I nod, not that he can see me, but I don’t trust my voice.
“Now, put the phone down and try to rest. Ankle up and ice it whether it hurts or not. I want you at least eighty percent Monday.”
“Yes, sir,” I say on impulse when he slips back into his Coach Cason tone. I hit the end button before slinging the phone onto the counter then let out a frustrated yell. No words, just noise.
I’m the starting center for the Steele Valley Voltage. I have damn near everything I could want or need and have no reason to feel insecure. So, why is it so hard to ask for and accept help from the people who’ve proven time and again they’ll show up?
“Well, that was an interesting conversation to overhear,” says a male voice from the direction of my kitchen table.
“Damn it, Noah,” I shout, hand clutching my chest. “Are you shitting me right now? Why are you in my house?” I pause as my own words register. “Howare you in my house?”
That lazy grin most people never see shines through his beard. “You still leave the key under the mat like some nineties grandma. Probably shouldn’t do that. It’d be the first place a crazed fan or reporter would look.”
I swipe the closest dish rag off the counter and sling it at him. “You’re full of it, you know that?” I've never left a key in some easily accessible hiding spot.
“Mmm, nope. I’m empty, actually. Saving room for Mom’s cooking,” he says before cutting me some slack. "Mama gave a spare key to me last time she needed help around the house.”
Maybe I should just install retinal scanners and call it a day.
“Didn’t mean for you to dive into security upgrades right now. You’re already giving Fort Knox a run for its money.”
I lift a brow at him as my hip rests against the sink. “You’re one to talk. Are you allowing Jett to walk the eight hundred feet home alone in the evenings yet?”
He balls up the dish rag and chucks it back at me with a laugh. I dodge it and almost tip over because of my ankle.
“Fair enough.” He laughs. “Get changed. You’re coming to dinner with me.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not having dinner with your sister.”
I'm only slightly remorseful as exasperation takes over his features.
“Look, bud. I’ve kept it quiet this long, but she’s going to find out about Aubrey if she’s hanging around Steele Valley. It may not be as small as Havenwood, but this town talks. Shouldn’t she find out from you?”
Does his logic make sense? Yes. Does that mean I want to agree with him? No.
He moves to the freezer and starts prepping an ice wrap, clearly expecting me to cave. “What happens when she swings by the rink and sees Aubrey hanging out? That little girl won’t think twice about filling Oakley in on the fact that she lives with you now.”
Damn it.
“Hate you,” I mumble half-heartedly.
He pats me on the shoulder. “Love you, too. Now go change. I’ll finish packing this wrap and grab another roll of tape.”
If you don’t have a best friend like Noah, you should find one. As I hobble past him to change out of my gym shorts and tank, I mumble my thanks and “I don’t hate you.”
Once we’re buckled into his truck and he’s backing out of my driveway, I study him from the passenger seat. Noah Slater is a planner. Everything has a place and a purpose. So, it makes me wonder…
“Why are you really here? There has to be more to it than you playing the worried friend card.” I hope his expression willgive something away, but he only glances at me briefly before watching the road again.
“You’ve kept our conversations surface-level for months. You’ve been in and out of the courthouse trying to get Aubrey’s custody arrangements and orders of protection finalized—”
“That’s all done now. She’s mine.”
“—and now you’re prepping for what’s expected to be a big season. You have a kid in tow. You flat out refused when my mother offered to watch Aubrey. You have her and me keeping the whole thing quiet around my sister, and let’s face it, she’s your best option for help.”
