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“No worries, Roberts. I won’t steal your girl,” Lane boasted.

“She’s not my girl.” Even though I could get used to the way that sounded. My girl.

“She most definitely is your girl. She just doesn’t know it yet.” Lane howled in laughter at his own joke. “Let me know when you need my wooing skills. They’re available for the low, low price of $19.99 a month, but if you act now, I’ll plan a date that’ll sweep her off her feet.” Lane used his best infomercial voice. His utter insanity shined brightly. He was a lunatic sometimes.

I looked at Jonah and he shook his head.

“Dude. If you have such amazing wooing skills, then why’re you still single?” I laughed.

“Why settle for one when you can have some variety?” Lane’s eyebrows bounced as his arms slung wide. I scoffed because I knew all about variety, and the high cost of it all.

“Jokes aside. She seems like a girl worth getting to know,” Jonah affirmed in his quiet way. Without a doubt, she was.

“I’m out. I’ve gotta fly to Atlanta tomorrow for some meetings, but I’ll be back Tuesday if you guys want to fight?” Lane said, glancing down at his phone.

Lane had retired from the MLB last year but was still involved in numerous business pursuits, especially his organization that provided a safe space for kids after school. There were only a handful of people in the world that knew how many things he funded. All jokes aside, Lane was one of the best people I knew. He was straightforward with his hookups, but I couldn’t live that life anymore. I’d been burned too badly, and now, I wanted more than something casual. It wasn’t enough. Lane grabbed his gear and headed out, tossing out a quick, “Call if you need anything.”

Jonah was the quietest of our trio. He intimidated most people he met, but underneath the tattoos, muscles, beast size stature, and pensive assessing focus, he had a heart of gold. The dude had a library with a rolling ladder and everything. The classic example of why it was never okay to judge a book by its cover.

“What are you going to do?” His deep, even voice asked. His muscled arms crossed over his chest.

“I don’t know, man.” I ran my hand through my hair. “This might sound crazy, but it’s like I feel this pull . . . I have to get to know her better, but I’ve screwed around so much before, and I don’t want to treat her like that. I can’t play games with her.” Jonah was my go-to when I needed sound advice.

“Then don’t,” he simply replied.

A puff of air blew past my lips.

“Okay. Well, thanks for nothing,” I drew out.

“No. It’s that simple, Sor. If you want something different, you have to do something different.”

His dark eyes watched me closely. He was right. If I wanted something different from the chaos I had before, I’d have to do something different. I’d have to be different. The thing was that I was different. I wasn’t the reckless, grieving brother anymore that used alcohol and sex to try to fill a void. A void that only increased in size regardless of how often I had tried to fill it.

“Since high school, I’ve never not had the end goal of getting some, but with her it’s different.” I studied the large American flag on the gym wall. “Man. I don’t know. She’s different. I’m not sure I’m ready for a relationship, but something tells me I’d be a fool to let her get away.”

“Take the time to get to know her,” Jonah advised.

For a man who rarely talked about his own dating life, Jonah had a point. All I had to do was get to know her and simply see how it went. The question was whether I had the ability to date like that without screwing things up. After all, I had a track record of ruining the things I loved.

Chapter

Thirteen

Soren

“Hey, sweetheart!” my mom crooned in my ear as though I was a kid coming home from the first day of kindergarten. She had good intentions. Abel’s death had affected us all differently, and it had made her more affectionate than she had already been, and sometimes it was downright embarrassing. It sounded like she was taking a fitness class because I could hear instructions in the background and eighties music. She sounded slightly out of breath, and someone yelled, “Raise your left leg higher!”

To which she mumbled, “Lucinda, I’ve had two nine-pound toddlers walk outta this body. It doesn’t raise like that anymore!” I rubbed my hand across my eyes, trying to resist awkward laughter.

“Hey, I have a question for you,” I say.

“Oh good! Because I have answers.” She quipped with a laugh. There was a song from the sixties pumping in the background now while someone continued to yell out instructions.

“Do you remember Abel having a friend named Sawyer?”

“Hmmmm . . . do you know when?” she asked with a puff.

“In elementary school. She was a foster child. She may have lived near Sally Thomas.”