Chapter 3
Preston
I hauled all seventeen bags of groceries inside of Wesley’s house.
The kitchen held Wes himself, a beer in hand, and a swipe of glitter on his right cheek.
Theo Winslow sat at the island, or should I say brooded at the island.
His six-foot-six ass made the stool look like a thimble.
He nursed a beer, his scowl the same as always.
Shaw Calloway was seated at the kitchen table, one hand propped up on a pillow as Kyndall painted his nails.
His head was awkwardly tilted back as Hazel attempted to violently brush his cropped hair.
“Don’t worry. I got it,” I called as I dropped the groceries on the granite countertop.
Wesley checked his watch. “Took you long enough.”
“That place was a madhouse. Shaw is going next time.”
“Fuc—” Shaw winced. “I’m mean, fudge buckets.” He cleared his throat.
Kyndall narrowed her six-year-old eyes. “You almost said a bad word. And what does Daddy say about bad words?”
Her little head tilted to the side as he darted his gaze to the kitchen.
“Bad words hurt good feelings,” she stated with the seriousness of an IRS audit. “And bad words cost money.” She pointed to a glitter-covered jar on the counter by the fridge. “Pay up, Shawty.”
I choked on a laugh as he glared at Wesley. “Does this extend to the field? If so, I’m afraid Daddy has racked up some debt.”
Wes chuckled, flipping him off as he lifted his beer. “I don’t make the rules. I just live here.”
“Where’s Rodney?” Theo asked.
“He had a family thing tonight. He’s hosting next month.” My hands moved to empty the grocery bags that were now covering the counter.
Shaw muttered a thank God as Hazel dropped the brush, abandoning her project.
She ambled over to Theo, grinning while she signed up at the burly ex-lineman.
Theo’s lips twitched slightly, not a full smile, but something as close to it as you could get for him before he snatched up Hazel from the ground.
Her hands flew, the four-year-old princess making her demands. Swing now.
Hazel was born with a vocal cord issue, causing her to be nonverbal. We’d all managed to learn some form of ASL to communicate with her.
“Let’s go, Haze.” Theo stood from his stool. “Call me when it’s ready.”
The two headed out to the backyard as Kyndall skipped to the jar, placing Shaw’s money inside before she followed.
“Wow, Calloway. I think Pink is your color.” I smirked.
He waved a hand. “I think it brings out my eyes, if we’re being honest.”
Wes snorted a laugh as he began helping to unload the goods.
“Pop-Tarts weren’t on the list,” Wes said as he tossed the box at me.
He was right. They weren’t, but for some reason, after my run-in with the coupon queen, I didn’t have the heart to put them aside.
So I bought them, with no intention of eating them.
Maybe I’d keep them in my cabinet just so I could be reminded of the smile that was like a breath of fresh air after four quarters of getting your ass handed to you.
Was it pathetic? Yes. Did I give a fuck? No.
“Had a craving,” I said, tucking the box to the side of the counter.
“Want me to heat the grill?” Shaw ran a hand over his hair.
“Yeah, man. Lighter is in the top drawer.” Wes pulled out the buns and hamburger meat.
When Shaw slipped out the back, Wes eyed me. “What’s up with you?”
“What do you mean?”
He lifted a brow. “You’re in a good mood.”
I shot him a look before I deposited a bottle of mustard on the counter. “That a problem?”
He held up his hands. “Nope.” Then he muttered, “Just suspicious.”
Wes and I had grown up next door to each other in our hometown, about an hour from Canyon.
My sister and I moved around a bit after we entered the foster care system when I was five.
Temporary homes were all we knew until an older couple, Ray and Cecile Rusk, were brought into our lives.
They never had children, and after a few months of fostering, they officially adopted me and Olivia.
It only took a few weeks to meet the boy next door, and we’d been like brothers ever since.
Even through college. Even when we went our separate ways, and I ended up drafted to the Panthers, while he had to set aside his football dream to get married and become a dad.
His choice to go the coaching route instead of playing professionally worked out for the best when Kassidy bailed.
By pure luck, I landed this job after my injury.
But the only bad thing about sharing our history was that he knew me.
And apparently, he could tell I was still reeling from my innocent grocery store conversation.
Which meant I needed to tone that shit down.
The last thing I wanted was more questions.
“Maybe you should focus on the shit staining your face.” I tossed a tomato at him, which he caught with quick hands.
“Fuck off.”
With a laugh, I glanced at the small blue box, flashes of auburn hair tracing my memory. Shockingly, the only thing I wanted to do was run into her again.