Page 18 of Game On


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“No.” She shook her head, nibbling her lip in a way that shattered the vision of composure she’d shown earlier. “I heard about the camp from my sister. Nate’s from my hometown.”

She turned to wash her hands at the sink, and he guessed their session had come to an end. He sat up the rest of the way, grabbing a towel to drape around his neck as he watched her.

“You’re from Last Stand?” He already had the directions pulled up on a screen on his phone.

“I am.” She could have walked out of the room now that they were done for the day. Instead, she dropped onto the edge of a nearby trampoline used for leg and knee rehab.

Waiting?

Curiosity spiked.

“Is there anything I ought to know about Last Stand before I go?” His gaze roamed over her. Discreetly, of course.

He definitely didn’t want to run her off anymore.

“No. But I’m curious,” she began, resting her chin on her knees as she tucked into a comfortable position. “Will you need a physical therapist while you’re on the road?”

*

Nervous about seeingNate, Keely wiped down the kitchen counters for a second time. The butcher block next to the farmhouse sink was chipped in places, but the hardwood glowed with a warm patina in the morning sunlight, one of many features she loved about the place. The subtle warp of the floors, the squeak of the screen door on the porch, even the missed stitched in an old sampler made by a grandmother she’d never met, were details that others might see as defects. Keely embraced them all for the uniqueness they gave her home. The authentic vintage feel from the Harper farmhouse was something no antique store could replicate.

After hanging the dishrag on the sink apron, Keely resisted the urge to peer into the hall mirror as she moved into the front of the house to wait for Nate. Their meeting today needed to be all business—a quick tour of her remaining acreage so he could decide whether or not any of it would be a good trade-off for the space her dad had sold to Everett.

Obviously, that kind of meeting did not require her to check her reflection. But, as she tugged open the front door, she couldn’t deny that her conversation with Nate the day before had been very much on her mind. His request to start over—to somehow find a way to be friends again—had called to her in spite of herself.

Memories of their friendship—even before they’d started dating—had chased around in her head all night long. She wasn’t simply attracted to the man. She liked him. And that made for a powerful draw.

“Keely?”

The thin, scratchy sound of her name caught her ear before she closed the door behind her.

“Dad?” Stepping back inside the house, she blinked to readjust her eyes. “What are you doing up so early?”

She cocked her head to read the time on the grandfather clock in the hallway through the cracked glass of the face that had been broken in a long-ago drunken tirade. It was just after nine a.m.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he croaked, leaning heavily on the banister as he made his way down the main staircase. “Damn pain in my side.”

Was it the pancreatitis causing an ache there, or his failing liver? Keely kept extensive notes about his health, but even the local pharmacist told her that managing his care was complicated because of so many problems. She kept his medicine locked up—an old habit from when he was still drinking—to make sure he didn’t overdose. But if anything, he remained resistant to medicine, afraid of getting addicted to something new. Since a pancreas surgery two years ago had finally hammered home the severity of his deteriorating health, he’d let her manage the prescriptions.

“Should I call the doctor’s office?” She hurried toward him to help, but he waved her off, his dark hair matted on one side from his pillow. Without his slippers on, she could see his socks had holes in both toes.

His clothes were clean though, a welcome relief after the years when he’d awoken smelling like a bar.

“Nah.” He tried to straighten and winced instead. “I thought if I walked around, I could put off taking another pill.”

She bit her lip to hold back a reply. He had it in his head that if he took fewer drugs, he’d somehow delay the decline of his body. As if the medicines were responsible for killing him and not the alcohol. But she wasn’t going to waste her breath again.

The knock at the front door startled them both.

“Anybody home?” Nate’s voice sounded on the front porch, making her realize she’d left the door open a bit.

She reminded herself it was fine. She wasn’t hiding her dad, his alcoholism, or the family dysfunction anymore.

“Who’s that?” her father hissed at her at the same time she called, “Come on in, Nate.”

“Nate?” her father repeated, his unfocused gaze searching hers while he wavered on his feet. “The Ramsey boy?”

“Yes.” Keely stepped closer to steady her dad while Nate entered the house. She held her father’s right arm while he found his balance again, the frail feel of him reminding her how much his health had deteriorated these last few years. “Do you want to go back upstairs or should I make you some coffee?”

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