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In my heart.
And…I liked it.
A lot.
So much so that I was kicking myself for not having a hand up, for not fending him off. Because…I was attached and I wanted more and I really,reallyliked how his mom talked to him and called him herbaby boy.
As much as I liked the softness that entered his tone when he responded to her.
And the gentle way he’d talked about his three younger sisters—Kira, Avery, and Delilah—after he’d hung up with his mom, and over the days since. Telling me about them, introducing me to his family in a way I knew was deliberate and trying to get me comfortable with the fact that I was going to meet his family and have dinner with them andinteractwith them after they’d flown across the state to make a special trip to do so.
When we hadn’t done the same with mine.
Even though my parents lived in the same town.
I didn’t want to sit down with my parents and Joel and share a meal. I didn’t want to sit with him and endure the lectures and distance. I knew it was coming, that it was unavoidable. Knew I’d need to make arrangements before Joel’s family came to avoid further strife.
I just…didn’t want to.
I still hit the button on my steering well, yelled out my their contact name into the speaker of my SUV (technology, sometimes, was a pain in the ass), and waited for their home line to ring.
Yup.
Theirhomenumber.
They’d moved in last week.
One more check on my never-ending list of tasks.
“Hello?”
“Dad,” I said.
“What’s up, BR?” he asked, and I heard him immediately perk up, ready for action. “Whatcha need?”
Thatright there.
That made the rest of it fade away. The demands. The brusqueness. The pit that was never completely filled in the base of my stomach reminding me I couldn’t be what he needed.
Because there was never any question that my dad would step in and help.
Mayor once. Mayor always.
“I’m meeting Joel’s parents and sisters tomorrow,” I told him, executing the offramp for Bailey’s place. “He’d like to meet you guys too—in an official capacity.”
Silence.
For once, I’d apparently stymied him.
He’d probably already been prepping his to do list for whatever I was going to ask of him. “The hockey player?”
“Yeah, Dad.”
“Thehockeyplayer?”
“Yes, Dad.”
A pause. “I thought you hated hockey players.”
