Page 3 of Read With Your Heart

Standing at center court, I turn, rush the hoop, and slam the ball through the net, hanging for a moment with my hands wrapped around the rim. My feet dangle below me as I’m suspended in the air, and that’s exactly how I feel about my life.

Suspended.

It happened often enough back in high school. It meant being outside the norm away from friends and spending a day in the house while my parents both worked. I’m not far off as a damn adult, living outside what I know, away from anyone I knew, and spending my time working without much contact with my parents.

Papi is disappointed in me, and Mami just cries. I couldn’t face them either before . . . or after my time.

I drop to my feet, the thud hard and rippling up my body. My motorcycle boots are not the best set of shoes for playing on a hard court. I scoop up the ball, pushing away thoughts of my parents, my family, my old life, and stash it where I first found it tucked behind some bushes. Someone else either set it there for this same purpose or lost it and forgot all about it.

I’d almost consider myself lost, but I chose to be in this place. I look up at the first stars shining in the dimming sky, and I inhale the freshness of the early fall air around me.

You’d have to know me to understand why it’s all a novelty and important to me.

And as no one knows me here, I don’t expect anyone to ever understand.

+ + +

After my basketball stop, I head to the bar—Town Tavern. It’s the only place in town for a beer, and it’s not even a seedy place. Just a decent spot with booths along one wall, a bar opposite them, and tables down the center. A pool table stands in the back, but I’ve yet to see anyone playing on it.

I’m crossing the alley from my place to the bar, nearing the back door when it flies open, and a woman stalks out. She pushes the door so hard it swings backward against the brick and then quickly bounces back. She isn’t watching where she’s walking. With her face toward the ground, she mumbles something, and I still.

She crashes into me.

Instinctively, I reach out for her, catching her at the elbows before she falls on her backside from the force of plowing into me. When her head snaps up, her hands land on my chest, and I’m hit with the saddest eyes in the prettiest color I’ve ever seen. Under the alley lamp, gold flecks dance in the brown circles rippled with traces of green. They’re like the forest scattered around this town, and I want to get lost in the woods.

“Sorry,” she mutters. My hands remain on her elbows, holding her in place so she doesn’t tumble.

“No problem,” I say, slowly smiling down at her and catching the way her eyes follow the curl of my lips. Here’s the other thing about this small town—I haven’t gotten laid since I’ve been here. Six months. I’m out of practice on my flirting game, but I want to flirt with her.

“What’s this?” A gruff voice cuts into the moment, and I look up to find a man dressed like a hunter. Camouflage T-shirt and green cargo pants with black combat boots and a ball cap to match his shirt. The entire ensemble is too warm for the still-summer heat. And if he had a gun, he’d probably shoot me, given I’m standing like a deer in headlights and still holding the girl.

His girl, from the look in his eyes.

My hands instantly lift off her, holding them upright like I surrender. It’s a position I’m all too familiar with.

“None of your business, Trent,” the woman snaps, and I swallow around the fact I don’t like her answer any more than him. I don’t need any trouble in this town.

“Look, man, she just bumped into me. No harm. No foul.” I peer down at her, but she’s looking up at me, and something in her eyes tells me foul play has happened. I can’t completely read her, though, so I don’t know what she wants from me. Her pleading eyes stab at my chest, but I’m not looking to get between a man and his woman. That’s already happened to me in the past, and I won’t be doing it again.

Only, her fingers slowly curl into my T-shirt, which I’m suddenly aware is a bit sweaty from my time on the courts. I didn’t change. Figured I’d get a beer, then go home and shower. Relax. Enjoy the quiet.

The situation in front of me looks anything but peaceful.

“Why do you still have your hands on him, then?” This Trent dude addresses the woman, and she glances down at her hands and then releases me. Her fingers splay, and she holds her palms inches from my abs as though she can’t completely remove them from my midsection. Instinct tells me to grab her wrists. Common sense says don’t get involved.

The trouble with me is I don’t have much common sense, so I grip her wrists and glance up at the guy, not liking the tone of his voice or the glare he’s giving this woman.

“You came to the bar with another woman. Why do you care?” she snaps at him, and I relinquish her wrists, feeling funny about letting her go. My palms tingle at the imprint of her delicate bones under them.

“And now you’re hooking up with a guy in the alley?” Trent calls back to her, taking a step toward us. She hesitates no more than two seconds before she takes a step back, stepping on my foot and then bringing hers back to the ground as if she intends to stand against him. But he scared her. She flinched, and I noticed. So did he, and his eyes narrow.

“It’s over, Trent,” she says, her voice quivering despite her attempt to fight it. I practically hear her swallow.

I have no issue here. I shouldn’t still be standing here listening to this lover’s quarrel. I don’t give a rat’s ass if they want to argue or break up or be jealous of one another, but there’s something in the way this beauty stands before me. Still close. Still trembling. Her fingers clench to fists at her sides as if she’s trying to hold herself together or prevent herself from hitting him.

“It ain’t over yet,” Trent hisses. His eyes leap up to mine. “You’re still my wife.”

Dayam.