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She shakes her head and looks down at her lap. When she looks up at me her eyes are soft and full of emotion. “It’s my dream house. I’ve never been inside—not until the day we toured with Coleman. It’s even better than I imagined. It’s perfect.”

“It really is,” I agree. “And it’s your dream house.”

I’m processing her reactions in light of this revelation. It all makes so much more sense now.

“Yes.” She shakes her head again as if it’s crazy to have a dream house. “I’d never afford it. As much as I love football, the Thunder hasn’t recruited me yet, so I’m not looking at a salary that would cover the mortgage. And then you came in … putting in an offer.”

“On your dream house.”

“Yeah.”

No wonder she hated me. She already had a grudge. If only I had known. Not that I’d have rescinded my offer. I want the house.

“It’s my dream house too,” I tell her. “We have some Queen Anne homes in Mississippi. I remember riding by them on my bike when I was a kid.”

“They must have felt like castles to you.”

I nod. I can’t look at her. She’s studying me.

I’d kiss her. I know I would. She’s right here and she knows me. She sees past the fame and the occasional bravado to the man I am—the boy I was. She spends her spare hours serving the people with the greatest needs in her community. She’s feisty, but she has a heart that’s so unexpected.

I study the fireplace. “I’d ride past those mansions, pretending I found a bag of money. I cooked up a very elaborate daydream over time. I’d walk up to the door and knock and tell the owners I wanted to buy their house. When I opened the bag of money, their eyes would bug out and they’d start packing. Then I’d move my family in there. Everyone could have their own bedroom. And I’d get my own bathroom.”

“Having your own bathroom is the very definition of wealth,” she says, a note of teasing in her voice, but when I turn to look at her, the teasing is gone.

“I had a good childhood,” I tell her.

“Your mom sounds amazing,” she says.

“She’s a rock star. You’d love her.”

And she’d love you.

I don’t say it. We might be sharing a love for well-crafted homes, but Cass and I are not really dating.

My mom will never meet Cass.

And before the season’s over, I’ll move into Cass’s dream home—alone.

Chapter 26

Cass

Beyond a certain point there is no return.

~ Franz Kafka

“You need a nudge,” Winona says to me.

It’s Saturday morning. We’re relaxing in the living room. I’ve got a fire in the fireplace just because it’s nearly Thanksgiving and the weather calls for it. These are the kinds of mornings I live for—me and Winona, no agenda, just hanging out talking about nothing and everything.

The Thunder had a home game Thursday night. Winona and I went and cheered them on. They lost to the Patriots. After the game, I battled as to whether to call Marcus. If we were real I would have come to his place, let him talk it out. Comforted him while he worked through the grief and frustration.

I knew he was up in his head. I didn’t have to talk to him to know that. Ultimately, I ended up texting him to say I was sorry about his loss. He texted back thanking me for thinking of him. I made a joke about him not being the best company for himself. He joked back that I’d be surprised at what good company he can be.

I wouldn’t. I’m slowly coming to know the Marcus beneath the bossy, domineering, seemingly self-centered man. And he is good company. Unfortunately. It would be far easier to end things if he were the man I thought he was at the outset.

“A nudge for what?” I ask my sister.