“No, nothing like that.”
My sister wiggled her eyebrows at me and made a face that very plainly said,Are you going to tell them or do I get the pleasure?
I wiped my mouth on my napkin and placed it back in my lap. “Actually, I told Jack I’d try to get him some help. He’s the one who was guilted by Eloise Carter, and apparently he doesn’t know anything about soccer. I stumbled on their practice yesterday after school, and I saw a way I could help.”
“You saw a way you could help,” Mac parroted. “Okay, Mother Teresa.”
Joan snickered.
“Wait,” Candace said. “Jack who?”
“Jack Ellis, a bartender over at Magnolia,” Mac answered helpfully. “I guess the bar is sponsoring the team, and he’s the poor sucker stuck on coaching duty.”
I watched as Candace turned that over in her head before her eyes widened. “Doesn’t he drive a motorcycle and wear a leather jacket?”
“He does,” Joan answered absently as she stirred granola into her yogurt.
My friend grinned at me excitedly.
Candace and I had binged three seasons ofSons of Anarchytogether last fall. She knew how I felt about motorcycling-riding bad boys. That they were essentially my attraction catnip.
And looking at Candace’s still-pleased expression, the one bordering on maniacal glee, she’d obviously completely missed the part about how it was all afantasy.
Normal people didn’t want to roar off into the sunset with violent MC members just because they looked good in their riding leathers. It was one thing to watch a television show and lust after fictional characters. Motorcycle gang members weren’t actually my type.
And neither was Jack Ellis.
I didn’t know if I even had a type. The only man I’d ever been with was tall and slim with light brown hair and a mustache I hadn’t been a fan of. Danny was a quiet guy who spent most of his time in garage coveralls. He was close with his family, and I didn’t think there was an adventure-seeking bone in his body. We’d been alike in that regard.
I made eye contact with Candace and gave her a subtle headshake.
She must have gotten the message because she tamped down her wide grin and didn’t say anything else about motorcycle men.
A loud cheer went up at the other end of the bowling alley, thankfully drawing everyone’s attention away from the topic of Jack. But when I tracked the hooting and high-fiving to the four grown men in the final lane, my gaze inadvertently collided with my ex-husband’s.
My stomach clenched uncomfortably, and I looked away.
I thought suddenly that I was glad Chloe wasn’t here and forced to face the decisions of her past. But it might have been nice to share this table with someone else who knew what it waslike to be divorced from one of the Begley Auto guys, instead of being surrounded by well-meaning friends and family who were getting ready to ask me again if I was holding up okay.
Chloe Rockford, my friend and the bakery assistant at Grandpappy’s, had married Keaton Begley right out of high school. They’d divorced a year and a half ago. But Chloe probably wouldn’t have cared about Keaton being in her proximity. I was sure she’d hardly notice him hollering less than fifty feet away and making a big deal out of a strike. Because Chloe was happily remarried now. She’d moved on. She probably didn’t even think about being cheated on and manipulated. Chloe had a new life, and she was living it.
I wondered how long it would take me to pull myself back together.
“Are you okay?” Mac asked quietly. Again.
I’d known it was coming. Instead of sighing, I met my sister’s concerned gaze and nodded, aiming for a reassuring smile and landing somewhere in the vicinity of a pathetic lip tremble.
Mac furrowed her brows, helpless in the face of my despair.
I hated feeling weak. Reminders of my lifebeforewere hard to shake. There had been good years in my marriage, and Danny had been my best friend for the majority of my life. I didn’t know how to put all that behind me, to stop mourning the loss and just move forward. To keep myself from begging for it back.
Maybe if Danny had given me a little more time, I could have?—
Abruptly, Mac stood, distracting me from my self-pity. She looked determined, and that never meant anything good.
“He should leave,” she spat. “We were here first. How long had you been asking to start a team? Oh, andnowhe decides to up and do it, when he never bothered before.”
“Mac, please,” I begged, fearful that she might do something public and rash.
