CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE JAY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
J AY
T his is officially your longest relationship, right?” Lark asks, his voice filling the cab of my truck through the speakers. “I’m going off Della’s terminology here, so God help me.”
I chuckle, pausing at an intersection to let a jogger pass safely.
The evening is perfect, with a clear sky and gentle breeze. It made work today so much easier than dealing with the cloudy, off-and-on rain showers of the last couple of days. The sunroom at the farmhouse is starting to take shape. As long as the owner doesn’t add on a bunch of work, it’ll be a great project.
“Yeah,” I say, turning right after the jogger has cleared the road. “This is the longest I’ve spent with a woman in quite a while.”
“And you have no thoughts about getting the hell out of there?”
The question hangs in the air, pregnant with insinuations.
A week or two is usually the maximum amount of time I spend with a woman. That’s how long it takes for the superficial layer of our interaction to cease. Beyond that framework comes an actual relationship with actual conversations, digging through childhood stories, and the confluence of our lives that makes me uneasy.
I don’t go into situations with a countdown flashing over a woman’s head. My extraction from our interactions is organic—a knee-jerk reaction that’s rooted in my need to remain unattached. Being single has served me well. Relationships have not.
The engine roars as I turn onto Bittersweet Court.
“I’m taking that as a no,” Lark says.
I blow out a breath, wrestling with how to summarize and phrase my thoughts.
“Lark, it’s ...” Different with Gabrielle. It doesn’t feel like a relationship. I’ve slept like a baby all week and not paced the floor. “I can’t explain it.”
He hums.
“Maybe it’s because we were sort of friends before things between us changed,” I say. “Or, you know, her kids aren’t babies. They’re older. They had a dad and I’m not filling that role. There’s no pressure. I’m an ancillary part of their lives.”
I’m an ancillary part of their lives by design ... and I hate it.
Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would be upset about not being a part of a woman’s life with her children. It would be so much easier if I did loathe Carter needing to borrow my pumper and found Dylan’s jerk-face attitude annoying. Why do I have to enjoy helping Gabrielle around her house, and why can I see myself sitting at their table for dinner so easily?
“I just want to point out that you’re saying one thing but telling me the opposite,” Lark says.
Scottie waves from her flower bed. I nod her way in return.
“That doesn’t even make sense,” I say.
“Yeah, it does. You’re saying that you’re comfortable with Gabrielle because you don’t really matter in their lives. But the tone of your voice tells me that you aren’t comfortable being an outsider.”
Sometimes, I hate him. “I gotta go. I’m almost home.”
“Okay. There’s a car show this weekend in Logan if you wanna go. I think they opened the track again, so they’ll be racing, I bet.”
“I’ll let you know,” I say, slowing as I pass Gabrielle’s house. “I’m pulling in my driveway. Gotta go.”
“Later.”
“Bye.”
Gabrielle’s car is in the driveway, and lights are on inside the house. The sun is on the horizon, giving off enough light for Carter to still be bouncing his ball on the sidewalk or back deck. I don’t see him.
I park outside and make my way inside as quickly as possible.
Coming home used to feel like walking into a trap. The day was over. All natural distractions were elsewhere, and the silence was deafening. Home was both my refuge and my prison. But lately, it’s held more ... hope.
I toss my keys on the table by the door and slip off my boots and socks.
Instead of lamenting the past as I make myself a glass of tea, my brain skips to the future. It’s a relief to have a reason to look forward. But it’s also a little nerve-racking too.
How will Dylan and Carter take it when they learn their mom is seeing me? Will they welcome me in? Or will they feel like I’m intruding?
“Hell, how am I going to deal with it?” I ask the empty room.
I take a sip of my tea and ponder the question. It’s one I’ve pondered many times lately. Each time I think about it, though, the idea of being introduced to Gabrielle’s children as more than a friend isn’t quite so heavy. Maybe it’s because what I told Lark is right—they’re older. It’s much different from Izzy.
Izzy.
Her laughter echoes through my brain, bringing a smile to my face.
She’s between Dylan’s and Carter’s ages now. I wonder whether she remembers me. I’m curious whether she’s ever asked for me or quizzed Melody about my absence. She was so little then, and it’s been four years. I’m sure any wound has healed by now. Maybe she even has another father figure in her life ...
The thought is both a gut punch ... and a wish.
“I hope you have someone loving the shit out of you, Izzy Girl,” I whisper. “I hope someone is treating you like a princess.”
My gaze is pulled to the window over the sink. Carter is tossing a baseball up in the air between our houses. He can’t catch worth a damn, nearly hitting himself in the face every other time.
He’s a kid without a father. A little boy whose father probably hopes he has someone loving the shit out of him and his brother.
My heart races.
If it came to that, could I consider stepping into that role? Sweat beads on my forehead. Could I be the man to those kids that I hope is there for Izzy?
“Hey! Jay!” Carter yells, pulling me out of my head. The words are muffled as they cross the lawn and travel through my window.
I wave at him.
“Do you have a glove?” He holds his gloved hand in the air and jumps up and down. “Do you have one of these, Jay?”
“Oh, this damn kid,” I say, chuckling as I find a pair of slides.
I rummage around the garage, finding my old glove in a tote. I no more than get the garage door button pressed than Carter’s face appears inches above the driveway.
“Wanna play catch?” he asks, a smile stretched from ear to ear.
“What happened to basketball?”
He stands as the door fully opens. “Oh, I still like it. But I really like baseball.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, I played on a team in Boston,” he says, talking a mile a minute. “I played on the right side in the grass on the even innings. Step twenty steps behind the first base and then ten steps toward the middle. I stood right there and got every ball that they sent to me.” He makes a face. “But the poppers—you know, the ones in the air? Those were hard. One cracked me right in the forehead one time. I had to retire for a while after that.”
I try hard not to laugh.
“But I’m back, baby.” His fist pumps, leading me into the grass. “And Dylan won’t play with me because he’s being a jerk face to Mom again and she made him go to his room until dinner. And she’s making dinner, so she won’t play.”
“So, what? I’m your last resort?”
“Don’t think of it like that.” He runs a half a football field away. “You were my first other pick!”
Fantastic.
“I’m warning ya. I have a good arm on me,” he says, heaving the ball my way. It doesn’t make it to the halfway mark. He’s undeterred, jogging to the ball. “Did ya see that? I told ya I have an arm.”
I don’t even know where to start with this kid. It’s been decades since I played baseball, and I’m not sure if I even remember how to throw it anymore. Furthermore, how the hell did I get stuck doing this again?
Carter runs to me and puts the ball in my glove. “Okay. Your turn.”
“Hey,” I say as he sprints off again. “Not so far.”
His hands go to his hips. “Why? Are you not a good thrower?”
“It’s been a while and I need to warm up. I need to take it easy at first.”
“Fine.”
I throw the ball in the air far enough that it almost makes it to him before landing in the grass with a soft thud. Carter, none the wiser, picks it up and presses his lips together.
“That was pretty good,” he says. “You’ll get there. Keep practicing.”
God help me. I look at the sky and try not to laugh. Carter takes this as the perfect opportunity to throw the best, hardest ball he’s thrown all day ... right into my eye.
He gasps as I shout, the mixture of sounds causing the birds in the giant oak tree in Gabrielle’s front yard to take flight.
“Jay! Jay! I’m sorry!”
My vision is blurry. I suck in a breath and pat the area around my right eye. It stings with each touch and burns anyway. I can’t see Carter in front of me. I know he’s there only because he’s pulling on my arm.
“Give me a minute, Carter,” I say.
I grit my teeth so I don’t curse.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “You gotta catch with the glove and not your face.”
“Excellent advice.”
“Yeah, I should’ve told you that before we started. I learned that on that popper.”
Slowly, my vision comes back, but the stinging is still present. Carter is gazing up at me with concern written all over his little face.
I squat down to his level. “Believe it or not, I played baseball when I was little—from the time I was five or six until I graduated high school.”
“Really? What happened?”
This little shit. I shake my head and chuckle. “Look, rule number one in baseball is always watch the ball. I didn’t do that. And rule number two is to not throw the ball at someone unless they are looking at you. And you didn’t do that.”
He closes one eye and narrows the other. I’m not sure if he’s thinking or mocking me. I don’t ask.
“Baseball is a team sport, and we weren’t really operating like a team today,” I say.
“Okay. So the next time we play, which is probably tomorrow, we need to be a team.”
His eyes sparkle and I can’t argue with him, or even correct him. He’s too damn cute.
“So,” I say, “let’s not—”
“Mom! We need some ice over here.”
I follow his gaze to the back deck of his house. Gabrielle stands on the deck, in about the same spot she was standing the first day I saw her, with a puzzled look on her face.
“Why? What happened?” she asks.
“Jay wasn’t watching the ball and it hit him right in the eye. Pow! ” Carter takes off running toward his mom. “I warned him I have a good arm on me.”
I walk across the yard, wishing I had two good eyes to see Gabrielle. Her hair is in a messy knot on top of her head. A T-shirt hangs off one shoulder, highlighting the sweet curve of her neck. Those lips, the same ones I want on me immediately, are curved into a frown.
“Oh, Jay, I’m so sorry,” she says, wincing. “I had no idea he was going to get you to play.”
“It’s fine.” I rest my forearms on the railing and look up at her beautiful face. “We’re just going to have to issue some ground rules next time. Like no throwing it when someone isn’t looking.”
She fights a giggle and fails. The sound goes straight to my cock.
“Keep it up,” I say quietly.
“And what?”
“And I’ll—”
“Hey, can I have a piece of candy?” Carter pokes his head out the door. “Just one. Pleaseee? ”
Gabrielle grins before turning her attention to her son. “No. Dinner is almost ready.”
“Fine.” He perks up. “Hey, Jay! Why don’t you eat with us?”
His little eyes are trained on me like he’s watching for me to slip up.
“Thanks, Carter, but I can’t—”
“Why?”
Gabrielle holds up a hand before clearing her throat. She pivots slowly to me with a hefty dose of hesitation in her features. “You know, we do have plenty if you want to come in and eat.”
“Yeah. Come on, Jay. You can sit by me. And if you can’t see out of your eye, I’ll help you eat.”
Gabrielle giggles.
“Carter, my man, that’s a great offer. But ...”
I’m ready to turn them down again. Gabrielle and I agreed to take things slow until we knew what we were doing—if anything. But the way she looks at me, like she hopes I say yes, stops me in my tracks.
Is this her way of declaring her intentions? Is she trying to tell me she’s ready to be more forward about our relationship than we planned?
My mind races nearly as fast as my heart.
I have two choices. I can retreat, backing out of this and going home. My life will be what it’s been for the last four years. Or I can take the invitation, go inside, and share a meal with a woman who intrigues me. The only woman who’s made me even consider something like this. Does that say something?
“But you have to help me do dishes,” I say, hopping over the rail.
Gabrielle’s smile could light up the sky. Carter’s emphatic attempt at negotiating dishes echoes across the lawn. And the beating of my heart is so hard that I’m sure Gabrielle can hear it as she gets in a quick hug once Carter’s back is to us.
I brace myself, but I’m not sure why. Am I nervous this is going to go terribly wrong?
Or am I excited it might go terribly right?