He doesn't signal that he notices me, so I don't wave as I make the turn to my house. Of course, my nosy corgi freezes, refusing to budge as she watches the activity with interest.
“Come on, Cookie.” I tug on the leash. “Let's get inside before the mosquitoes attack.”
With an authoritative woof, she follows. Thank goodness. The last thing I want my new neighbor to witness is a wrestling match with my stubborn dog, especially since Cookie would probably win right now. My mind is focused on the bath and a glass of wine that's part of my near future.
Chapter 2
Logan
There she is…
Heather Winslow, my high school crush, and new neighbor. It's been fourteen years since I last saw her, since I left Pelican Point in the dust. And, strangely, it feels like just yesterday. I had no idea she had moved next door to my grandfather, but then again, I hadn't even known my own grandfather had been sick.
So there's that.
She strolls to her house, her dog trailing behind while it eyes me closely. I smirk. Violet is going to fall head over heels for that dog. I can see it now.
Heather looks good.Reallygood. She still has that same confident stride, though there's something different about her now. She seems settled, maybe, like she actually belongs here in a way I never did.
“Mr. Maddox, where do you want this to go?”
I glance at the elaborately decorated bookcase that an old teammate's wife had encouraged me to buy years ago.
The hell if I know…
They'd stripped this old house of antiques and valuables after my grandfather passed away and tucked them away in a storageunit. I still have to sort through that mess and figure out what I'll keep and throw away. But that's a task for a later date. The guilt can wait too—about not being here, about not knowing he was sick until it was too late.
Still, the house is quickly filling up with the furniture from my place in Denver. Thank god this house is so huge. With two stories plus that massive walk-in attic, this old Victorian has more square footage than I know what to do with. At least I don't need to worry about having enough space for everything.
“One of the bedrooms. I don't care which,” I answer before strolling back into the house.
It's a maze of boxes and misplaced furniture at the moment, and I weave through it toward the back bedroom that I'd set up for Violet for the day. She's sitting right where I left her, at a small table working diligently on a coloring book.
She's been so good through all this chaos, too good, if I'm honest. Four-year-olds shouldn't be this well-behaved, this quiet. They should be running around, getting into everything, driving everyone crazy. But Violet just exists. She colors quietly, eats what I put in front of her, doesn't complain, and never pushes back. It breaks my heart.
Hopefully this move is the fresh start she needs, a real home, and maybe even a chance to be a normal kid again. I've second-guessed this decision a thousand times, terrified I was making a horrible mistake. But staying in Denver wasn't working either, especially after my injury and retirement. Something had to change.
“You doing okay, Vi?”
She peers at me between her blonde bangs, angling her head in a way that looks eerily like my sister. Her shy smile is an answer as she holds up a perfectly colored sheet. “I made this for you, Uncle Logan.”
My chest tightens. Every time she does something like this—something normal and unbearably sweet—it reminds me that Tracy should be here to see it.
“It's beautiful, sweetpea. We'll put it on the refrigerator once we unpack the magnets.” I ruffle her soft hair. “Are you hungry?”
Violet bobs her head. Of course she is. She's a four-year-old in the middle of what her pediatrician called a growth spurt. Whatever that means.
All I know is that my sister is gone, and I'm now a parent. It's kinda like walking around blindfolded with both hands tied behind my back. On top of that, my career in the majors is over, and I've just moved back to my hometown to overhaul the local baseball team, The Rockets.
Life can be fucking crazy sometimes. Talk about a complete one-eighty. A year ago, I was playing in front of sold-out stadiums. Now I'm navigating doctors’ visits and trying to figure out what the hell a four-year-old eats besides chicken nuggets and applesauce.
“Me, too.” I squat next to her. “Why don't we walk into town and get some pizza? There’s an ice cream shop in town that you’re gonna like. Wanna stop there?”
Violet's eyes brighten as she smiles. “Yeah!”
I stare for a moment, I can't help it. It took months to get any kind of emotion out of my niece. Losing Tracy had been devastating enough for all of us, but it had been even worse for Violet, who had been the apple of her mother's eye.
So this smile on her little face is worth its weight in gold and exactly why I'm here. Why I left Denver, why I took this job, why I'm starting over in a town I swore I'd never come back to. For her. Because she's all I have left of Tracy, and I'll be damned if I screw this up.
