Where the Road Takes Me
Page 41
I shook my head and hid the ball behind my back.
She pouted again. “Please?” she whispered. Then a hint of a smile broke through.
“Are you trying to seduce me into giving you my ball?”
She snorted with laughter.
Then I felt the ball being smacked out of my hands from behind. “Yes!” Mom shouted.
I laughed and watched as she bounced it once, then took five tiny steps toward the hoop. “That’s travelling!” I shouted.
Chloe ran toward her. “I’m open!” she yelled dramatically. Of course she was open. There was no one there. Mom ran the ball over and handed it to her.
Chloe stopped in her spot and dribbled it twice. I strolled slowly over to her. She stopped bouncing the ball when she saw me coming. I stopped a few feet in front of her. She squealed and ran away, trying to dribble at the same time. “That’s travelling and double dribble. Do you need me to go through the rules again?”
She just laughed and tried to shoot. She missed. Completely.
I started to jog over to the ball, but Mom shouted my name. “If you touch that ball, you’re grounded.”
I threw my hands in the air. “What the hell? Who’s setting these rules?”
I ignored her and picked up the ball, but before I could straighten up, Chloe’s arms were around my neck and her legs around my waist. “And this is definitely a foul!” I successfully completed a layup with her on my back.
“You’re cheating!” she shouted.
Mom walked over and handed Chloe the ball.
“If we get this, Mrs. Hunter,” Chloe yelled, “then we win.”
“How do you win?” I said, adjusting her more comfortably on my back. “It’s sixty-eight to nothing.”
“Shut up, Blake.”
I laughed.
“I wanna slam it!”
I laughed harder. “Slam-dunk it?”
“Whatever!”
I walked us to the hoop and adjusted the lever until the post dropped and the hoop was as low as it could possibly go.
I guess you could say that she dunked it. Whatever it was, it made her and Mom squeal. “WE WIN!” Chloe shouted.
“No, you’ve scored once.”
“Shut up, Blake!” She gripped her legs tighter around my waist and fistpumped the air. “We are the champions . . .”
I shook my head and laughed again.
“Do you hear that, Blake?” she said in my ear. “That’s the crowd cheering my name.”
Mom cupped her hands around her mouth. “CHLO-E! CHLO-E! CHLO-E!”
“It’s sixty-eight—” I started.
“What part of WE WIN do you not understand?” Chloe cut in. “I can’t believe I won the Super Bowl!”
I lost it in a fit of laughter, almost dropping her.
“I need a victory lap!” she squealed.
I gave her a victory lap around the driveway. She kept her hands raised in triumph as she made a speech thanking everyone but me for training her. Mom kept on chanting her name.
On the second lap, I froze.
So did Chloe.
So did Mom.
“Hunter,” Dad said, nodding his head. He narrowed his eyes at Chloe.
I carefully released her until her feet were on the ground, but she didn’t step out from behind me. “Colonel,” I replied.
His eyes moved to Mom. “Celia. Nice to see you upright and coherent.”
She didn’t respond.
“Who’s your friend, Hunter?”
I didn’t answer him. But Chloe stepped to my side, her voice mousy when she said, “I’m Chloe Thompson, sir—Colonel—sir. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Right.” He nodded. “You might want to put a shirt on, young lady. My house isn’t a strip club.”
I wanted to punch him, but Chloe held me back.
And with that, he turned and walked away.
“Asshole,” Mom said. “I’m sorry, Chloe. Don’t pay him any attention. He’s a miserable old bastard.”
I turned to Chloe, but she was looking at the ground. “Hey . . .” I drew her into me and hugged her.
“Can you please take me home,” she said into my chest.
I rested my cheek on the top of her head. “You don’t have to go.”
“I know, but I should.”
I looked at my mom. She was watching us with a frown on her face. I held more tightly on to Chloe. Mom mouthed, “I’m sorry.” And I knew she wasn’t just talking about Dad, she was talking about Chloe and how much she obviously meant to me. And she was sorry that soon it would all be over.
Chloe pulled out of my hold and made her way over to her shirt, silently shrugging it on before going to Mom and hugging her good-bye. Then she walked to my car and waited for me to catch up.
“You want to go somewhere and hang out?” I asked her as we pulled out of the driveway.
“No. I just want to go home,” she said, looking down at her lap.
“Sure?”
“Yeah, Blake, I’m sure.”
After dropping Chloe off, I didn’t really feel like being in the house with my asshole dad, so I went out to the guesthouse.
“How long?” Mom asked, handing me a drink and sitting on the couch opposite me.
“Four weeks.”
She frowned. “I’m sorry, Blake.”
“I don’t know what to do, Ma. I’m just not ready to let her go.”
Mom sighed. “Just ask yourself this: If you could describe your days with Chloe as black or red, what would it be?”
I smiled, remembering how she used to tell me about red- and black-letter days. Black-letter days had negative impact. Like when you got news of someone’s death. A red-letter day was the opposite of black. A positive experience or something unexpectedly phenomenal.
“Red,” I told her. “Definitely red.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Chloe
“How did it go?”
Dean grinned. “Great.” He ruffled Harry’s hair. “It’s official. Harry’s ours. He’s stuck with us for life now.”
Harry contained his smile and tried to move away from Dean.
She pouted again. “Please?” she whispered. Then a hint of a smile broke through.
“Are you trying to seduce me into giving you my ball?”
She snorted with laughter.
Then I felt the ball being smacked out of my hands from behind. “Yes!” Mom shouted.
I laughed and watched as she bounced it once, then took five tiny steps toward the hoop. “That’s travelling!” I shouted.
Chloe ran toward her. “I’m open!” she yelled dramatically. Of course she was open. There was no one there. Mom ran the ball over and handed it to her.
Chloe stopped in her spot and dribbled it twice. I strolled slowly over to her. She stopped bouncing the ball when she saw me coming. I stopped a few feet in front of her. She squealed and ran away, trying to dribble at the same time. “That’s travelling and double dribble. Do you need me to go through the rules again?”
She just laughed and tried to shoot. She missed. Completely.
I started to jog over to the ball, but Mom shouted my name. “If you touch that ball, you’re grounded.”
I threw my hands in the air. “What the hell? Who’s setting these rules?”
I ignored her and picked up the ball, but before I could straighten up, Chloe’s arms were around my neck and her legs around my waist. “And this is definitely a foul!” I successfully completed a layup with her on my back.
“You’re cheating!” she shouted.
Mom walked over and handed Chloe the ball.
“If we get this, Mrs. Hunter,” Chloe yelled, “then we win.”
“How do you win?” I said, adjusting her more comfortably on my back. “It’s sixty-eight to nothing.”
“Shut up, Blake.”
I laughed.
“I wanna slam it!”
I laughed harder. “Slam-dunk it?”
“Whatever!”
I walked us to the hoop and adjusted the lever until the post dropped and the hoop was as low as it could possibly go.
I guess you could say that she dunked it. Whatever it was, it made her and Mom squeal. “WE WIN!” Chloe shouted.
“No, you’ve scored once.”
“Shut up, Blake!” She gripped her legs tighter around my waist and fistpumped the air. “We are the champions . . .”
I shook my head and laughed again.
“Do you hear that, Blake?” she said in my ear. “That’s the crowd cheering my name.”
Mom cupped her hands around her mouth. “CHLO-E! CHLO-E! CHLO-E!”
“It’s sixty-eight—” I started.
“What part of WE WIN do you not understand?” Chloe cut in. “I can’t believe I won the Super Bowl!”
I lost it in a fit of laughter, almost dropping her.
“I need a victory lap!” she squealed.
I gave her a victory lap around the driveway. She kept her hands raised in triumph as she made a speech thanking everyone but me for training her. Mom kept on chanting her name.
On the second lap, I froze.
So did Chloe.
So did Mom.
“Hunter,” Dad said, nodding his head. He narrowed his eyes at Chloe.
I carefully released her until her feet were on the ground, but she didn’t step out from behind me. “Colonel,” I replied.
His eyes moved to Mom. “Celia. Nice to see you upright and coherent.”
She didn’t respond.
“Who’s your friend, Hunter?”
I didn’t answer him. But Chloe stepped to my side, her voice mousy when she said, “I’m Chloe Thompson, sir—Colonel—sir. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Right.” He nodded. “You might want to put a shirt on, young lady. My house isn’t a strip club.”
I wanted to punch him, but Chloe held me back.
And with that, he turned and walked away.
“Asshole,” Mom said. “I’m sorry, Chloe. Don’t pay him any attention. He’s a miserable old bastard.”
I turned to Chloe, but she was looking at the ground. “Hey . . .” I drew her into me and hugged her.
“Can you please take me home,” she said into my chest.
I rested my cheek on the top of her head. “You don’t have to go.”
“I know, but I should.”
I looked at my mom. She was watching us with a frown on her face. I held more tightly on to Chloe. Mom mouthed, “I’m sorry.” And I knew she wasn’t just talking about Dad, she was talking about Chloe and how much she obviously meant to me. And she was sorry that soon it would all be over.
Chloe pulled out of my hold and made her way over to her shirt, silently shrugging it on before going to Mom and hugging her good-bye. Then she walked to my car and waited for me to catch up.
“You want to go somewhere and hang out?” I asked her as we pulled out of the driveway.
“No. I just want to go home,” she said, looking down at her lap.
“Sure?”
“Yeah, Blake, I’m sure.”
After dropping Chloe off, I didn’t really feel like being in the house with my asshole dad, so I went out to the guesthouse.
“How long?” Mom asked, handing me a drink and sitting on the couch opposite me.
“Four weeks.”
She frowned. “I’m sorry, Blake.”
“I don’t know what to do, Ma. I’m just not ready to let her go.”
Mom sighed. “Just ask yourself this: If you could describe your days with Chloe as black or red, what would it be?”
I smiled, remembering how she used to tell me about red- and black-letter days. Black-letter days had negative impact. Like when you got news of someone’s death. A red-letter day was the opposite of black. A positive experience or something unexpectedly phenomenal.
“Red,” I told her. “Definitely red.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Chloe
“How did it go?”
Dean grinned. “Great.” He ruffled Harry’s hair. “It’s official. Harry’s ours. He’s stuck with us for life now.”
Harry contained his smile and tried to move away from Dean.
