He gives Decker a glance, then me. I hope he’s not registering that we were a little too close, but after he puts his keycard in the lock, he turns to Decker. “Hope you guys win it all this year.”
Then he’s gone, and my head falls back against the wall. What was I about to do?
“She’s doing better,” he says, staring at his phone, acting as though nothing just happened. “Hazel. With the hoop. She’s getting the timing down.”
How can he flip a switch and go back to normal like that? If he can, I’m going to show him I can too. I’m an excellent actress when I need to be. I’ve had years of practice, specifically with him.
“She practices every night.”
He smiles. “She told me she wants to do a neck roll at the end. I told her we’d see.”
“She didn’t tell me that.”
He shrugs. “She’s still thinking about it. I feel like she’ll decide closer to the performance.”
I laugh before I can stop myself, and he turns to look at me, the way he always has, as though my laugh is something he can locate in a room without trying. I’ve always hated how much I loved that.
The rain finally slows, and I find myself not wanting this moment to end. Wanting to draw it out.
“Mom!”
Hazel’s voice carries across the bank, high and clear, and I step back to find her twenty feet away at the edge of the pavilion, waving both arms as though she’s flagging down a rescue plane.
Monroe is behind her and doing the same thing, except screaming Decker’s name.
I raise my hand so Hazel can see me. “I should get back to her.”
“Yeah.”
I pull off his hoodie and hand it to him.
We walk out from under the overhang and head across the field.
It just goes to show—nothing good happens when I’m alone with Decker Davis.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
Decker
* * *
Leighton and Hayes’s backyard on a Sunday after a home game win is the best place to spend the evening.
The grill is going, someone’s connected the speaker to their phone, and the result is a playlist that swings between country and nineties hip-hop with no apparent logic. My bet is on Easton. Lincoln is teaching Hazel some kind of card game on the back steps while Monroe narrates her entire afternoon to anyone willing to listen. Currently it’s Foster, but he keeps glancing at Callie with an expression that says, step in. She just smiles and shrugs. I think they get off on antagonizing each other sometimes.
We’re all here except one person. I clocked it the minute I walked onto the patio, but I’m not going to ask.
We’re off tomorrow, so I have a beer in hand and am leaning back in the chair, listening to Easton and Hayes argue about a play in the fifth. Hayes argues that it was the right call, and Easton thinks we should’ve gone for third instead of first. I don’t really care because I had a good game for the first time in weeks. No mistakes. Still, I feel Harkins breathing down my neck, waiting for me to mess up.
Hayes finishes on the grill and announces that the food is ready, so everyone scrambles inside to fix a plate.
I’m about to follow when Hayes pats me on the back. “She’s not coming until later.”
I look at him, trying to keep my expression neutral.
“Penelope,” he says, as if I needed the clarification. “She had a thing.”
