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“You’re welcome to join us,” he interrupts John. “If Sunday and August are okay with it.”
We’re not. We’ve never wanted anything less. But we’ve gotta tread carefully here and refusing, as glorious as that would feel, is not worth the potential fallout. When small fingers wrap around mine, I force a smile. “Sure.”
With an affirmative noise and a nod, Cass slings an arm around August’s shoulders, holding him in a playful headlock. “Let’s go, Lane. We’ve got a team to crush.”
In contrast to the feelings fluttering around in my chest, there’s nothing fond and mushy about John as he watches his son stride away with the only man to ever show him any semblance of fatherly affection.
If John wasn’t John, if I wasn’t me, I’d feel bad for him. I would feel so completely awful that he never got to share these kinds of moments with his son, that he lost out on parenting a kid like August. But he didn’t lose. He gave it up. Willingly, consistently, carelessly.
So, I don’t feel bad. But the look on his face does make me wince and drop my head before scurrying towards where the rest of Team California has set up camp. Resituating myself between Willow and Luna, they squish me in a little sandwich of support, and God knows I need it considering Team Texas are only a couple benches behind us.
“This is ridiculous,” I hear Mrs. Shay croon, soothing her fully-grown son the same way I soothe my freaking eleven-year-old. “She’s clearly poisoning him against you.”
“She’s a piece of work, baby,” Clare joins in the pity party, taking a page out of her future mother-in-law’s book by—surprise, surprise—soothing her fully-grown fiancé the same way I soothe my freaking eleven-year-old. “And that boyfriend of hers…”
“Very hostile.”
“Hey, ladies.” Luna twists in her seat, smile blindingly bright, incredibly fake, completely lethal. “Zip it. Wouldn’t wanna be uncivilized, would you?”
“This doesn’t concern you, missy.”
Blue eyes flare as they flick to me and Willow.Missy,she mouths, and I reckon if not for the subtle shake of our heads, Mrs. Shay would learn what it really is to behostile. Swallowing what I’ve learned to be a mighty temper, Luna faces forward again, spending a long, long moment staring at her son like he’s the key to not losing her shit.
While she collects herself, I focus on Willow. “Did they say anything to you?”
Willow kisses her teeth. “Verbally? No. But Mama’s face has always had a habit of talking for her.”
True that. “I’m sorry, Willy.”
“Shut up. You didn’t bring them here.” Glancing over her shoulder, she throws a scowl at the man who did. “Lu, how big did you say that ranch was?”
“Acres on acres, babe.”
41
SUNDAY
I only makeit through one game before tucking tail and running.
Tournaments are long. They’re an all-day affair even before you factor in time spent traveling to wherever they’re being held, with multiple teams playing multiple games. I’ve never minded in the past; I actually enjoy it. Even before I had friends, I used the time to catch up on work or read or just admire my talented kid. Now, we make a day out of it, bring snacks and let the little ones provide our entertainment, and time flies.
The length is bearable.
What’s unbearable are my least favorite people in the world yipping in my ear, providing subtle digs for everyone to hear.
August is too skinny. He’s too pale. Those friends of his look like trouble. That coach of his is definitely trouble. He’s not his daddy. Does he know that? Do I know that? Clearly, I don’t. Clearly, I’m forcing them into some kind of relationship. Clearly, I bad-mouth John so much, poor August is confused.
When Clare starts detailing her wedding plans and Mama starts sighing wistfully, sniffing loudly, practically staring daggers into the back of my head, I reach my limit. Feigning a desperate urge to pee, I flee.
I feel fucking awful about leaving Willow but haven’t I put up with enough lately? Don’t I deserve a goddamn break? If no one else will give me one, I’ll give it to myself.
And I’ll give myself an extra large pretzel and an overpriced Slurpee from the concession stand in the parking lot too.
I only plan on hiding for one game—an hour and a half should be long enough to get myself together. A lap around the cute, small town we’re in today would probably be good for me. I could even track down a mocha latte as a reward for the tremendous patience I’ve shown today in not committing matricide.
It’s kinda par for the course, really, that I get interrupted before halftime is even called.
“You look well.”
