But I’m not looking to be partnered off with any of the Ryan family, no matter how charming they are. I won’t choose someone like that again anytime soon, if ever.
Plus that phone call just provided the perfect reminder that my past is a mess—Iwas a mess. I come from a place so different from these people, it’s not something I can entertain as possible. So I make that clear.
“I’m honored you think any of you would fit with me, but I’m perfectly happy on my own.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Grant
Kenny Carmichael beams like he’s made of pure sunshine, points right at me, and boots the ball down the field.
He’s keeper for our soccer game, the first we’ve had this season, and I’m shocked I don’t see Finn out here. He’d been bemoaning the weather and how late in the year our season starts despite only just having snow-free fields, and now he’s missing our first practice?
“Get it together, Ryan.”
Ethan Carter shoots me a fake scowl. He’s a nice enough guy, and we’re glad to have him. A few of the team who played last year couldn’t join us, and the three Morrison men plus their German clincher, Jonas Bauer, all defected to form a different team with their wives and old friends, the jerks. All of these Silverton folk have theJuniper View contingent looking even smaller without my littlest brother.
So for now, our team is a smattering of Saint Security people, me, Finn, and Dec. Diego claimed he’d be joining, but he hurt his ankle snowboarding and didn’t want to risk this season.
We finish out the scrimmage, Kenny’s half of the team with the half-French wonder Luc and an embarrassing collection of insanely athletic people including Ethan’s brother Adam, Eddie James-Williamson, Wilder Saint, and Tristan and Winnie Donnelly crush us. I blame Finn’s absence.
“You guys nearly had us,” Kenny says, clapping his hand on my back.
“Right. Very nearly,” I say, not actually all that concerned about the embarrassing end score. I haven’t been running so I was winded as hell, Dec’s ball-handling is solid, but he hasn’t played in years, and Jude’s son is teething so he’s downright exhausted. Kieran’s insanely good but he can only do so much when the rest of us are gassed. We’re down Finn, and we’re missing a few others who couldn’t be here, especially Wyatt and Warrick Saint, both of whom are big guys, and Warrick’s past life as an NFL player is always handy for speed and size and, well, everything. When we all play on the same team, we’ll be in much better shape.
I try not to notice the Donnelly couple’s tender interaction by the bench, but just as soon as I turn away from them, I see tiny Eddie bolt across the grass toward a tall man exiting a black SUV who must be her uber-famous husband back from some far-flung place.
“Ohhh, Bri Bri’s back!” Kenny chuckles, then shouts, “Get it, Ed!”
I roll my eyes because he’s so much like Finn, sometimesI’m surprised when it’s Kenny saying something obnoxious and not my little brother.
“Hey, what’s going on with the missing person?” It hasn’t been far from my mind, and Kenny and the rest of the Saint crew are tapped into Silverton PD’s updates even more than I am.
“All clear. Turns out she had needed a ‘mental health break’ or something, but really, she had temporarily run away.” His eyes flare wide.
With a shake of my head, I sigh. “Better than the alternative, I guess.” Though it’d be great if instead of disappearing off the face of the earth, people would just use their words. Or maybe even post a social media update, if nothing else.
Wilder quietly agrees to this, then departs with a farewell, and Adam lost track of all of us when his wife pulled up to pick him up. Ethan’s packing his bag while chatting with the remaining people, including Kieran. I should bug him about showing up to family dinner again soon.
Dec waves as he heads out—he’s rarely one to hang around and chat, and we’ll debrief later. Or I’ll make him.
“Yeah, could’ve been worse for sure,” Kenny says, eying his phone.
“Odds of kidnapping in Silverton are pretty high, so yeah. It makes sense why that’d be the assumption when someone drops off the radar.”
I wait for him to glance up at me.
His expression is unamused. “Just say it.”
I shrug. “Say what?”
“Grant William Wallace Ryan, you know what you want to say.”
I snort a laugh. “My middle name is not William Wallace. He’s one of the most famousScottishpeople ever.”
“Statistically likely based on every single person in your family.”
There’s no chance I’m admitting my middle name is, in fact, Liam. I can’t give him the satisfaction even though it’s not short for William but technically for my great-grandfather Ulliam, and now, I’m not going to pull my punches. “Again, Wallace is Scots, not Irish. And I’m just saying, the statistical likelihood here is that when in Silverton, beware of kidnappings.”
