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“Everyone needs to stretch after exercising.”
“Why?”
“It helps you avoid injuries,” Owen explains patiently.
Grady pipes up, “What kind of injuries? Like your knee?”
“Nah, my knee was because of a three-hundred-pound defensive end. Come on, let’s get you guys a drink, then I’ll give you some examples.”
Owen saunters toward me like a wolf with his pups, causing my heart rate to kick up a few notches when he catches me staring at him. His smile is sheepish as he takes one of the cups from the table near my hip. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. So, how’d the run go?” I ask the boys.
“Good. Grady’s fast,” Turner tells me.
“Yeah, but my dad says you’re better at pacing,” Grady points out. “I start too fast, then get tired––”
“You guys both did great,” Owen interrupts before taking a sip from his paper cup, his mouth curved up in amusement.
The boys continue their banter, their water forgotten as they take off running to the grass. An awkward silence settles over Owen and me.
Rocking back on my heels, I peek over at him, then motion to the kids. “Looks like they’re getting along better.”
“Yeah. Turner’s a good kid. Competitive,” he clarifies, “but I think you’re right. He’s trying to make better decisions. He said shit when we were running, then corrected himself with shoot a few seconds later. It’s not like I cared. Grady’s heard me say worse, but I could tell he was trying to be respectful, and that’s all that matters to me.”
“Aw.” I press a hand to my heart. “That makes me happy. Mandy said that his dad was anything but respectful. It’s been a process to keep him from saying the F-word when he’s frustrated, along with all the other inappropriate language he was used to hearing, so I think that’s really good progress. Thanks for making him feel included today.”
“It was Grady’s idea.”
“From what I saw yesterday at recess, I’m going to go ahead and say that you helped nudge him in the right direction,” I counter.
“Only because you suggested it in the first place,” Owen returns with a smile that makes his eyes crinkle in the corners. I’ve never understood how he can ride the line between humble and confident so easily. I think that’s why the football community fell in love with him like I did. He’s just…one of the most genuine people I’ve ever met.
When I catch myself staring, silently analyzing him, I clear my throat and drop my gaze to the tabletop before fussing over a few more paper cups like a mother hen.
“So, how’s life? How’s your family?” Owen asks.
I scowl. “We don’t have to do small talk, Owen.”
“It isn’t small talk to me.” He leans closer. “I miss your family, Say––Miss Swenson,” he corrects himself. “They’re good people. In a way, your little sisters felt like they were mine
too.”
“Hmm,” I hum, refusing to give in. When he left, I wasn’t the only one who got hurt. He was the brother my sisters never had.
“Tell me,” he prods, gifting me with his signature smirk. It’s laced with a cockiness that I should find annoying, yet somehow makes me want to melt right here on the surface of the cool pavement.
And it grates on me, snapping me out of the haze from our past that I get lost in all too often whenever he’s around.
I fold my arms across my chest. “No offense, Owen, but I don’t think that’s any of your business. Not anymore. Not when you left and are just going to turn around and do it again.”
“Who says I’m going to leave again?” he challenges, his voice low and gravely.
“Call it a hunch.”
“Is that why you won’t give me an inch? Because you’re afraid I’ll leave again?”
“Don’t do this,” I whisper as he crowds me against the plastic table littered with paper cups.
