The quiet that follows does nothing to quell the adrenaline pumping through my veins at the interaction.
“You’re welcome,” Sorren finally says, nodding toward the back as he starts to walk.
“It doesn’t sound so bad.”
“I’m not doing it for you,” he says, stopping short to look at me. “I’m doing it for Tanner. This is a big deal for him—putting himself out there. I have no problem being the bad guy so he can have five minutes to get his feet under him.”
“I appreciate that,” I manage, unsure what my role in all of this is. Shouldn’t I be the one defending Tanner? Am I even qualified to do that?
Would he even want me to do that?
“Good, can we get to work?”
Chuffing out a laugh, I nod. “Yeah, let’s get started.”
16
TANNER
The jiggle of the door handle is the only warning I have that Briggs is here before the door flies open and my ten-year-old races into the house. I laugh as he rounds the island and crashes into me with a fierce hug.
He always gives the best hugs.
There’s a strange flitter of emotion that washes over me that I can’t quite name as he releases me and drops his backpack on the floor. So much of my time after the divorce, those hugs were a lifeline—a buoy in the sea of unknown.
Grounding.
But this one, even though I’m over the moon to have him, feels warm and loving andgoodwithout feeling like a balm to my soul. Is it just a good day? Is it because I finally gave in and went on a date with Deacon?
“Dad!” Briggs says, rummaging through his bag as he pulls out one of those sticky hands that you can slap on windows, walls, and, if you’re really unlucky, leaves a mark on the ceiling. “I got this from the prize box because I did all my work and then I got out my book and read until everyone else was done.” He beams and so do I.
“You mean you sat quietly while you waited?” I tease, because the second the kid gets home he’s like a mini tornado. I ruffle his hair and laugh when he ducks and tries to smooth the long strands back into place. My father never would have let me grow my hair that long, and maybe that’s why I haven’t pushed Briggs to get it cut even though it’s dicey on whether or not he can see without doing that little head twitch all the kids do.
“Daaad,”he whines, “can I have a snack?”
“Sure.” He’s already in the fridge before I can get out the reply, but I appreciate the intention all the same.
“Uncle Wren let me help with the dogs and then we met your friend!” he chatters, my eyebrow arching as I look at Fallon, her lips rolled together as she tries to hold back a smirk.
Uh-oh.
“Yeah? Who’s that?”
“Deacon. He’s super tall, right?”
I nearly choke on my own saliva as Fallon shakes with silent laughter. Perfect.
“He seems like a very nice friend,” Fallon adds, mischief in her tone, andwhy the hell won’t the floor just swallow me now?
“He is,” I manage and because I’m already dying from this conversation, I figure I might as well go all the way. “Hey Buddy, can you take your stuff to your room quick? I just want to talk to your mom for a minute.”
“Sure, Dad,” he says with an eye roll that would have gotten me laps around the house at his age.
When he’s out of earshot, I turn on Fallon, but she already has her hands up, palms facing me in surrender. “He was just there.”
“What did he say?”
“That you’re friends.” Her eyebrows jump up and down. “How was your date?”
