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“Will you come too?”
“Of course, I will.”
28
SUNDAY
I’m halfway up the Jackson-Evans’porch steps when something stops me.
I glance over my shoulder at the house across the street. As cliché and ridiculous as it sounds, I feel an inexplicable pull in that direction.
“You go in.” I gently nudge August towards the front door. “I’ll be right there.”
Red-rimmed eyes follow my line of sight. “Are you going to see Cass?”
“Yeah. Just for a second.”
“Can I come?”
It’s not the question that breaks my heart; it’s the meek tone, the ashamed sniffles, the way he clings to my hand in a way he hasn’t in years.
With a shaky nod, I lead my kid to his coach’s house. I let him knock before tugging him back against my chest, my arms folded over his, my chin atop his head. “I love you, Goose.”
A hand comes up to pat my forearm. “Love you.”
I tighten my grip. “Who loves me?”
Just as the sound of footsteps starts towards them, August sighs. “Ilove you.” He tilts his head back, beautiful eyes wide and innocent and serious. “I love you a lot, Mama.”
Something in my chest settles, something hot building behind my eyes that I blink away when the door creaks open.
Briefly, I forget why we’re here. The fact that I’m upset and August’s upset and all the fuckery of the evening momentarily fades away as the half-naked figure occupying the doorway steals my focus.
This, I decide, is my reward. Cass in gray sweats and nothing else.
The clearing of a throat draws my gaze upwards. A cocked brow tells me my leering wasn’t entirely subtle but Cass graciously doesn’t call me out. It’s a testament to how pathetic August and I must look, how little explanation it takes for him to invite us in with a jerk of his head. “C’mon. I just finished cooking.”
Interest piqued, August steps out of my grasp. “What did you make?”
Cass eyes my son warily, like he’s trying to figure out if all is forgiven. “Veggie chili.”
August takes another step forward. “With cornbread?”
“Fresh out the oven.”
Sold.
August hurries into the house, almost halfway down the hall before he pauses. Turns back to Cass. Awkwardly scratches the back of his head in a way that reminds me so much of his coach. “I’m not mad at you,” my boy says. “Sorry I yelled.”
“That’s okay.” My heart stutters at Cass’ overwhelming relief, the break in his voice. “I’m sorry I banned you. You get why I had to though, right?”
Silvery eyes flick to me. “You can’t play favorites.”
“I can’t play favorites,” Cass confirms. “Would if I could.”
“Because you’re dating my mom.”
“Because I likeyou, Gus. You’re my star player. And you’re my friend.”
