He can scowl all he wants. I’m right on this.
Charlie hasn’t stopped talking about the ‘Begas Kings’ since the game, and has shown off the picture of him and Parker at least a dozen times. The thing is, I caught Drake staring at the signatures on the neon green baseball glove more than once. He was staring at one name in particular.
I might be a mistake in Ryder’s eyes, but he wasn’t only mine. Drake and Ryder were inseparable once. True brothers. Drake knew when Ryder needed to drive out into the empty fields and have silence, and Ryder knew when Drake was too locked in anger or his hot temper and needed to play video games until he was laughing again.
To know I’m an afterthought to Ryder Huntington snaps my heart and melts it down into nothing but liquid agony, but I wouldn’t stand in the way of Drake and him mending burned bridges.
I grab my keys and look at my brother again. “I’m right. Maybe you should stop being hot-headed teenagers and call each other. Work it out. Or don’t. Either way, I’m driving myself.”
I’m halfway out the door when Drake says, “I have reached out.”
My blush pink stilettos come to a screeching halt. “What?”
Drake fills my front doorway, hands in his pockets. “I have reached out to Ryder. Got nothing back.”
“When?”
Drake scratches the back of his neck. “When I . . . when Ronnie and I were getting married. I . . . I wanted him there.”
My chest cramps. Drake never talks about Veronica. He should, but he doesn’t.
“Then—” Drake closes his eyes. “I called again after the accident, I sort of lost it. I was spiraling, and the only person I could think of was him. I have no idea why.”
“Because he was your best friend,” I whisper. “Drake, what happened between you two?”
For the first time in a decade, I think my brother might open his stubborn mouth and tell me. But like all tragedies, something ruins the moment. The alarm on my cell phone dings in a disruptive warning that I am late.
“I’ve got to go,” I tell him softly.
“Go.” Drake’s smile is forced. “But don’t complain to me when the car blows up in the parking lot.”
My laugh is just as forced as I slide behind the steering wheel.
Someday we’re going to address the secrets we keep. Someday we’re going to be honest about a fracture in our past, because the more he avoids it, the more I’m convinced Drake Williams knows a lot more about why the guy I’d planned to uproot everything for and marry left us all behind instead.
The youth field house is a quarter mile away from Burton Field. During the season, this place will be close enough the boom of the announcer’s voice will rumble the pavement even here. The kids will love it.
I park beneath a tree and study the new, brown brick building. Gold and black splashes of color paint the lampposts, rims of doors, and windowsills. It’s a nice place. Small, but it’s not off-putting at all. The Kings want every kid to feel welcome here. There are banners of tennis balls, basketballs, footballs, even hockey pucks and golf balls.
It’s an athletic center. Half-courts of various sports are inside. Eventually, the plan is to place a full track and field out back, and possibly a swimming pool.
I enjoy athletics but favor the arts. Still, there is something beautiful about this idea of creating a place filled with teamwork, support, and found family. A bloom of warmth spreads through my chest.
This is a good thing. Even with the aches and pains, I’m grateful to be part of it.
I sling my bag over my shoulder and head inside, passing two guys dressed in blue collared shirts with the delivery logo. I wave and hurry up the stairs toward the main rec room. I’ve spent an embarrassing amount of time memorizing the blueprints. Pretty sure I know where every nook and alcove sits in this place.
The upper level is open and sprawling. Boxes of supplies mark the wall, and natural sunlight spills in through the massive windowpanes.
I grin at the carpet. There are areas where hopscotch and shuffle boards are printed into the threads. Snack machines are scattered about in random areas; boxes with images of futons and bean bag chairs are stacked like blocks; baskets painted in bright colors will soon be filled with athletic equipment; whiteboards and blackboards where schedules and motivation will be printed in big block letters lie in disarray on the ground.
All of it is a chaotic mess of something beautiful. In my head, ideas swirl around until I start to piece the puzzle together, until a vision of something exciting and safe takes shape.
From the shadows of the back room, soft, brown eyes meet mine. My insides flip upside down. A kind of visceral betrayal to my own sensibilities. My body does not know how to stand united in disinterest.
She, in fact, remains terribly interested in this man to unseemly levels.
Ryder pauses for a few breaths, giving the traitorous woman inside a chance to gawk, to enjoy, to simply drink all of him up in a delightful gulp. His hair is mussed, his sweats are perfectly shaped to his strong legs, and that black T-shirt stretches seductively over his chest.
