“Well, it’s my bank. And the company’s bank. I come here a lot, actually. They always have good candy in the dishes and not just cheap lollipops.” He shrugged. “And I’ve been worrying about you all morning, so I figured I’d show up so we could either get ice cream to cheer you up or to celebrate. And this is great because celebratory ice cream tastes better than consolation ice cream.”
It was a good thing Lucy was cried out, so she was able to smile and nod without blubbering into his shirt in public. “That’s science. And when I passed Schooner Scoops while looking for parking, it might have triggered an ice cream craving.”
“Let’s go, then,” he said, and then he chuckled. “You really are a sucker for nautical puns.”
* * *
By the time Nick gave up on what he was looking for, the garage and the shed were trashed, and he’d done a pretty good job tossing the basement, too. But he’d come up empty.
How was it possible his life now included living in a house with no footballs in it?
Sure, there were several plastic bins of football memorabilia in the basement, including at least three game balls he could think of off the top of his head. A touchdown he’d run in to win the Maine Shrine Lobster Bowl Classic his senior year of high school. His first college touchdown. The ball he’d run into the endzone in a college championship. But they were older now and probably wouldn’t be holding air worth a damn.
Also, he didn’t want to open those bins. He hadn’t been able to throw the memories away, and he never would. But after his mom’s cancer was diagnosed, putting his football history away had been one of his personal stages of grief. His family had said nothing, but he’d seen the sorrow and guilt they felt, so he tried to pretend it wasn’t a big deal. It had been, though. He couldn’t look at it all anymore—the reminders of how long and hard he’d worked to be mere months from achieving his goal—and closing those bins had been a way of accepting that football was over for him.
But lately he’d been itching to hold a ball again, and it was 100 percent Lucy’s fault.
It wasn’t as if he’d totally avoided football. He watched the Patriots with his brothers or friends at the Keel, and there would be jokes made. People still liked to reminisce with him about some big play he made back in the day. Football was a part of life.
But with Lucy, it had been different. His brothers occasionally made jokes about it as if it was just something he’d done when he was younger, like Beck’s unfortunate but blessedly brief electric guitar phase. They didn’t seem to acknowledge—or didn’t want to face—that Nick had given up a part of himself. A lot of other people talked about what plays had meant tothem. Nick had never talked to anybody about what football had meant tohim.
And then she’d gone and added playing football on the beach to their shenanigans list.
The first thing he’d done after parting ways with Lucy once they’d finished their ice cream—including a little treat for Dolly, who joined them while they were ordering—was send a text to his brothers letting them know something came up and he was taking the afternoon off. Gray and Beck just hit the thumbs-up reaction to the text, but Theo wanted to know if he was sick. Or maybe possibly dying because Nickneverblew off work. Nick just said something had come up that he had to take care of.
That something turned out to be driving three towns over to buy a football. And then driving back to the cottage, where Lucy was standing on a kitchen chair, washing the top of the refrigerator.
“Didn’t you do that last week?” he asked, stepping out of his boots by the door.
“I’m bored and I have way too much energy after finding out I have a sister and then eating ice cream. But everything’s clean, and I don’t know what enough flowers are to work in the garden. And why aren’t you at work? Again.”
“We’re going to go burn through some of that energy.” When she stopped wiping and looked at him with arched eyebrows, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you have sweatpants and sneakers?”
“I have leggings and sneakers.” Did she sound a little disappointed the burning of energy required clothing, or was that his imagination?
“We’re going to the beach, but not in the water.”
He thought she’d ask a million more questions, but she jumped off the chair and returned it to its spot before disappearing into her room. He changed into a clean T-shirt and navy sweats—good ones with a strong drawstring this time—before putting his sneakers on.
“Uh-oh,” she said when she emerged from her bedroom. “If you’re wearing sneakers, we’re doing something athletic because you wear your boots foreverything. Have I mentioned I’m not very good at sports?”
He snorted, and then looked over her outfit. The leggings clinging to her long legs were distracting, but the long crewneck sweatshirt and sneakers would work. Her hair was in a thick, curly ponytail, and it looked as if she’d just put a fresh coat of sunscreen on her face.
“Grab a couple water bottles and let’s go,” he told her.
It took almost twenty minutes to drive the network of back roads to get to the tiny slice of secluded beach he’d chosen. It had more sand than rocks, and it wasn’t on the tourists’ radar. With a few days left of school and it being work hours, he’d hoped they’d be alone and he’d gotten lucky.
After grabbing the water bottles, Lucy hopped out of the truck and immediately headed for the shoreline. Nick opened the back door of the truck and grabbed the football. It felt good to have a ball in his hand again, and when she turned back to see what was taking him so long, she caught him smiling.
“Why are you grinning like that?” she demanded. “You look like a man keeping a juicy secret. Wait, are you hiding something behind your back? It better not be a fishing pole, Nick.”
He was actually keeping a couple of secrets, but he shook his head and showed her the football. She actually bounced a few times on her toes, clapping her hands.
Then he tossed the ball to her, and she put her hands over her eyes as the ball sailed past her.
“This is going to be a short game,” he said as she ran after it.
“No, I can do this!” she called back. “I wasn’t ready.”
