Always with the fucking running. Was she really that impossible to live with?
Self-loathing swirled in her brain. She couldn’t spend her life questioning his motivations. She couldn’t waste what little free time she had aching to be in his arms, to be the one he stepped up for, the one he fucking stayed for.
He either wanted her, or he didn’t. And no amount of making eyes at her across the arena when he should have been paying attention to the game, changed the fact that when things had gotten even a little complicated, he’d fled—yet again.
The buzzer at the end of the third period had barely sounded when she bounded to her feet, grabbed Mason by the arm, and hauled his reluctant ass from the arena.
He kept grumbling and asking why they couldn’t hang out for a while to catch up with Elliott, but Clare just wanted to be as far away from him as possible. If he could run from things that made him uncomfortable, she could too. And she could only hope it fucking worked.
Chapter 20
Clare
“Monday, Monday.” Clare pulled the car onto her street. Her bones ached and her left eye twitched. She was going to feed the beasts, then collapse into bed. Work had been a shit show, and she was already over Monday. All-the-way-over it.
“Ba-da ba-da-da-da.” Cat and Mason sat together in the back seat, bobbing their heads as they joined in with her singing. They had far more vocal talent than she did, but she enjoyed the fact she was teaching them—as Mason called them—really old songs, and that they still entertained her after what felt like a long day at the office.
“So good to me.”
A yawn surprised her as they rounded the final corner to the house interrupting her crooning. While it wasn’t late by any means—she’d gotten away from the office just after lunch time as a rare treat and picked up groceries on her way—everything just felt like a little more work these days.
“Mom?” Mason shifted forward between the seats, his arm outstretched, finger pointing. “Whose cars are those by the house?”
She slapped at his arm. “Mason! Seatbelt! Sit back. We aren’t in the driveway yet.”
Three SUVs were parked at the curb in front of her house, not blocking her way into her garage, but still in her space. Maybe they were there visiting the neighbors?
A tall, dark, shirtless figure made his way across her front lawn and her heart sped up. The man—vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t quite place him—had his arms full with a bag of what looked like leaves.
Who would strip half naked to steal leaves from someone’s yard?
She reversed into the driveway, catching his eye as she threw the car into park and laughing as he struggled to shift the oversized bag enough to give her a smile and a wave. He definitely looked like he was supposed to be there, and the grubby marks over his cheeks and arms coupled with the sweat glistening on his way-too-young body suggested he had been there a while.
“Mom?” Mason asked, “Why is Russell Stewart in our yard hugging our leaves?”
Catriona’s head snapped up from her phone. In the rear view, Clare made out the smallest of smiles teasing at her daughter’s lips.
“Eyes forward, young lady. He’s too old for you.”
An eye roll, a sigh, and a flick of her hand followed. “I don’t even like that one.”
“That one.” Clare’s heart stopped dead in her chest. Those two words suggested that Cat liked a different “one,” and Clare wasnotready for her daughter to be involved with a jock.
She fanned herself, not quite knowing what the fuck was going on, and sucked in a shaky breath. As tempting as it was to stay in her car, she couldn’t hide from whatever was happening in her yard forever. No matter how much she might have wanted to.
“All right, let’s get out and figure out why the hell there’s a half-naked Snow Pirate carrying yard waste to our trash cans.” She eased out of the vehicle and shuffled to the trunk.
“Hey, Ms. Reynolds.” Russell tossed the bag into the open trash can and gave her another wave. “Got groceries?”
She nodded, still not able to find her voice.
“I’ll get ‘em for you.” He jerked his head. “You should head out back.”
Would things make sense in the backyard? Or would her yard magically strip her of her shirt, too?
She might have been an old lady, damned near old enough to be Russell’s momma, but the light kept catching his shiny, ripped chest, and it took everything to make herself stop staring.
As she approached the side gate to the yard, a hive of activity met her ears, chatting, laughter, the sound of a saw cutting through wood, and pop music playing from God only knew where.
