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“I’m sorry. I missed what you said.” His too observant eyes roved my face, making me feel exposed but not uncomfortable.

“I played baseball and football in high school. I could teach you the rules if you’re interested?”

He stood, gathering our trash and placing it back in the brown paper bag.

“Thank you. I’d like that. Do you still play?” I asked, although I have no intention of ever seeking him out. People say all kinds of things they’d never do out of courtesy. We walked toward the door and he turned back to answer while halfway in the door.

“From time to time, we’ll have baseball tournaments for fundraisers. The week of the county fair we put together an adult rec league to play. I mostly stay busy with—” He cut off when his cell phone rang. He checked the screen and frowned.

“I’m sorry I need to take this.”

He walked inside toward the kitchen to toss the trash, putting the phone to his ear.

He answered with a simple, “Yeah.”

It was beyond clear he was not excited to take this call. I briefly contemplated why he answered if he obviously didn’t want to talk, but I reminded myself that it was none of my business. I stayed in the family room, unsure if I should follow. I noted again how tidy his house was, and it gave me a sense of peace similar to my duplex. I could hear his voice occasionally, but not his exact words. A small, wallet-size framed photo on the mantel caught my eye and I walked closer, not having noticed it on Thursday. It was a photo of Abel and Soren. Abel was about fifteen or sixteen with a ball cap flipped backward, and Soren had an arm resting over his shoulders in a man version of a side hug. Both were smiling as if they were having the best day ever. My heart warmed knowing Abel had been completely adored.

“Sawyer?” I jumped and turned toward Soren. His face softened as he saw what I was studying.

“That was on his sixteenth birthday.” He walked closer. “I have a situation I have to handle. I’m sorry, but I have to leave. I’ll drop you off at your Jeep.” There was a line of concern on his forehead, clearly not happy with whatever he had to deal with. Within fifteen minutes, we were back to my car, and I waved a quick goodbye and thanks for lunch as I jumped out.

“Wait,” he called. I turned back.

“Can I have your number?” he asked hesitantly.

“Sure.”

He pulled out his phone and typed in my number as I called it out. My phone vibrated immediately from a text. He waved as I loaded up in my Jeep. I swiped open my phone and saw the text from him.

Soren:

Thanks, Pretty Girl. I’ll see you around.

I smiled when I read “Pretty Girl.” It was as though there were a thousand butterflies in my belly taking flight. I didn’t know what it was about Soren, but I had this immediate connection with him similar to the one I had with Abel. A sense of instant safety that simultaneously made me want to run. The safe feeling made me feel unsafe. I was such a mess.

Chapter

Twelve

Soren

Sweat trickled down my brow as I darted left to miss the swift right jab Lane threw. It was almost nine and Jonah’s gym was nearly empty except for Jonah, who was pumping iron outside the boxing ring.

“You’re moving slow, Roberts,” Lane tossed out, working to throw me off my game, but he wasn’t wrong. Ever since my conversation with Sawyer yesterday, everything felt unbearably heavy. Like I was buried in sand and couldn’t move at my typical pace. How could anyone have survived her childhood?

I had heard stories of childhood abuse, like everyone had, but nothing as heartbreaking as when it happened to someone I now knew. Her story . . . at least the pieces she shared, were similar to something you’d hear about on the nightly news. I had this insane urge to protect her, to wrap her in my arms and shield her from everything. Her light was too special to be broken. I shook my head, trying to clear it. I’d never had similar thoughts for a woman I barely knew. Lane’s fist connected with my left cheek. My head snapped back, and Lane dropped his fighter stance as Jonah stopped and watched.

“Man, what is up? This doesn’t seem like a good fight because something obviously has you distracted,” Jonah remarked in his deep voice.

Jonah’s dark eyes were concerned, and I grabbed a towel to swipe over my face. How did I explain Sawyer without sharing her personal story? Lane squirted a stream of water into his mouth as he toweled off his sweat.

“Yeah, man. You called us here to spar, but honestly, you’ve been fighting like a rookie since you stepped into the ring. What gives?” Lane remarked, his green eyes shifting to Jonah with a knowing look. This was the problem with having lifelong friends. I couldn’t keep anything from them, even the things I wanted to.

“I wanted to punch something. I needed to blow off some steam,” I disclosed. Jonah quirked a black brow.

“Sure, man, but you’re distracted. I don't feel right beating up on you.” Lane smirked. “Besides, it looks like you’ve already been beat up with that busted lip.” He gestured to my lip.

“You wish,” I shot as I grabbed my water bottle and took a swig. There wasn’t any point in continuing; I took off the wrap on my hands.