Drake lifts his annoyingly somber eyes, almost like he does feel a touch of remorse, and shakes Dax’s outstretched hand. I’m riled at the thought and make the quick, heated decision I’d rather him be the hot-headed douche he was all those years ago.
Mature and regretful Drake sucks.
“Ryder mentioned it to your sister, but there is an All-Star game next week and Dallas Anderson is providing passes for the whole family.”
“Dax,” I grit out. Drake has nothing to do with this.
“The game is Friday night.” Dax ignores me.
Drake hesitates. “Thanks for the heads up.”
He glances at me. Not that I see him do it, but I canfeelhis gaze. I refuse to accept that it’s guilt, or any sort of nudge to offer an olive branch. He doesn’t deserve it.
Dax mutters a farewell, then finally, Parker drives away.
“Why did you do that, Sage?” I ask when we’re blocks down the road.
Dax stares out the window. “Because I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you looked at them. They mattered to you, Ryder. She did. He did. You’ll thank me later.”
“I’m pretty sure I’m never talking to you again.”
“That’s okay. I don’t talk much anyway.”
He says it so matter-of-factly I can’t help but chuckle.
Dax might mean well, all these guys might mean well, but if they knew the truth, I’m not sure they’d be keen to see Drake.
Honestly, I’m not sure they’d want to know me either.
Ava
There arethings in this life I’ll never understand. My brother’s lockjaw is one of them. After Drake came face to face with Ryder, I expected we might talk about it. The way my brother chased after him, had tense words on the driveway, I don’t know, I sort of thought he’d come back inside and we’d finally be open about what went so wrong all those years ago.
But here we are, a week after the nuclear moment, and we’ve said maybe two words. A simple acknowledgment that it did happen, and no, we’re not talking about it.
Men.
The only words said when he grumbled his way back inside last week were that I should expect an email with tickets to some sort of charity scrimmage with the Kings.
An interview at the ballfield. This is a new one. Are we supposed to talk shop over hotdogs and popcorn, and pause if the Kings make a good play?
Not to mention the kicker—the tickets are a family pack. For the upper suite seats. I’m supposed to chat with a Las Vegas billionaire surrounded by the loved ones of the Kings and my family.
Mom has a meeting, Drake is on the fence, the only thing causing him to consider coming is Charlie. My nephew is begging to go to Burton Field like he always does with Pops.
Oh yeah. Such a simple statement unveiled a dark family secret.
Turns out my father, my happy-go-lucky, honest to the bone father, has been hiding a fun fact. He has season tickets to Burton Field. Drake about popped a blood vessel when he found out Charlie and Pops bonded in the summer over baseball and root beer.
“I’m not apologizing for making memories with my grandson,” Dad shot at Drake when he’d been confronted.
“Then why’d you keep it a secret?” Drake shot back.
“Because you’re unapproachable on the subject.”
“Gee, Dad, I wonder why?”
Dad stood from his recliner at that point, and I will go down to my grave believing my brother, a grown man, a father himself, gulped as if our dad was about to transform into the Hulk.
