Authors: Lauren Rowe
Keane laughs. “I think I just get abnormally
overwhelmed
sometimes. So that’s when I shut down and check out.”
“We all need time to ourselves,” I say. “That’s not abnormal at all.” I look away from the road, briefly, just long enough to wink at him and he bites his beautifully shaped lower lip. “Have you always felt that way—like you get abnormally overwhelmed?” I ask.
“Um, yeah. Pretty much. But it’s gotten worse since...” He exhales and looks out the window, apparently not planning to finish his sentence.
“Since what?” I prompt.
But Keane doesn’t reply. He’s looking out the window, his face turned away from me.
“Since the voices started telling you to chop people up?” I venture. But Keane doesn’t react. “Since your cat told you to buy a Powerball lottery ticket?” I ask, peeking at him. Still nothing. “Since you started collecting other people’s toenail clippings?”
That last one elicits a chuckle from Keane. He turns to look at me, a crooked smile on his face. “You just pull those out of thin air, or is there something you’d like to tell me?”
I beam a smile at him.
“Nah, it’s nothing quite as exotic as collecting other people’s toenail clippings,” Keane says. “I’ve just had a bit of a hard time since I stopped playing baseball, that’s all.”
“Why’d you stop playing? If you like it, then you should keep playing.”
Keane looks out the window again.
And just like that, I realize we’re not having a lighthearted, casual conversation any more. Clearly, whatever Keane’s telling me is something deeply important to him.
“Keane, why’d you stop playing?” I ask softly, the hairs on the nape of my neck standing up.
Keane exhales. “Because I got hurt.” He absently touches his elbow on his left arm and looks at me. “My elbow crapped out on me. My pitching motion got fucked up. And that was that.”
“But you’re so young and in such good shape. I mean, jeez, you just walked on your hands for me. It seems like you could swing a bat and run around some bases if that’s what you still want to do.”
“It doesn’t work like that. I was a pitcher.”
“Oh. Well, can you play some other position, maybe? You know, like shortstop or something?”
“Doesn’t work like that,” he says softly, but there’s no irritation in his tone, only explanation. “Pitchers are highly specialized. A guy can’t pitch anymore, he’s done.”
It suddenly dawns on me Keane must have played baseball at a really high level—not just in some recreational league with friends on weekends, as I’ve been thinking we’re talking about.
“Did you play in college?” I ask.
Keane nods. “Arizona State. I dropped out my junior year when I got drafted by the Cubs. Played in their farm system and slayed it. I was working my way up in their organization like a beast. All my coaches said I was just about to get called up to the major leagues.” He sighs. “And that’s when I hurt my fucking traitor of an elbow—my ulnar collateral ligament.” He pauses. “Surgery didn’t go according to plan. I couldn’t get my fastball going and my curveball sucked ass.” He shrugs, obviously deflated. “So that was it. The headline on the newspaper of my life read ‘Baseball Dreams
Finito
for Peenito.’”
“I had no idea you played at such a high level,” I say softly. “Wow, Keane. You were a professional athlete.”
He waves at the air dismissively. “Meh, minor leagues. Not even worth mentioning to anyone. No one ever dreams of playing in the minors, trust me. That’s just a means to an end—the stepping stone to the
real
dream.”
“You must have been devastated when you got hurt. I’m so sorry, Keane.”
“Hey, that’s life, baby. Sometimes it goes according to plan, and sometimes it punches you in the balls. When your balls get punched, you just gotta wipe ’em off and figure out a new dream, right?”
The look on Keane’s face is making my heart physically hurt. If I weren’t driving, I’d throw my arms around him and hug him to me.
Keane stretches and exhales loudly. “So, anyhoozles, baby doll. Enough about me and my saga of woe. Let’s talk about you. Specifically, let’s talk about the fact that you’re totally and completely full of shit, shall we?”
I’m sure my face registers my surprise.
“You said you usually have a hard time talking to new people, but you seemed awfully smooth talking to Brian in the minimart—and you’ve been smooth as a morning lake talking to me all day.”
Keane’s body language doesn’t match his lighthearted words. But, clearly, he’s not in the mood to talk about the loss of his baseball dreams anymore.
“What the hell is your obsession with Brian?” I ask. “It’s getting weird, Keane.”
“I’m not obsessed with Brian. I’m obsessed with solving the puzzle that is Maddy Milliken. And so far, your supposed shyness can be filed along with the Loch Ness Monster.”
“Keane, I’m not socially
inept
—I’m
shy
. Well, okay, yes, I’m socially inept at times.” I sigh. “Any of my old tap-dancing videos would confirm that.”
“You tap-danced?”
“For years.”
“And there’s video to prove it?”
“Tons and tons.”
“Tap-dancing can be pretty dope.”
“Not the way I did it.”
Keane laughs. “Add those tap-dancing videos to the Maddy-Keane Film Festival, brah. I’ll watch those bad boys tonight.”
“Ha!” I say. “That will
never
happen.”
“Oh, I’ve got my ways,” Keane says. “So, anyway, nice attempt at deflection, baby doll, but I still wanna talk about
Brian
. I could hear you giggling in the minimart before I even got through the front door.” He makes a high-pitched giggling sound, clearly intended as an impression of me.
“Again with the Brian obsession. Dude. Give it a rest. Maybe babbling with you for five straight hours before I met Brian got me in the right frame of mind to babble to a stranger, who knows?”
Keane cringes. “You’re saying I lubed you up for Brian? So I’m Brian’s
fluffer
?” He laughs like he’s said something incredibly funny, but I don’t get the joke.
“What’s a
fluffer
?” I ask.
Keane shakes his head. “Oh, sweet, innocent, sheltered Maddy Milliken.”
“Is it something gross?”
“It’s something
awesome
.”
“What is it?”
“You’ll just have to look it up, buttercup.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re annoying.”
“I’ve heard that a time or two.”
I shrug. “The truth is I’ve kind of surprised myself today. I swear I’m not normally so comfortable talking to new people, especially guys, and today I’ve been totally comfortable talking to
two
of them. Maybe I’m turning into a man-eater after all, huh?”
“Yee-boy!” Keane shouts. He sticks his hand up and we high-five.
“Trust me, though,” I say, laughing. “You wouldn’t be quite so impressed if you saw me trying to talk to a guy I’m actually
attracted
to.” I snort. “I stutter and sputter and end every sentence with a question mark.”
An unmistakable shadow passes across Keane’s face.
“What?” I ask. “What’s wrong? You don’t believe me? I swear to God, I’m telling the truth. I geek out and lose all composure when I’m feeling anything even remotely resembling the urge to ‘bone the fuck outta’ someone. I become a total and complete dork.”
Keane’s mouth twists into a scowl just before he turns his head toward the passenger-side window. “So you keep telling me,” he says quietly, his face turned away from me. “Maybe one of these days I’ll be lucky enough to witness you in action.”
Chapter 22
Maddy
Wednesday, 8:46 p.m.
Keane and I burst into our motel room and put down our overnight bags and the food, water, and beer we purchased at a supermarket down the street.
“Which bed you want?” Keane asks, motioning to the two queen size beds taking up all available space in the small room.
“Don’t care,” I say. “They both look equally lumpy.”
“Cool, ’cause I got a thing for being on the right side.”
“Knock yourself out, sweet thing,” I say.
“Don’t mind if I do.”
Keane unceremoniously flops his body onto his chosen bed, flashing his dimples at me as he does.
Wow. Life sure is full of surprises, isn’t it? When I picked Keane up in front of his apartment building twelve hours ago, I never would have believed in a million years I’d be sharing a motel room with him tonight, and yet, here we are, and I’m not the least bit anxious about it. When the motel clerk asked, “One room or two?,” it felt like the most natural thing in the world for me to say to Keane, “Hey, why spend double the money for two rooms?”
“I should warn you,” Keane says, stretching out to his full length on his bed and putting his hands behind his head. “I’m probs gonna stink up the bathroom in the morning, so you should plan on getting your ass in there before I bomb it to high heaven.”
I laugh. “Thanks for the heads up. I’ll be sure to go in there before you.”
Keane flashes me his dimples again and rubs his palms together. “So, hey, let’s get this film festival underway. I’m dying to see this masterpiece of yours.”
I grab my duffel bag. “I’m gonna take a quick shower and then I’ll cue it up.”
“Radsicles. I’ll pop a brewski and watch some baseball while I wait.” He flips on the TV and begins scrolling through the channels.
“Cool,” I say. “And, yes, that’s most definitely ‘k-e-w-l.’”
“Hey, don’t fling that shit around willy-nilly, sweetheart—it’s gotta mean something special when you use it.”
“Oh, I know, and, trust me—it does.”
We share a huge smile.
While Keane makes himself comfortable in front of the TV, beer in hand, I float into the bathroom, my duffel bag in hand, a huge smile on my face.
Twenty minutes later, I emerge from the bathroom, my hair wet, my body relaxed, to find Keane on the floor in front of the TV, doing crunches.
The minute Keane sees me, he stops what he’s doing and flashes me a look of unmistakable annoyance. “Oh, for the love of fuck,” Keane says, motioning to me with clear disdain. “You gotta be kidding me.”
I look down. “What?”
“You sleep in a baggy sweatshirt? Jesus Christ, Maddy, first that god-awful shirt and now this? Are you even
capable
of waggling your boobs at a guy?”
“I’m chilly.”
“Bullshit. It’s a hundred degrees in this room.”
“It is? Oh. Well, I’m chilly.”
“Liar.”
“Not lying.”
“
Liar
.”
“I’m
not
lying, Keane.”
But, oh my God, I’m totally lying.
I’m hot as hell in this goddamned sweatshirt.
But after the big deal Keane made about surveying my “merchandise,” I’m too self-conscious to reveal the tight-fitting “Adventure Time” tank top I’m wearing underneath my sweatshirt.
Keane rolls his eyes as he pops up from the floor, grabbing his duffel bag as he goes. “I’m gonna take a quick shower and when I come out, I want
Shoot Like a Girl
cued up on your laptop and those boobs of yours in full waggle-mode. I gotta see what we’re working with here, man-eater.”
I scowl at him.
“Hey, easy with daggers, babe. How the fuck else am I gonna help you attract hotties who’ll make your motor run if I haven’t seen what you’ve got to hook them with?”
“I never asked you to help me ‘hook’ the hotties.”
“Yeah, but I’m a giver, baby. It’s a blessing and a curse.”
“What if I don’t want or need your help? Maybe I’m gonna ‘hook hotties’ with my sparkling personality alone.”
Keane pauses for a beat just outside the bathroom door, apparently letting what I’ve said sink in, and then he throws his head back. “Bwahahahaahaaaaaa!” he bellows, just before closing the bathroom door behind him.
I roll my eyes, even though Keane’s no longer in the room to witness the gesture, and pull out my phone. Not surprisingly, I’ve got a text from my sister.
“Howz it going, sissy?” Hannah writes. “Check in, please.”
I punch the button to give my sister a call.
“Hellooooooooo,” Hannah says when she picks up my call.
“Hi, Banana,” I say. “I’m safe and sound. Made it to a motel near Medford without anyone attacking me.”
I hear the shower in the bathroom turn on.
“Excellent,” Hannah says. “This pleases me. And how’s it going with your bodyguard? Are you still mad at me for forcing you to bring him along?”
“Not mad at all. Keane’s awesome. We’re having fun together.”
“Oh,
really
?”
“Yep. We clicked right away. Well, almost right away. Tiny stumble at first.”
“So he’s nice?”
“Um, ‘nice’ isn’t a word I’d use to describe Keane Morgan. That’s not nearly descriptive enough.”
“Oh,
reeeeeeally
?” Hannah says, her tone laced with innuendo.
“No, no. It’s not like
that
. Keane’s a sweetheart, but he’s definitely just a friend. It’s so weird—I already feel like I’ve known him forever. You wouldn’t believe how easily I just babble and babble with him for hours on end about everything and nothing.”
“You’re using your happy voice, Madelyn.”
“Probably because I’m extremely
happy
. We just had pizza at this adorable little place with
Lady and the Tramp
tablecloths and now we’re settling in for the night at our motel. We’re gonna watch
Shoot Like a Girl
on my laptop.”
“Oh,
reeeeeeeeeeaaaally
?” Hannah says. “You two went out for dinner like
Lady and the Tramp
and now he’s gonna watch your movie?”
“Yeah, he seems genuinely excited. I didn’t even have to twist his arm to watch it.”
“Oh,
reeeeeeeeaaaaaally
?” Hannah says.
“Listen to me, Linda,” I say. “I told you: it’s not like that with Keane. We’re
friends
. For some inexplicable reason, Keane and I just hit it off. You’ll see when you meet him. He’s so easy to like. Super funny. Silly. Sweet. Definitely one of a kind.” I snort. “He’s Batman with Robin’s personality.”