“Hello, Grace. I’ve heard about you,” he said, clapping Brock on the shoulder. “We coerce him into coming over every Sunday night for some dinner, and under this tough exterior, he likes to talk. Told us lots about you.”
I blushed head to toe.
Brock didn’t stop his dad from embarrassing him. If anything, he added to it. “I talk about work a lot. Sue me.”
“Work? Okay, son,” his dad said. “I’m sure we’ll catch up later, Grace, but I’m going to walk around and watch some games. Holler if you need anything.”
I wanted to ask Brock about his father’s comments, but I didn’t. Was it fear? Fear that he would deny it and make me feel stupid, or fear about what it would mean if it was true?
Thankfully, a stream of kids showed up with pulled muscles, sprained fingers, bruises from falling, and we were busy on opposite ends. The rest of the time flew by, and Ryan returned to help us pick up the materials. Brock brought a handful of items from the stadium for us to use, and we went through all of them.
One of the kids who sprained a finger returned just as the crowd started leaving the complex to their cars, but this time, the kid was with a woman who I assumed was his mother—only she wasn’t dressed for a windy evening. She wore tight leggings with an even tighter sweater and waltzed up to our tent. “Mr. Anderson? Could I have a word with you?”
“Sure?” he said, giving me a helpless look. He followed her a couple of steps outside the tent.
Who wore Stiletto boots to a sports complex? I fisted my hands on my sides. I wanted to hit her smug face as her hand went straight to Brock’s arm. Hisinjuredone.
“I have to agree,” Ryan said, making me jump.
“Shit. I didn’t realize I said anything out loud.” My face blushed.
“You didn’t. I was commenting on your facial expression.” He smiled, nodding in the direction of the woman and Brock. “It won’t go away, but it will get easier.”
“What will?”
“Dealing with leeches and people who always want a part of him. It sickens me, seeing people use him. They see money, or fame, or an NFL player.”
“Sure, he might have all that, but none of it defines him. He is so much more than what people might assume.” I squinted in their direction, sensing Ryan’s gaze on my back. “How does he handle it?”
“Hell of a lot better now.” His eyes looked down, the instant grief shadowing the conversation. We both knew what he was referring to. “I heard you defend him.”
“Well, yeah. He’s—he’s a really good friend,” I said, biting down on my lip to prevent myself from saying anything else. I avoided his gaze and chose to admire the parents in the bleachers. With all the avoiding tactics I had exerted that day, I could recreate the scene at the park from memory alone. Maybe I would put on some Bob Ross and do just that rather than analyze my emotions.
“He’s told me quite a bit about you. In fact, he’s never talked about anyone else as much as he has about you the past couple months. I see the worry in your eyes, but don’t worry. Timing is everything sometimes, don’t you think?”
I turned, Ryan giving me the same half smile Brock gives me when I do something dorky. I swallowed, the uncomfortable feeling in my throat having nothing to do with the cold. I nodded at him. “Timing is important.”
“You strike me as a patient girl. Be patient.” He patted my arm, and the urge to hug him struck me as odd. He was so genuine and kind. His words were cryptic and had some hidden meaning. “I’m going to bring the equipment into the car.”
“I’ll help you.”
“No, no. Go save him. He might be better at handling it, but he still needs a wingman every now and again. Ask him about the Rodeo night if you ever need a good laugh.”
I chuckled, deciding to go save Brock. With an urge to karate chop the woman, I walked up to them with a big ass smile.
Brock’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. “Hey guys, sorry to interrupt, but I need to steal him for a minute. We got a situation.”
The blonde gave me a sickeningly sweet bullshit smile but put her hand on his arm again. “Thank you for the chat. I’m so excited my boy will be in your hands this month. Bye now, Brock,” she purred, sauntering away with hips that couldn’t possibly swing that much. I eyed her, trying not to laugh.
“You owe me, big guy.” I looked up at him to see his eyes directed right at me. I nudged his good shoulder. “I just saved your ass from her claws.”
“I was handling it just fine.” He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the sides. “She asked for my number in case of emergencies about six times.”
“And you said no.”
“Clearly,” he said, not hiding his smile. “Hey, where’s my dad?”
“Loading some stuff into the car,” I said. “I offered to help, but he sent me to come save you.”
