Chapter 106

Ardal

Damn it.

My stomach gives a sickening lurch when I realize I’ve been caught.

Kadeem spins me around with the ease of a professional dancer. Only, I was never a good dance partner.

I break free from him, sputter something unintelligible, shove open the door, and stumble outside. By some miracle, I make it to the outer wall of the building, and press myself against its hard surface as I squeeze my eyes closed, trying not to hyperventilate and, especially, not to cry.

“Chels?”

The sound of his voice sends my heart into overdrive again. I open my eyes hesitantly.

He’s in his workout gear. His raven hair is damp and he smells faintly of fresh sweat. His brown eyes are watching me intently.

“What are you doing here,” he asks.

I feel my cheeks get hot. “No reason," I fib. It falls far short of convincing - my voice is too tight, my pitch is overly high in an attempt to feign nonchalance, and my hands are visibly shaking like a junior high kid on their first date.

Combine that with the fact that we both know it’s absurd for me to argue I’ve merely walked into his gym on some random whim, and I feel like the biggest fool on the planet.

He silently takes it in. “Right,” he says, as though I haven’t just uttered a clear lie. “Second question: Why did you run away when you saw me?”

I inhale sharply and purse my lips.

Don’t go bananas, Ardal. Stay calm.

But my blood is already boiling.

I arch my eyebrow. “Oh, I don’t know,” I say slowly, letting the disdain drip from my words as I play dumb. “Maybe because we had sex, I almost died, and then you haven’t bothered to talk to me since.”

I cross my arms over my chest while challenging him with a hard stare. “Maybe that’s why.”

Kadeem runs a hand through his hair as he attempts - and fails - to search for words to explain himself. It’s rare to see him unable to speak and it only heightens my indignation further. As suspected, there’s no explanation for his jerk move.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “I can’t defend that. I just, um…” He scratches the back of his neck. “I’ve just been busy,” he finishes lamely.

I suppress an eye roll and grind my feels into the pavement beneath me. “Yeah, okay,” I say through gritted teeth.

He clears his throat and casts an uneasy glance over his shoulder. “Well, I should probably get back in there. I’m right in the middle of a class.”

“Sure,” I snort.

He starts to turn away, but stops himself and looks at me with a somber expression. “It’s good to see you, though,” he says softly.

“Hmm,” I murmur noncommittally, averting my gaze downwards.

God, I’m the queen of noncommittal comebacks, aren’t I? The master of avoiding real emotion.

But it’s really all I can do to just sort of function at the moment. I feel like I’m trying to button up a tidal wave of emotion. I haven’t allowed myself to miss him, but in his presence, the grief hits me. The thought of being near him again is so enticing- yet so painful.

He hesitates, then takes a step closer. “Would you want to…maybe we should talk some more.”

“Is that a statement or a question,” I ask icily.

He shifts uncomfortably under my piercing glare before continuing carefully, “I mean, it’s both. What do you have going on tonight?”

I clench my jaw, fighting an internal war. I would love to tell him to go to hell, but I want him all the same. My lips are sealed shut from all the conflicting emotions raging within me - the desperation to talk to him, the determination not to let him hurt me - yet again.

Before I can open my mouth, he quickly adds, “Not as a date. I realize that sounded date-like. Just to talk - debrief sort of. I do owe you an apology, too.”

My stomach twists painfully as our eyes meet. I’m stuck on the thought that he felt a need to emphasize the lack of romance.

Not a date.

It crushes me, even though I would have instantly eschewed him for trying some kind of romantic crap after falling out of my life for months, like some two-timing playboy who charms you, sleeps with you once, then disappears. In fact, that’s exactly what he did!

I ball my hands into fists. Why do I care anything about him at all?

Erbao. His image floats into my mind. I’m here for Erbao.

I let out a deep breath. “Tonight’s good,” I say, keeping my tone curt. “You can come over and apologize to the kids, too.”

Mic drop. Boom.

He purses his lips and nods, the shame evident on his face. “I will," he says. "I’ll um, I’ll leave here early. 5 or so? I can pick up pizza.”

The spiteful part of me would love to piss all over this attempt to be nice… but his offer provides me with an opportunity to save money on food, and the kids and I have eaten out only once since our return from the mountains.

With a nod of agreement, I envision a break from sandwiches, rice and beans. Let him try to buy our forgiveness.

When he arrives that evening with a stack of pizza boxes, two smaller boxes of what turn out to breadsticks and cinnamon sticks, and even a liter of soda under his arm - although I know he normally doesn’t touch the stuff - the kids are nearly beside themselves with the double joy of junk food and Kadeem.

He gives them hugs and catches up with them on all their first grade happenings, sitting in between Ezra and Silas at the table, while I sit across from him, stuffing my face with food, and trying to pretend I’m not happy.

He asks them thoughtful questions and teases them, and his and the kids’ laughter fills the air. I don’t think I’ve seen my quints this animated in months.

“Lottie,” Kadeem says. “Guess what?”

She raises both eyebrows and then gives him a cheesy grin before taking a big bite of pepperoni.

“I saw your picture in the paper last week,” he says. “I cut it out and saved it.”

The kids’ grade went on a field trip last week, and a reporter snapped her picture for a little piece buried in the midsection on what was probably a slow news day. As her mom, of course, I was delighted to see her captured adorably in print.

She chases her pizza with a giant swig of soda. “I’m famous,” she says, wiping her mouth before she sets her cup back down enthusiastically on the table, reminding me a little of Thor with a beer stein.

Kadeem beams at her. “You’re famous,” he agrees.

Next to me, Erbao pushes his plate away and looks across Kadeem. “We were hoping you’d come play with us over the summer. How come you didn’t?”

Kadeem’s face gets serious. “I don’t know how to say it exactly,” he says. His eyes flick over to me for a moment. “It was a hard turn of events and I think I needed some time… to process.”

Isn’t that rich?

I tear into my pizza crust and keep my mouth shut.

“But we wanted to see you,” Erbao says. A confused hurt is in his eyes.

Kadeem frowns and nods, but Erbao’s mouth starts to curve into a shy smile and he nervously eyes me before continuing. “We were going to take the bus to your house soon to visit you.” His face is lit in a mischievous glow.

He looks back at me and I give him the Mom Look, but ruffle his hair.

His siblings are all giggling conspiratorially, their little eyes peeking at me to check my reaction.

“Whose plan was that,” Kadeem asks, with a wink towards me.

I immediately roll my eyes at him, but he just smirks before turning his attention back to Erbao.

“Mine,” Erbao admits. His head is propped up on his elbows and he's looking down at the table, but grinning.

“Figures,” I say, while Milo starts to snicker so hard he chokes on his breadstick. I hit him on the back and he manages to get the food down.

“You’re all little devils.” I stand up and take my and Erbao’s plates to the sink.

“Do you even know where my house is,” Kadeem asks, raising a teasing eyebrow.

“We Googled you,” Silas says.

“Oh great,” Kadeem says. “Glad that information is out there.” But his face quickly brightens and he smiles again, his eyes scanning over the five of them. “I really have missed you,” he says.

I fight back a growing swell of emotion, but it’s suddenly replaced by a feeling of terror that starts to claw at my throat. I don’t want to ruin this.