“Yeah, he likes keeping busy.” He looked over the complex toward the parking lot to his father’s lean figure carrying a duffel to his black SUV. “How did he look out here today?”
“What do you mean?” I turned to look at him, concern etched on his face. “Physically or emotionally?”
“Being around kids. Dina would be eight now. These kids are a couple years older, but how did he handle it? I tried to keep my distance and focus on the injuries as they came.”
“Your dad was happy with how happyyouwere helping out. Every time I saw him, he was watching you and smiling. I think he handled it just fine.”
Brock just nodded at me.
I understood. This was an emotional day for the both of them, and I didn’t want to intrude. “Why don’t you go help your dad finish with the equipment, and I’ll make sure we got everything picked up?”
“Sure.” He smiled at me, eyes warming the softest blue before he took off running toward his dad. I felt someone clench their hand around my heart as I watched the two of them. It reminded me of my mom and I, the close unbreakable bond. Damn it, emotions were taking control of my life, and I needed to get them on lock.
After making sure there wasn’t a thing left behind in the park, I headed back to the parking lot to find Brock carrying a large, heavy box from his dad’s car to his own. “Hey, I can help!”
“Shut up, Grace. I got it,” Brock answered with a strained voice.
I shared a look with his dad. Brock was overdoing it. I released a breath, going to Ryan’s trunk.
“Anything else heavy in here?”
“No, he managed to pick up the exact thing I tried to help him with.” He sighed, shaking his head. “He’s going to hurt himself.”
“Stubborn ass,” I mumbled, earning a chuckle from Ryan.
Brock came back, breathing heavier than normal.
I pointed to his chest, “Chill out. Go sit in the car.”
“Excuse me?” One of his lips curled up in a shocked grin.
“Your dad and I will get the rest. Go sit.”
“I don’t think you remember how this works. You don’t get to boss me around.” He crossed his strong, perfectly sculpted arms. “Dad, come on.”
“No, son. She’s right. Go sit your stubborn ass down,” Ryan said, fighting a smile. “Let the strong ones handle it.”
“I don’t like you both teaming up on me. It’s bullying.”
“You’ll get over it, big guy.” I patted his chest before going back to the car. “Now stop chatting. I’m hungry.”
“You’re always hungry,” Brock mumbled, but he obeyed and went to wait outside his car. Ryan and I loaded the final six boxes into Brock’s SUV, and Ryan shook my hand and hugged Brock before heading out for the day. It was already nine p.m. on a Thursday, and we had a long day the next morning. I planned on drinking warm beverages and relaxing for the rest of the night.
“What was in those boxes, anyway?” I asked as Brock opened the door for me to get in. He insisted on driving me there. He had a thing about driving me places. I needed to find out why.
“Old football stuff from their storage. They want to downsize their house and are trying to get rid of it. I have probably ten boxes of shit there.” He started the car, the familiar route to his house only taking ten minutes. “I don’t know what to do with it, honestly. I don’t want to throw it away, but I won’t use it.”
“Is it old equipment or trophies?”
“Some of it, yes. Old posters, cleats, newspaper clippings and stuff like that.” He exhaled, glancing at me briefly at the stop light. “Were you in any hurry to get back to your place?”
“I’m in a hurry to eat and sleep, but no. I have no plans tonight.” My heart skipped a beat. We hung out all the time. During work, after work, at night, on weekends, but we were not dating. We were friends. Did I want to hang out with him more? Hell yeah.
“How about this. You help me unload these into my creepy basement, and I’ll cook you a late dinner?”
“Deal.”
As soon as we arrived, we each took a couple of boxes down the creepy basement stairs. He chose the far corner to stack the boxes, but when one fell over, all sorts of colored jerseys fell out. “Oh my gosh!”
