Page 138 of On His Team

He smiles and goes back to the skate.

I almost send Rowan a screenshot. My hand actually reaches for my phone. Then I stop. Not because I don’t want to tell him. Because I realize he already knows.

I told him Sunday that registration had passed forty. He asked how many volunteers I had. Yesterday while we were eating, he asked if Derek ever answered me about the second locker room.

Somewhere along the way, Rowan has gotten woven into this project enough that I don’t need to report every single development in real time.

That feels nice too. Annoyingly nice.

I finish the staffing schedule a little after five, send it to myself before I can destroy it with unnecessary revisions, and go home.

Lucy is sitting cross-legged on the couch with her laptop open and one of Benson’s Camden hoodies on, which means she has apparently stopped pretending half of her wardrobe does not belong to my brother.

I drop my bag.

“You know he owns other clothes.”

She looks down at the sweatshirt. “This is mine. He gave it to me.”

I walk into the kitchen. “What do you want for dinner?”

“I already ate.”

I stop. “With who?”

“Benson.”

“At five?”

“He had an early dinner.”

“That is not dinner. That’s an elderly person’s lunch.”

Lucy laughs.

I open the freezer. There is nothing useful inside. I eat cereal.

The entire time, I am aware that Rowan has not texted me since class.

I refuse to care.

At seven, my phone buzzes.

I care immediately.

Rowan: How many kids now?

I smile.

Me: 48.

Rowan: Shit.

Me: Good shit or bad shit?

Rowan: Good.

Me: You could use more words occasionally.