His body smacked into mine so hard, my spine hit the wall again. Josh hugged me like his life depended on it. He hugged me like he hadn’t since his dad died. The side of his cheek went right along my chest as he held me tight. “You’re better than my real mom, better than Mandy—”
“Jesus, Josh. Don’t say stuff like that.”
“Why? You always tell me not to lie,” he said into my chest as he hugged me. “I don’t like you crying. Don’t do it anymore.”
Oh my God. I did the complete opposite and bawled a little more, right into my eleven-year-old.
“Ms. Christy is a witch,” he said into my shirt.
A mature adult would have told Josh not to call a person a witch and deny that Christy was being one. Except I’d call her behavior that of a bitch, not a witch.
But I didn’t feel very much like a mature adult then. I’d used up all my adulting points of the day. So all I did was hug Josh closer. “She is,” I agreed with a sniffle.
“I’ll quit,” he stated. “I can join another team,” my nephew offered, cracking my heart in half.
“Joshy—” I started to say before I got cut off.
“Can I talk to your aunt, Josh?” a rough, voice filled the bathroom, making me look up to see Dallas standing three feet away. When the hell had he walked in without us noticing?
The boy in my arms tensed before he turned around, his stance wide and protective. “No.”
God help me, the tears started up all over again. I loved this kid. I loved him with every single cell in my body. There was a lot of things about love that you could only learn after you’d faced the real kind. The best kind wasn’t this soft, sweet thing of hearts and picnics. It wasn’t flowery and divine.
Real love was gritty. The real kind of love never quit. Someone who loved you would do what’s best for you; they’d stand up for you and sacrifice. Someone who loved you would face any inconvenience willingly.
You didn’t know what love was until someone was willing to give up what they loved the most for you.
But it was also never letting them make that choice, either.
Dallas sighed, his hands going into his pockets. His thick-framed sunglasses had been shoved up onto the brim of his hat, but I didn’t look at his face. I didn’t want to. “Please, Josh.”
“Why? So you can make her cry too?” my defender asked.
“No. I’m not going to make her cry. I swear. You know me better than that,” he explained. “Please. I don’t want you to quit. I’d like for you to play the first game at least, for your friends out there, and if you still want to quit afterward, you can. I wouldn’t blame you. We’re a team, and you don’t treat people on your team like that.”
Josh didn’t say a word.
I just stared at the sink behind Dallas. I had maxed out the amount of times I wanted to cry in front of this man.
“Diana, can I talk to you?” came the nearly gentle question that only made me angry.
Had he told her to talk to me about my shorts so he wouldn’t have to?
It only took me a second to decide he wasn’t that kind of person. I don’t know why I’d been thinking the worst of him so much lately. He didn’t deserve it.
Still insisting on looking at the sink, I let out a breath that made me sound like I had lung cancer. “I don’t want to talk to anyone right now,” I pretty much whispered.
“Josh? Please?” was Dallas’s reply.
“Don’t make her cry again,” my eleven-going-on-twenty-year-old nephew demanded. “She never cries.”
That was a lie, but I appreciated why he’d gone with it.
Maybe my feelings were hurt and a part of me felt like it had been split open, but I didn’t want Josh to think I couldn’t handle my own battles, even as I bled my feelings all over the place. Slipping my hands over his shoulders, I tightened my grip on him. “Thank you, J, but I’ll be okay. Go finish warming up. We aren’t quitters.”
And my poor, beloved nephew who knew me too well, turned to look at me over his shoulder. Those brown eyes were guarded and worried. “I’ll go if you want me to.”
Fuck. I touched his shoulder. “It’s okay. Play your game. I can handle this. You don’t have to quit. I’ve got this.”
