Chapter Twenty-Two
Madden sat on the bumper of his truck, hands clasped loosely between his knees, his head lifting when Eve’s car turned into
the parking lot of the middle school. He’d spent the afternoon in Eve’s kitchen with the kids making Spam and cheese omelets,
followed by brownies, Lark and Landon delightfully making a mess while Eve sat at the kitchen island trying to mend the ruined
chef’s hat.
He could still see her, head bent over her task, holding her breath while trying not to tear the fragile paper even more,
blowing a hair dryer on a low setting to take out the excess dampness. Using a tiny tube of Krazy Glue to seal the torn sides
back together and fluffing the paper to return the hat to a semblance of its own shape.
She’d explained to him why the chef’s hat meant so much to Landon.
To think the woman trying so hard to resurrect a paper hat for her nephew had to endure abuse from the community that should
be supporting her during a difficult time . . . it was torturing Madden. Leaving tomorrow morning would be like walking over
a sea of broken glass, because one thing he knew for sure, if something similar to the Steve Kirk incident happened while
he was gone, he’d never know about it. She would keep it to herself.
How much was this woman keeping to herself?
Madden waited until Eve pulled into a parking spot before standing, taking the bag containing bats, gloves, and balls out
of his truck bed, settling the strap over his shoulder. After they’d cooked long enough to set off the building’s smoke alarm
twice, the kids were covered in muck, so she’d asked him to pick up some equipment from the Pages’ while she cleaned them
up. They’d planned to meet at the local middle school in an hour.
Now Eve and the twins crossed the deserted parking lot in his direction, backlit by the beginning of a purple-red sunset.
She reached down to absently stroke Lark’s ponytail, seemingly unaware of the look of pure hero worship the little girl gave
her in return. Landon ran full speed ahead at Madden and yet time slowed down, this scene playing out in another time and
place in his mind.
Eve meeting up with him, their kids in tow, no plans for the rest of the night, except to be together under the endless Rhode
Island sky.
Someday.
Someday, please.
“Have you been here long?” Eve called, her step slowing as Landon collided with Madden’s thighs, wrapping his arms around
them. “We, um . . . found brownie batter in some very interesting places.”
Lark tittered. “Landon had some in his ear.”
“He was just trying to block out the sound of the fire alarm, wasn’t he?” Madden put his hand out for a high five, nodding
when Landon’s palm connected. “Smart lad.”
“I want to hit first when we play baseball!” Lark shouted.
Landon slumped very dramatically, before popping straight again. “I’m second!”
“Sure, we’re getting ahead of ourselves. You have to start with the basics.”
“A game of catch, right?” Eve interjected. “That’s how you started.”
“You remember that day?”
“The day we met?” She pursed her lips, shrugged, though her eyes were twinkling. “Sort of.”
“Don’t be telling them lies, now, Eve. You remember it right down to the brand of crisps everyone was eating.” He pretended
to think for a second. “Doritos.”
“They were Fritos, actu—” She cut herself off, shaking her head at him. “Uh-huh. I see what you did there.”
Madden couldn’t hide his grin. “Knew you remembered.”
“Maybe I just have a head for details.” Eve sniffed, smoothing her white athletic skirt with both hands. “Should we start
with catch, then?”
“Catch sounds good. Let’s hit the field.”
They spent the next half hour teaching Lark and Landon the mechanics of throwing and catching. It was a good thing Madden
had the foresight to bring softballs, instead of smaller, harder baseballs, because there were a lot of misses. At first. Lark got the hang of it first, opening her glove and moving it into position, doing a dance every time
she trapped the ball without letting it drop. Landon took a while longer to start catching with some consistency, but once
he did, his confidence tripled and he was smiling, already asking when they could play catch again.
“I have to leave early in the morning for New York.” There was a mandatory practice tomorrow night, before they hit the road
for a three-game stretch in Arizona. “But I’ll come round again to play catch with you, don’t worry.”
“Me too?” Lark shouted, lobbing the ball to Eve.
“Of course,” Madden said.
The twins traded a broad smile.
Eve smiled too, watching them, and god help Madden, there was a wound inside him that had been there so long, he’d forgotten
it existed. The need to be a good big brother. To be the one who taught Paul and Sinead how to play sports. How to cook or
even sneak out of the house successfully. He’d never gotten that chance because their father had quietly ordained him other.
Not one of them. Until they’d all started to believe it.
The enthusiasm from the twins, the fact that they seemed to like being around him, sealed up that wound ever so slightly.
Maybe . . . he’d get a second chance.
Madden was distracted from that hope by Eve, who fished a bat out of the bag and rested it on her shoulder at a jaunty angle.
“Shall we show them what Aunt Eve can do?”
“Uh-oh.” Madden warmed. “Go on, kids, run to the outfield and stay alert. She’s a slugger.”
“Don’t inflate their expectations,” Eve admonished him, taking a few practice swings. “My best friend is a D1 softball player.
You pick up a few things.”
“More than a few things if I recall.”
“We’ll see if I’ve still got it.”
There was no way Madden was letting Eve out of his sight when she was being playful in a skirt and holding a bat. The image
would probably be with him for years to come, the way she poked a stray hair back into her ponytail and tapped the bat against
the insides of her sneakers, all while the kids dashed into the outfield giggling, Lark turning a cartwheel with the baseball
glove still on her hand.
Eve’s stance was perfect as he remembered.
God, was it perfect.
But Madden wasn’t idiot enough to let an opportunity pass when one presented itself. That would be thumbing his nose at fate. As an Irishman, that was unacceptable.
“Needs a little work,” Madden said, jogging from the mound to the batter’s box. “Let me help you, love. Just a touch.”
“What?” Eve looked down at her bent knees, genuinely perplexed. “What am I doing wrong?”
“Ah, loads.”
“Really.”
“Really.” Madden dropped his mitt and slid up behind Eve, pressing his lap to her gorgeous arse, his arms extending around
from his position behind her, gripping the bat right above her hold. “Nearly had it, but you want to be choked up to about
here.”
“Okay . . .”
Once she’d done as she was told, Madden dropped his left hand to her thigh, right where the white hem met her bare skin, squeezing,
sliding a quartet of fingertips down to her knee, taking hold and adjusting it slightly. “Cheat this leg out a little more.”
“Madden, the kids.”
“They’re doing cartwheels, love. Let me get a fucking fix.”
“Okay.”
He walked into her, drawing her back at the same time, his mouth breathing hard into the crook of her neck. “Beautiful woman.
If we were alone, I’d make you walk the bases with your shirt and bra off. Then I’d put you just like this, just like this,
and pump my cock where it belongs, that little skirt jacked up around your belly.”
She whimpered. “We have to stop.”
“I know. Okay.” He kissed the back of her neck. “Your stance is perfect now.”
It gratified him to hear the hitch in her breath. “Pretty sure it was before.”
“Aye, but you won’t catch me admitting it.”
Eve laughed breathlessly as Madden strode back to the mound, measuring his breaths—in, out—until he got his need back under
control. As much as was humanly possible when Eve Keller walked the earth, anyway.
“Pitch underhand,” she reminded him, her cheeks flushed from more than the sun. “And go easy. I might be rusty.”
“You? Never.”
Proving him correct, she smacked his first pitch deep into centerfield, inspiring squeals of delight from the kids. And unabashed
appreciation from Madden as she ran the bases, turning her own cartwheel into home plate and sending Lark into peals of laughter.
Watching the perfect moment play out, Madden had two burning questions.
One, how the hell was he going to leave her again in the morning?
And two, would she allow him to get close enough that he might have a shot of never having to leave her again?
Before Lark and Landon moved in, the phrase “screen time” wasn’t a common one, at least not in Eve’s vocabulary. Now those
two words were a magical incantation uttered at the end of the night, after dinner and bathtime, the milkshake that brought
the kids to the yard. All Eve had to do was hold up the iPad, the twins came running, and they did not move until their hour
was up.
“Wow,” Madden said, from his lean against the doorjamb of Lark and Landon’s bedroom. “What do they watch on that thing. Cartoons?”
“Sometimes.” Eve yawned on her way out of the room. “Mostly they watch kids their own age opening mystery toys. It feels like a cult, but I need my free hour.”
Following her down the hallway into the kitchen, Madden laughed under his breath. “I’m only surprised you don’t use it more.”
“It’s tempting.”
Speaking of tempting, Madden fell solidly into the category tonight. No, he was the category. Towering, attentive, and covered in the day’s dust, he took up so much space in her kitchen. Depleted the air
of oxygen, too, if her suddenly winded state was any indication, and yeah. He’d really shown up for her today. Turned out,
accompanying her on errands, defending her honor, and giving the twins an unforgettable ditch day made him the most tempting
of all, especially considering he’d driven over four hours to get her naked and didn’t get what he wanted. Not a single complaint
either.