“Wait,” I interrupt before she can hang up. “One more thing. Can you find a location for a man named Chad who was married to Josie Thomas?”
Everyone goes silent, and I can feel Austin staring at me.
“What are you doing, Ty?” he asks. I give a quick shake of my head, waiting on Kate’s response.
“No last name?” she asks.
“You know his last name?” I ask Austin.
“Not a clue. I do know Thomas is Josie’s maiden name because it’s her grandmother’s last name. Want me to ask Penny?”
Through the phone, I hear the tap of Kate’s fingernails on a hard surface, her tell when she’s thinking. “This might be enough. If it’s not, I’ll let you know. Then you can ask Penny if I need more information. You’ll hear from me soon.” She hangs up without a goodbye, which is completely on brand for her.
I set my phone back on my console, avoiding Austin’s stare.
“Just trying to cover all my bases,” I explain.
Austin is silent for too long. “Ty,” he begins but pauses until I look over at him. “I know you want to fix this. But don’t set yourself up to be hurt.” He gives me a long look. “Josie is extremely independent. Don’t do too much at once. We signed up to coach not ten minutes ago, you’re digging up dirt on the principal, and now whatever you have planned for her ex. I know you’re the problem solver—hell, you basically solvedevery problem in my life.” Austin huffs a short laugh. “But don’t get ahead of yourself, fixing things that are better off left alone. Tread carefully.”
I give a quick nod of my chin. “Careful is practically my middle name, Austin. I got this.”
Austin knows better than anyone that I’ve been known to jump in when it might not be my problem to fix. At a young age, I learned to take charge, and it’s not easy learning a different way. But will I do more harm than good if I do too much for Jo? I’m unsure, and for the first time ever, this feels like a problem with no clear cut solution.
Heading back to the apartment, I chew over his words. Freaking Jo out is the last thing I want to do. But I also can’t sit on the sidelines while she juggles life alone. What kind of man—no, what kind of father—would I be if I sat by watching, knowing damn well I could make her life, and Abby’s and Jay’s lives easier? In my opinion, not much of one.
Jay and I turn into the Recreation Center parking lot with seconds to spare before practice begins. It’s a Saturday morning, and after a night of restless sleep, I finally gave up trying. Instead, I made a pot of coffee and dove back into my search for an art grant until the pink skies of morning peaked across the horizon. Turns out, mid-year, they are few and far between, and I’m working hard not to sink into despair.
Jay’s been playing ball outside, in shorts and a short-sleeved shirt no less. The temperature has been dropping day by day, but Jay seems unbothered by the chilly air. When I finally looked up from my laptop, I realized we only had five minutes to get to ball practice, so I ran to my bathroom, winced at my reflection, then dressed quickly and loaded us into my car.
I hustle him in, following through the doors that lead to the basketball court. But I stop dead in my tracks when I see who the coaches are. The other day the center’s secretary sent out an email informing the parents of the team that everything was handled and coaches were secured. I was so relieved I didn’t even question it. When Penny texted saying she knew the guys for the job, I don’t know how I didn’t realize who she meant. That day was a shitstorm at work. A fight broke out at lunch,which made every student a bit extra. It was such a wild day I barely had time to pee. So when her text came through I scanned it quickly, not paying much attention, much less deciphering her meaning. Seems like, between the email from the secretary and Penny’s text, I should have connected the dots, though. I’d at least have made myself more presentable if I had.
Winded from my jog across the parking lot, I adjust my Singing River Marching Band sweatshirt and attempt to tame my hair. My natural curls are wild today after letting my hair air dry—something I rarely do. Most days I take time to blow dry my hair straight. Another thing I skipped is makeup. I guess today I’m showing up exactly as I am…just me.
Tyler looks up, his eyes finding mine across the gym. I tilt my head, confused, and he gives a one armed shrug, a smile stretching across that panty-melting face of his. Austin waves big, and I return it with a wave of my own.
“Tyler!” Jay shouts, running across the court to where Austin and Tyler stand, a group of boys huddled around them. Austin and Tyler exchange high fives with Jay and they resume talking to the group.
Making my way to the bleachers, I take a seat on an empty row, surveying the crowd around me. Clearly I have been lost in my own world, because word must have gotten out who the coaches would be. The bleachers are filled with dozens of moms, some I’m certain don’t even have a kid on a team, or a kid at all. I guess they heard that Austin would be coaching.
Jealousy, a glowing green spark, flares to life in the pit of my stomach. Are they here to watch Tyler? Even in athletic shorts and a T-shirt that says Singing River Celtics, he’s a tall drink of water. Maybe even more so, seeing him all casual with those glasses perched on his angular face. I do my very best to snuff out the jealousy. Tyler isn’t mine.
Last week, though, I’m almost positive I felt his stare, hot as a brand on my ass, when I sashayed from the kitchen to paint. Iwas feeling confident when I threw in a little sway for his enjoyment.
He glances up, catching me staring, and I quickly avert my gaze. When I’m brave enough to look back up, his eyes are still on me. This time I hold his eye contact, biting my lip in what I hope is a flirty smile. The mom on the row in front of me turns, likely trying to figure out who he’s looking at, and her mouth opens in surprise.
Yes, ma’am, I can still catch a man’s eye.
Austin nudges Tyler, bringing his attention back to the kids and they get to work, running drills and practicing lay ups. Austin takes half the group and Tyler takes the other half, keeping Jay with him. Watching him patiently guide and instruct these kids stirs something inside me. Everything I’ve kept locked up tight unfurls like a fern frond in my chest, whispering dangerous things.This could all be yours,it says. Reach out and grab it.
Nope, nope, nope. Don’t go there, Josie. Dismissing my foolish thoughts, I remind myself he’s fulfilling a responsibility. This has nothing to do with me and everything to do with my kids. I’m silly to let thoughts of him being mine enter my mind. A silly fool who knows better than to hope for more than my current reality.
I know I should pay attention to practice—Jay will want to talk about it later—but instead, I’m back thinking about Tyler stepping off my porch the other day, shoebox of letters in tow. Has he read them yet? What must he think of my ramblings? Handing that box to him was hard, and I almost snatched it back before it was tucked securely under his arm. In each letter I divulged my innermost thoughts and feelings, and they helped me understand myself better as I wrote. Knowing he’d never actually lay eyes on them allowed me to be unabashedly Jo. Silly, goofy, rambly, and sometimes sad, Jo. But now, the past has come knocking and all those words on page are at his mercy.
An hour passes, my mind wandering all over the place, andAustin blows his whistle, bringing the kids to center court. They huddle around and after a few minutes Austin yells, “Celtics, on three!” All the boys throw their hands in the center of their huddle, yelling out Celtics in unison and they disperse, heading to the waiting moms on the bleachers.
I climb down the bleachers and meet Jay on the sidelines, Tyler following behind him. Tyler places one big hand on Jay’s head, and Jay grins up at him.
“Your kid’s good, Jo,” Tyler says.
