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“Left hand.” After the ball goes through, she says, “Colby Brooks is my dad.”
I stop just as I’m about to throw, and turn to Willow.
“Your last name is Brooks?”
“Yeah. I thought you knew.” She picks up my shirt and folds it neatly before she places it on a bench.
“Your dad was a good player back in his day.”
“Yep.”
“You’re going to kick my ass, aren’t you?”
She smiles widely. “By the looks of things, I’m already kicking your ass.”
I walk to where she’s standing.
“Why didn’t you tell me before we started?”
“You didn’t ask.”
I drop the ball and take another step closer to her.
“I think that’s bullshit. Want to know why I think you kept quiet?”
She licks her lips and shakes her head, making blonde curls fall over her shoulders. “Not really.”
Taking one more step, my chest is only inches away from touching hers.
“I think you were planning to get me naked.”
She scrunches her nose and laughs. “You’re the one who chose the game. I didn’t plan any of this. If we had gone with my plans, we’d be sitting in the movies right now.” Her eyes drop to my chest. “And you would still be wearing your shirt.”
The moment her eyes settle on the scar, the playful look fades from her face.
She brings her hand to my chest, and I stand frozen as her fingertips lightly brush over the scarred tissue.
“What happened?” she asks as she brings her eyes back up to mine.
I’m surprised that she’s asking. No one asked me before. Usually, they’ve already heard about it somewhere else.
“My father shot me.” The words come out much softer than I meant it to sound.
“Why do you still call him your father? It’s not like he deserves the title.”
That’s definitely not what I expected her to say. I thought she would pry more.
“He’s done damage only a father could do. If it were any other person, it would’ve made it easier to accept.”
“That makes sense,” she whispers. She pulls her hand away from my chest and smiles up at me. “I’m glad you survived, Pretty-Boy.”
“Why?”
She picks up my shirt and presses it against my chest.
“Get dressed. I need to get home.” When we’re walking back to the car, she whispers, “I’m glad you survived because you have a good heart, Marcus. You might not think so, but I can see it.”
When we get back to my place, Willow doesn’t come in. She kisses my cheek before walking to where she parked across the road. I watch her drive away before I go inside. The house is quiet, so I decide to take a shower and call it a night.
