This is going to be really hard to maintain a friendship. I like this vision too much. A home with a family.
I nod toward the hallway, and she steps back, making enough room for me to exit. I pull the door shut halfway, then lean against the wall opposite her, dropping my hands into the pockets of my sweats and lowering my gaze just enough to catch a quick glimpse of her midriff.Fucking hell.
“You’re really good at this dad thing, I hope you know,” she says, kicking her foot forward and tapping my shin with her toe. I think she’s flirting, and while I want to do it back, I have to draw a line.
“I didn’t really have a role model for parenting, so thanks,” I say, pushing off from the wall and heading back to the living room. It’s barely eight o’clock, and it’s pouring outside. The heavy darkness makes the world feel small somehow, and it seems later than it is. I’m tired, and I’m sure Lindsey is exhausted. But my mind is too loud for me to hit the sheets just yet. I should be in the stadium right now, charting the pitcher for the next time I face him. I’m kind of glad I’m not, though. I’m glad I’m here.
Lindsey flops down on one end of the sofa, so I take the opposite side, propping my feet on the large ottoman in the center of the room. I flip through a few channels and stop when I land on that movie where Keanu Reeves plays a washed-up quarterback who goes undercover as a surfer.
“I should have married Keanu Reeves,” Lindsey jokes.
I chuckle.
“MaybeIshould marry Keanu Reeves.”
“Hmm, you two would make a pretty great couple. Can I still be your nanny?” She grabs a piece of crust from one of the pizza boxes I brought into the living room and bites it in half before shifting her gaze to me and lifting a brow.
“Lindsey, ofcourse,you would be our nanny.” I maintain my serious expression until she nods and looks away.
“Good. I’ll plan the wedding.”
Our light laughter fades as we settle into watching a young Keanu and Patrick Swayze float on long boards in the ocean. As hard as I try to keep my focus on the screen, though, my gaze keeps being pulled to my left. I catch the small movements of Lindsey’s hands in my periphery. She’s picking at her fingers and chewing at the inside of her cheek. She was doing that when her ex arrived the other day, too.
I pick up the only throw pillow in this place and toss it toward her knees; she catches it against her body and pulls her lips into a tight smile as she glares at me.
“Something on your mind?” I ask.
Her eyes narrow a bit as she holds the pillow by the seams, her fingers needling the edges as if she’s weighing whether or not to throw it back or answer my question. One of those feels safer than the other, at least for me.
“I got the boys one of those enormous Lego sets. At least, I think it’s enormous. It’s the castle. My parents actually bought it for me to give to them, though, so I feel like a fraud. And it’s not like Legos are a waterpark, or a resort, or?—”
“They’ll love it,” I say, stopping her spiral.
Her eyes snap to mine, and I can read the hurt behind them like a headline in the paper. I tilt my head and hold her stare.
“I promise,” I add.
Her body sinks a few inches deeper into the cushions as she exhales. She’s fighting so hard to keep the glassiness in her eyes from turning into actual tears. I’m not sure how to convince her that no matter what, she’s going to be her boys’ favorite. I’m not sure what happened between them, but it’s obvious who the good person is.
“My mom died when I was in college,” I begin. My heart thumps against the wall of my chest, and my palms are sweating, so I tuck them under my thighs. I’m not sure why I’m sharing this, but I am compelled to. Lindsey needs to know my credentials, how I know what an incredible mother looks like, and doesn’t.
“I’m so sorry,” she says in a soft, raspy tone.
I shake my head and briefly hold up my palm.
“No, it’s fine. I mean it. My mom was an addict, and she was never really there, even when she was. The way I grew up was, well, let’s just say it wasn’t ideal.” I wince at the memory and the confession.
Lindsey shifts in her seat, pulling one leg up and turning to face me, so I do the same. I try to hold her gaze, but it’s hard to talk about my parents and look people in the eyes. It’s something I’ve noticed before, like when I spoke to the cops the dozens of times they came to our apartment when I was a kid, or how I talked to the teachers at school, or my coaches. The moment my home life comes up, I shy away. Maybe I’m afraid of people seeing the similarities in our features—me and my parents. I don’t want to be anything like them.
“My dad was a dealer. They both were, really. My mom dealt to support her own habit, though, and it’s my dad’s fault she was hooked. At least, that’s the story she told me on the days she was semi-sober. He’s been in prison for most of my life. In and out of it, I heard. I’m not sure at this point, actually. I quit keeping tabs on him the day I left for college.”
“Brooks, that’s . . . that’s fucking awful. I’m sorry.” She drops her gaze to her lap and kneads her hands together again, so I reach across the sofa and rest my palm over her to make her stop. The touch is a pause button on living and breathing, the air suddenly still, our bodies frozen and pulse stopped. I can’t feel mine. I can’t feel hers. But I do feelher.
I swallow and move away slowly, keeping my gaze safely off to the side. “Sorry. I . . . I don’t want you to feel bad for me. That’s why I?—”
“I get it. I do that a lot. Worry, I guess?” She shrugs, and her movement draws my attention to her body. I flit my gaze up to her eyes before I derail my intentions.
“We all worry. Or we should, at least. Especially when we’re parents, so I’m learning.” I give her a lopsided smile as a breathy laugh slips out. “You’re a great mom. Even better than you are at nannying.” She quivers with a silent laugh, and her lips tinge up on the corners. She’s beautiful when she smiles. “They’re going to like the Legos. I promise.”
