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Pale, unblemished cheeks flush. “Don’t be so crude.”
“That’s just my nature, Mama.”
“August.” A throat clears, and I’d be grateful for the interruption if it came from anyone but Clare. Tucking a lock of brown hair behind her ear all freaking demure-like, she bares her teeth at my boy. “You excited for your match?”
Tournament, I see the correction flash across my son’s face but a bland shrug is the only response Clare gets.
Her smile fades, flashing just a little bit of the bitch hiding underneath, before she bolsters herself. “You know, there’s a real good Little League team near mine and your dad’s place. I already asked about opening up a spot for you.”
“I don’t play Little League.”
“Oh.” Visibly confused, Clare glances at the field, and I can practically see her thoughts on her face—then what the hell is this?
“This is aSelectteam,” August answers her unspoken question, mimicking her condescending tone.
Clare giggles. “Oh, sweetie, it doesn’t really matter, right? It’s just a game.”
Bitch,I yell internally.Bitch, bitch bitch.
“It matters.” August huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I’m not playing anywhere else.”
John makes a noise in his throat before addressing August for the first time since sloping over here. “Manners, boy.”
The grip on my shoulder tightening provides just a millisecond of warning before a rumbling voice speaks. “John, right? I don’t think we met properly.”
John looks up—and up and up and up and I’ve never found Cass’ towering height so attractive as I do right now. “Right.” He holds out his hand but when Cass makes no move to shake it, it drops awkwardly, fisting at his side. “Too famous to shake hands, huh?”
The fingers holding mine flex, as do the ones grazing my collarbone.“Mine are a little full.”
Oh, John does not like that. His nostrils flare, his face going red, and before he spits any words, I sense something spitefully possessive brewing. “Quite the handful, isn’t she? I think she’s gotten worse over the years and that’s saying something. She was such a wild child.”
“Childis a great word for it.”
“Alright.” Ben claps his hands together, risking a step into the gaping gorge separating our two groups. “Game’s about to start. Let’s everyone take a seat, yeah?”
It takes another clap before we disperse. I’m quick to steer August away from his father and grandparents, not wanting them to mess up his game more than their mere presence already is. Keeping my eyes on him and ignoring the ones undoubtedly on us, I brush his hair away from his forehead before cupping his cheeks. “Good luck. I love you.”
As expected, he bats my hands away. But he keeps a hold of my wrists, and it might be a sign of the apocalypse, how he rises to quickly kiss my cheek. “I love you too.”
The grass crunches behind me. A solid chest presses against my back, a hand reaches over my shoulder and forms a fist, knuckles gently brushing August’s jaw. “Knock ‘em out, bud.”
As a tentative smile curls August’s mouth, I could turn around and kiss Cass for coaxing it out. Although, I wonder if I'd get a lot more pleasure out of punching the man who makes it suddenly drop.
“August.” My son’s name is barked like a command for the third time in less than ten minutes, wearing my patience even thinner. When he doesn’t obey, John snaps his fingers and if Cass didn’t have a firm hand on my hip, I’d march over there and snap something else for him.
I don’t know if it’s a purposefully petty move, the way August ignores his father in favor of smiling at Cass, but that’s what he does.“If we win, can we get pizza for dinner?”
“Whenwe win,” Cass corrects, looking at my son with so much fondness, it chokes me up a little, “we can get ice cream too.”
John clears his throat obnoxiously. “August should have dinner with us tonight. We came all this way.”
Cass smiles, easy-going to the untrained eye, careful and cunning to everyone else. “If August wants to.”
My boy doesn’t hesitate. “I don’t.”
Cass stifles a laugh. “That’s settled then.’
“But—”
