Thanks, angel. GTG. Have fun at Reed’s game today.
Have fun at yours. Go kick some ass.
Always.
I practically float through the rest of the day. I’m toasty warm in the stands all through the game, and Southwest Junior High wins, thanks to a well-kicked field goal.
I check for updates on the Rogues’ game regularly and let out a little cheer when they win too. What I definitelydon’tdo is stare at photos of Logan in his game-day suit from before the game or a few close-up action shots someone caught mid-play.
I feellike my entire life revolves around sports.
Working for the Rogues means hockey is a permanent part of my day, even if I’m not actively watching it. And now that Reed’s on his school team, I’m spending my evenings picking him up from practice, going to his games, or worrying about where the money will come from for the gear he needs and the activities they’re supposed to do.
My job pays well, but there’s not a lot of wiggle room, and I’m trying to save for Reed’s college. Every spare penny I earn goes into savings. And that’s not even taking the holidays into account. Thanksgiving is coming up, and Christmas will be here before we know it. It’s just a lot of extra stuff to buy.
Since it’s only the two of us, we’ll probably order out somewhere for Thanksgiving, so I don’t have to buy a whole spread, but I haven’t even started thinking about Christmas gifts yet. I make sure Reed’s Christmases feel special. Our mom and dad always went all out for us, and he deserves for me to continue that tradition.
I may need to pick up a side gig and do some food deliveries for the next month, so I can afford everything he’ll need. It’s exhausting just thinking about it.
A knock on the door pulls me from my worries and thoughts, and I curse when I check the time on my phone. It’s 5:45, exactly. Logan is certainly punctual. Pulling my hoodie over my head, I shout, “Coming!”
“Hey,” Logan says, amusement playing over his features as he looks me up and down. I’m momentarily breathless from running from my room to the door. “Am I too early?”
“No. No, I’m just running a little behind. Come on in. I just need to get my shoes and coat on.” I wave Logan in, little butterflies taking flight in my stomach as he takes in my space. I’m acutely aware of how it looks.
Plain cream walls, a small, used dining room set we picked out after we sold our parents’ table. It was too large and too formal for a small apartment. The couch is much nicer, since we did bring that from home, so it doesn’t match the rest of the small pieces Reed and I cobbled together from secondhand shops and Ikea. There’s a blanket my grandma crocheted folded on the back of the couch, and photos of Reed and me with our parents all over the place.
I’m sure it looks like a hodge-podge mess compared to his place. No doubt Logan’s house is super modern, with matching everything, and nothing’s ever out of place.
“Are these your parents?” Logan asks as I grab my boots and lace them up.
“Yeah.”
He picks up my favorite photo, one of the four of us on the last Christmas morning before they died. My heart aches as I wonder what he sees. I’m hugging my dad’s shoulders, his wavy red hair a little wild and chaotic after sleeping, glasses, and pale face full of freckles—Reed inherited those—as he smiles brightly at my mom, who hugs an almost-eight-year-old Reed. She’s practically glowing with happiness. Her rich brown skin is warm in the lights of the Christmas tree, her eyes glittering and smile wide. She was wearing her hair in that way that I loved—finger coiled into a dark halo around her head.
We were so happy. None of us had any idea what was coming. Sometimes I wonder if it would have been easier if we had.Would we have enjoyed our last moments together more if we knew they were limited? Or would our last months have been heavy and ruined with the knowledge of what was to come?
“They look amazing.” Logan’s voice is soft as he studies my expression. “You can tell they loved you both very much.”
My throat tightens as I rise from the couch and move to stand beside him. “They did. They should be here to go to Reed’s game.”
Logan’s attention doesn’t waver from the family photos, but his hand seeks mine out, and I hold my breath when he interlaces our fingers. “I’m not really sure if I believe in heaven and hell and all that, but I do believe they’re watching over you. Somehow, some way, they’re there at every single game with you both.”
“I hope so,” I choke out. When my voice cracks, Logan gives my hand a gentle squeeze. We simply stand there for a moment: me piecing myself back together, Logan offering me his unexpected silent support.
Who is this man? I’m not sure I can trust his change of heart, but I want to. I really do. His hand is large and warm as it holds mine. Steady. Who knows if this is a onetime thing? He could go back to hating my guts in the next breath, but I hope he doesn’t. I could get used to this.
“We should get going,” he says softly, breaking the silence. Turning toward me, his gray eyes bounce across my face. It makes my palms clammy, and I pull my hand from his.
“Yeah.” When I pull my new coat—the one he bought—from the closet and tug it on, my cheeks and chest flush with warmth.
“Fits perfect,” he says, coming to stand in front of me. His lips quirk on one side, forming a charming, lopsided grin that makes my belly flutter. And when he beats me to the zipper and gently tugs it up to my chin, I suck in a sharp breath. “Ready?”
“Yeah.”
That grin of his grows at my breathy response before turning into a full-blown smile when he brushes a curl away from my face, and I let out a startled littlesqueak.
“Come on, angel.” Then he laces his fingers through mine again and doesn’t drop my hand until he’s ushering me into the passenger seat of his SUV.
