I bite my lower lip.
“You know I want to fucking kiss you so hard right now, right?”
“I know,” she says, smirking as she rounds the front of her van and opens the driver’s side door.
“What are you guys talking about? What’s funny? Why is Brooks so happy?” Her boys pepper her with questions, and she looks to me to fix the mess I made. She doesn’t seem upset, though. Instead, it’s like she’s challenging me.
“We had a bet that if I hit a home run, I could bring home donuts for second dinner. And guess what?” I say, earning me a killer eyeroll from Lindsey.
“You hit one!” Riggs shouts.
“Yep! I’ll pick them up on my way home. You guys get ready for bed, okay?”
I shift my gaze to Lindsey and she mouths, “I’m going to kill you.” She doesn’t mean it, though; I’ve seen her with a chocolate long john. She’s happy about the donuts, too.
“See you in twenty minutes,” I say, pushing Lindsey’s door shut, then waving goodbye.
I wait for my family—my family—to pull out of the lot before I head to the players’ section where my SUV is parked. I press the remote start to get the engine going and start my seat warmer. That shit feels amazing on a sore back. A man pops up from the driver’s side undercarriage when I start the truck,and I stop with the length of the vehicle between us, feeling my pocket for my phone. I’ve never wanted one of those pocketknife keychains until right this moment.
“Can I help you?” I say, my senses pinging every clue around me. I smell weed in the air, and there are enough lights out here that I’m sure the security camera is picking this up. I’m okay. This is okay.
“Hey, man. Sorry, I was just sitting by your ride and waiting for you to come out. Name’s Marcus. I’m a big fan.” The guy is clearly a bit out of it. He sways on his feet as he attempts to walk toward me. I hold up a palm to stop him.
“Whoa, that’s good, man. We’re good. Nice to meet you, Marcus.” I shift my feet, guarding my stance so I’m ready for anything.
“This truck of yours, your mom give that to you?”
My gaze narrows on a dime.
“Marcus, I think you need to leave.” I pull my phone out, no longer caring if he sees me calling the cops.
“Oh, hey. No, no. It’s not like that. Just, I recognized it is all. Your mom and me, well, I knew her. I sold her this SUV. You were in college, I think. Maybe high school.”
I was in college, but Marcus doesn’t need to know shit about me.
“You ever think about selling it?” he says.
“Marcus, I’m calling the cops in about three seconds.”
“Yeah, I hear ya. It’s just, I really liked this car, ya know? And I’d buy it back. If you were selling it. Maybe get yourself a fancy new ride with that signing bonus.”
“I’m dialing now,” I blurt out, pressing the red button on my phone. I put it on speaker so he can hear the ring.
“Fuck, dude. Fine. I’ll go. Shit,” he mutters, hiking up his jeans that sag well below the band of his red boxer shorts. His face is neatly shaven, but his body is skinny, and as he wandersinto the darkness on the other side of the security fence, I catch the flare of a lighter flame and the glowing end of a smoke. Probably a joint.
“Nine-one-one, what’s?—”
“I’m sorry. That was an accidental dial. Thank you.” I end the call, but stick around the bright parking lot for a few minutes until I can’t see Marcus and his joint glowing in the distance. He walked the opposite direction from where I’m going, but I’d be a whole lot happier if he never showed up at all.
He’s a junkie. Probably dealt with my mom. Or paid off some debts by giving her this SUV. And he’s right, I should sell it. There’s no sentimental value in it whatsoever. It was more of a trophy for my survival. But now, it’s dangerous, especially if Marcus wants it back. Hell, maybe I’ll trade the guy at the donut shop for it. A dozen long johns for one big pain in my ass.
TWENTY
LINDSEY
I’m still not convinced this is a good idea. In fact, I’m sure it’s not. But I feel young and excited, like I’ve been given a second chance to experience a great love story, so I’m going to stuff those worries deep down while I’m away with Brooks. I deserve to enjoy this.
The boys are excited for their weekend with their dad, which helps. He’s taking them camping, which . . . I don’t think Brandon knows much about. But he’s going with our old neighbors, who have three boys of their own. I suspect the reason Deacon and Riggs like going to their father’s so much is ninety-nine-point-nine percent due to seeing their friends down the street. Two weekends ago, the neighbors were gone, and the boys were miserable.
