The weekend both crawled by and flew. Nothing had been out of the ordinary, but the entire time had felt different. Last weekend had been the same as the weekend before, only Tenor had returned after chores and taken me to town for a coffee and a stroll by the river. We’d chatted and he’d asked about any other hobbies and fun things I liked to do. At the risk of being underwhelming, I’d been truthful. I liked my job, and reading, and maybe I’d join a book club.
It’d been pleasant. But starting last Friday, the air had been thick. Full of unspoken thoughts. Not so much on my end. And now it was Sunday afternoon and we were nearing what I suspected was the reason for the odd vibe. We were meeting my parents in twenty minutes.
Tenor had taken his pickup and I was in my car. I’d be leaving for Bozeman from the court when the game was over. This time I found the courts on my own. Hard to get lost in such a small town. The football field and track sprawled beyond the small two-court enclosure. A row of tall bushes blocked the wind onone side of the chain-link fence. Sure enough, the brown sign attached to the fencing readBailey Tennis Courts.
Tenor pulled in behind me and we both parked.
I stepped into the empty lot. “I’m surprised it doesn’t have ‘no pickleball allowed’ engraved along the bottom of the sign.”
“Tate convinced me that was going too far.” Despite his joking tone, Tenor’s shoulders were rigid as he dug his bag out and walked through the opening in the fence.
I tied my hair back with the band I kept on my wrist as Tenor dug out his tennis racket. He bounced a ball on the ground, then on his racket and back to the ground.
I sucked in a breath and willed the trembling in my stomach to stop. Today would go fine. My parents would love Tenor. Everyone did. Likewise, Tenor was so easygoing, he’d be cool with my dad’s abrasive nature. My mom would make sure Dad stayed in line.
“Want to warm up?” he asked when I retrieved my racket.
“Yes.” Anything to vent the nervous energy coursing through me.
We lobbed the ball back and forth, the dull thunk of our rackets mingling with the sounds of cars around us and kids playing at the playground across the street. Tenor was all fluid strokes and lean muscle. He could cross the court in a few steps while I sprinted and still missed the ball. When he ran, his T-shirt plastered to his chest while hanging baggy at his waist. Just as I was about to return one of Tenor’s slices, I caught a glint of a red pickup. My shot went high and wide, landing over the fence and in the bushes.
“Sorry!” I checked again. Yep. That was them. “They’re here.”
“I’ll get the ball. You greet them.” He jogged toward the other opening in the fence and went around to the bushes.
I exited through the one closest to me to meet my parents. Dad had parked. His smile was snide, a determined glint in his eyes.
I sighed mentally.Not today, Dad.
Mom hopped out, dressed in capri athletic leggings and a blue athletic top. Her chestnut hair was drawn back in a braid. “Hey, kiddo. Sorry we’re late.”
Dad got out, his eyes narrowed on Tenor and his mouth twisted up. Unlike Tenor’s long shorts and baggy shirt, Dad looked like he could swing a club or a racket in his green athletic polo and khaki shorts that hit midquad. “You know how your mother is. Bill didn’t leave her because of her nagging; it was because she’s always late.”
“You left the first time I waslate.” Mom’s gaze filled with challenge. Dad had always given her shit about Bill.
There was a beat of regret in his eyes, but it was gone so fast I was probably deluding myself. Instead, Dad snickered and reached into the back seat just as Tenor trotted up. Glad he hadn’t gotten this quick of an introduction to Dad’s obnoxiousness.
Tenor politely smiled at Mom, his features guarded, and stretched his hand out. “Nice to meet you. Tenor Bailey.”
Dad jerked back from the open door of his pickup and slammed it. “Tenor Bailey? Veronica, is that what you were hiding?” Dad’s brows crashed together. “What the hell were you doing, Bailey? Trolling playgrounds to get with my daughter?”
“Dad!” Humiliation swamped me as my gaze jumped to Tenor.
Color leeched from Tenor’s face and his nostrils flared. “Robert Morgan?” he gritted out. His horrified gaze slid to me. “He’syour dad?”
Dread fought against shock. “You two know each other?”
“Shit yeah,” Dad said, his tone hard. “Tenor and I go way back.”
Tenor’s jaw was granite. “I knew him as Bobby.”
Tenor
Bobby Morgan was Ruby’s dad.Fuck.
The last set was stretching on too long, but I would put a stop to it now. All I had to do was restrain myself from smacking this damn ball into Bobby’s tanned face.
Rage vibrated up and down my spine. I took a long inhale, bounced the ball, exhaled.
