up and throw him over his shoulder.
“Let’s go, monster. Tell Miss Sidney good night,” Grayson says and already has a foot on the first step of the stairs.
“Good.” Luke giggles as Grayson tickles his ribs. “Night.” Another bout of laughter floats down the stairs.
I sit there and stare at where they just were, my mind frozen on how damn sexy the sight of Grayson carrying Luke off to bed is.
They must have spiked my bottle of water.
That can be the only reason those foreign thoughts are filling my head. Kids are not cute. Dads are not sexy. Up is not down. So why am I still sitting here, slowly swiping dozens of Minecraft figures into a big tub while the sounds of Grayson putting Luke to bed upstairs fill the space around me?
Why am I still here? Is it because my place is so quiet and here I was able to listen to Luke talk nonstop? Or is it because now that I’ve seen Grayson, I feel the need to prove to him I’m not who he thinks I am . . . even when I’m still struggling with proving that to myself.
The problem is now that we’re going to be alone, I have no clue what it is I need to say.