“Glad you added in that last bit. I almost rerouted us to the hospital,” he says. “A compliment from you must mean something is seriously wrong.”

“Ha ha. You’re hilarious.” I roll my eyes but it’s half-assed. It’s nice being like this with him. Trying to hate him all the time is exhausting.

“I know you’re being sarcastic right now, but I think it’s imperative to tell you that Mrs. Rafter thinks I really am funny.” He risks our lives and looks away from the road to stick his tongue out at me. “So there.”

I feel my eyes go wide in my face as I just stare at him, unable to say or do anything. Quinton Howard Junior, arguably the best quarterback in the League, just stuck his tongue out at me. Like a kindergartner . . . a very large kindergartner.

“You did not just do that!” I shove his arm and try to ignore how firm it feels beneath my palm but fail miserably. There was literally no jiggle. I didn’t know that was possible!

“I did.” He doesn’t seem to notice my fascination with his limbs, thank goodness. “It felt like the right thing to do.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want you ignoring your instincts.”

“Exactly.” He taps his brakes, slowing as he takes the exit for my place.

“Question. You don’t really listen to anything I say to you, right?” I ask. “Like, I could word vomit all over your car and you wouldn’t remember any of it by the time you drove away?”

“Right.” He rolls to a stop at the red light before directing all of his attention to me. “You can say whatever you want and it will never leave this car.”

Even though he’s smiling, there’s a seriousness behind his words. Like he understands just how much I need to talk to someone. How vital it is that I don’t go home to an empty house and still have these words bouncing around inside of my head.

I don’t know if it’s because in this moment I feel like he might be the only person who understands me or because I have drunk mouth—yes, that’s the technical term—but everything I’m feeling just falls out of my mouth.

“I kept picturing my dad sitting with Mrs. Rafter tonight and what he would’ve thought about everything. It’s the first time I’ve been able to do that and not get swallowed by grief. It actually made me happy. And I know my dad wouldn’t want me to be sad forever, but not feeling sad is making me feel guilty. Is that crazy? Because I think I’m going insane.”