Page 27 of Sterling Stone

“I’m gonna start the grill,” I announce, needing space from . . . everyone. I don’t consider myself a quitter, but I’m forfeiting.

“What about the game? We need a pitcher,” Sebastian whines, like he’s still ten and in competition with Ford.

“Hudson can do it. It will be good practice for him,” I toss over my shoulder about my eleven-year-old nephew who plays baseball for the Haven Hitters, the 12-and-under travel baseball team Cort coaches.

I’m aware of the irony.

Cort. Cort. Cort. It’s all I’ve heard for weeks.

And now this.

Tallulah.

“He’s already pitching for Clay’s team,” someone hollers back, but I keep walking, tucking my mitt underneath my arm.

“Stone.” Vale’s soft, concerned voice follows me. Her feet thump behind me.

“Not now.” This isn’t about her. With my back to her and my arm raised, I flick my hand in a signal to stay back. “I’m just gonna start the grill,” I lie again. Last year, we waited until the game ended and beers were shared before anyone left the makeshift field.

As I continue to stomp toward the house, the soft crunch of gravel behind me eventually has my head turning.

Hope rose, but instantly falls when I realize it is not Taxi.

“Why don’t you let me help?” Mary Haven’s motherly voice stalls me in my tracks. With a tight nod, I agree, allowing her to catch up to me.

Walking side by side, she squints at the house. “Place looks good, Stone.” Pride fills her voice, like she knows the effort it has taken to restore this place. A house is just a house, but I’ve worked hard to make it a home. Give this place curb appeal on the outside and love on the inside.

“Thanks,” I mumble.

I wait for her to say what so many others say. Your mama would be proud.

I hope so.

Most people don’t like to mention my father.

I’d want to make him proud as well, although he doesn’t deserve the sentiment. He’d turned into such a disappointment. Into someone I no longer recognized. Eventually, I could hardly remember the man he’d been, the dad he was, compared to the father he turned out to be.

Most days, however, I don’t like to be told I’d make either parent proud because it makes me sound like a saint when I am definitely not worthy of the praise. And I’d give anything to have them both back.

Seeming to read my mood, Mary quietly follows me into the house.

“I’m just gonna take a quick shower.” Typically, I wouldn’t care if I stink. No one else is going to freshen up after playing in the sun and heat. I have no one to impress, but my mind leaps to Tallulah. Taxi.

My Delilah.

“Take your time,” Mary suggests as she heads for the kitchen like she’s been here only yesterday and not twenty years ago. I take the stairs leading to the second floor, skipping every other step.

On the first floor, I have a bedroom and a space I converted into an office, and my personal bathroom is the one across the hall down there, allowing Vale and Hudson to have the second floor to themselves. Wanting distance, I intend to use the upstairs bathroom for a shower instead.

With thoughts of Taxi in my head, my dick stands at attention, and my personal punishment is to refuse to touch him. I will not get myself off to thoughts of a woman who is refusing to look at me. Refusing to acknowledge me. Like that mind-melting kiss never happened.

For half a second, I hang my head, pressing my hand against the tiled wall and glaring at my erection.

Images of Taxi on her knees in front of me fill my thoughts. Then come images of my hands on her hips and me gliding into her.

I tip my head back, blinking up at the steam-filled ceiling, groaning, “Why?”

Why is she here? Why is she acting so cold?