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“She alright?”
A shrug and a nod isn’t exactly the tell-all I was hoping for but it’s all I get before August trades me for greener pastures, making a beeline for his new best friend. Despite everything, the sight of Izzy and August slapping palms and sharing conspiratory grins like old buddies makes me smile.
Whatever misgivings I may have about Sunday, they never extended to her kid. Yeah, I keep my distance a little, try to lessen the risk of incurring Sunday’s wrath, but I like August. I admire his quiet determination, his dedication to the game. And Izzy liking him is high praise; that kid is a human bullshit detector, just like his parents.
If I’d approached this whole situation with more of a clear head, maybe I would’ve taken how much he likes Sunday into account.
Not for the first time, I spend practice distracted. I’m snippier than usual too, getting frustrated too easily, snapping like a grouchy old man, and everyone is noticing. I’m standing on the sidelines—where Ben banished me after I almost swore at a group of fucking children—when Sunday finally appears.
I don’t think about it; I just rip off the bandaid. Moving quick but aiming for discreet, I sidle up to her, hands in my pockets, eyes on the kids, metaphorical tears in my ears as I metaphorically expose a metaphorical wound. “It really wasn’t you?”
Her sigh is weary, wracking her entire body. “No, Cass. It wasn’t me.”
I don’t know what it is. If Kate’s speech hit even harder than I thought it did, if it’s third time lucky, but this time, I hear it. The truth.
And I feel like a goddamn asshole.
“I believe you,” I finally admit, the words stubborn as hell leaving my mouth. Considering the effort it takes to say them, I thought they’d earn a reaction. A double take, at least. Maybe a snarky quip. Instead, I get nothing. “Did you hear me?”
Gaze remaining downcast, Sunday swallows. “Uh-huh.”
“And?”
That pale, freckled throat bobs again. “And okay.”
“Okay?”
“What, you want me to thank you?”
“You’re really fucking difficult, you know that?”
“Keep going. You’re nailing this apology thing.”
Gut instinct tells me to storm away. My ego says the same thing. Common sense, however, insists the opposite. Keeps me rooted in place. Grasping all thirty-five years of my life with both hands, I grind out, “I’m sorry.”
Sunday doesn’t acknowledge my apology. She doesn’t ask what for. She doesn’t… do anything at all, actually. She just stares listlessly ahead, apparently content to pretend I’m not here.
“Seriously?” Jaw cocked, I step into her eyeline. “You’re ignoring me? I’m—” I cut myself off. Of their own accord, my fingers rise, crooking beneath her chin and tilting her face towards mine. “What’s wrong with you?”
Her blink is slow, sluggish, and just as worrying as her not immediately shoving me away. “Nothing.”
The dark circles beneath her eyes call bullshit. As does the clammy sheen to her paler than usual skin, too warm against the back of my hand when I hold it to her forehead. “Are you sick?”
Sunday jerks away from me with a wince. “I’m fine.”
Liar. “You’re sick.” Fuck, it’s flu season, right? She definitely looks like she has the flu. She looks one good coughing fit away from collapsing, and the sight sits wrong behind my eyes, makes them itch.
In a split second, I make a decision. A rip-the-bandaid-off adjacent, trying really hard decision. Hovering a hand near the small of her back, I steer her back the way she came, away from the other parents—specifically the ones who already treat her like she’s got the plague. God knows how they’d react if she infected one of their precious little assholes. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Right,” she snaps, voice raw, and one poor, pathetic segment of my brain devotes itself to agonizing over whether the additional rasp is from coughing, vomiting, or yelling at John. “I should’ve just let August walk here.”
“Someone else could’ve brought him.” Her weak scoff disagrees. “You shouldn’t drive like this.”
Even at death’s door, she finds the energy to argue. “I don’t think I asked for your opinion.”
“Jesus Christ, you’re a ray of sunshine today.”
Sunday shakes off my light touch, practically making tire-screech-esque sounds with how abruptly she comes to a stop, but that’s fine. I’ve already got her where I wanted her. “Wait here.” I pat the hood of my Jeep. “I’ll drive you guys home.”
