Chapter 28
CHAPTER 28
WYATT
June 3
“What are you doing up so early?”
The morning sun is just starting to filter through the kitchen window, casting Hazel and Eden in a warm glow at our kitchen table. Hazel has her laptop in front of her, a legal pad beside it, as she finishes up her final paper for the semester while Eden makes messy work of the peanut butter toast soldiers on her high chair tray.
As soon as she sees me, Eden starts shrieking and babbling. At almost eight months, she doesn’t have any words yet, but that doesn’t stop her from talking a blue streak. And nothing has ever sounded better to me than the nonsense spilling from her gummy little mouth.
“Morning, Princess Peanut Butter,” I say, planting a kiss on top of her fuzzy red head, then stealing a bit of toast off Hazel’s plate. “Betsy’s soccer final is this morning. Archer has gathered the world’s largest cheering section.”
“That explains the outfit.” Hazel snorts, eyeing the red Cardinal Springs Cardinals jersey tucked into a white skort and the red Converse on my feet. But before I can fire back, she sucks in a breath and sits up straight. “Oh, hey, can I come?”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “You want to come to a youth soccer game at eight a.m. on a Saturday?”
“Thanks to my Facebook stalking, I’m pretty sure the Parks Department director’s daughter plays on Betsy’s team,” Hazel says, closing her laptop and retrieving the bottle Eden just chucked on the floor. “I’m trying to get them to hire me as a landscape intern. My advisor told me I could get practicum credit for it, and that would get me closer to an on-time graduation.”
Hazel’s been working her butt off doing online classes. It remains to be seen if she can finish her entire degree remotely. Her advisor at Cornell is being incredibly helpful and accommodating, but there’s only so much you can fight the administration at an Ivy League institution. I’m trying not to imagine Hazel packing Eden and all her baby gear into the Subaru and driving away. The thought breaks my heart.
More than once I’ve considered following them to Ithaca, spending a semester or two in a tiny apartment watching Eden while Hazel goes to class.
But that was before Owen. I would do anything for Hazel, but that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt like a motherfucker to leave.
And then there’s a whole other stew of emotions that I try not to look at too closely. The last time I loaded up my truck and drove away from a man, I was in pieces. Owen isn’t Griffin. The hurt would be different, but it would hurt all the same.
“What’s up, buttercup?” Libby pads into the kitchen in leggings and an oversize sweatshirt, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She’s been working days at the diner lately, which means I don’t cross paths with her all that much, what with me working nights at the bar.
I’m not mad about it.
Before I can send Hazel some sister telepathy, she pipes up. “We’re going to Betsy’s soccer game.”
Libby pours coffee and lets out a catlike yawn. “Who’s Betsy again?”
I scoff, but Hazel ignores it and smiles at our mother. “Archer’s neighbor’s daughter.”
“And Archer is?”
“The older brother of Owen, who is Wyatt’s?—”
“ Nothing ,” I say through gritted teeth. This time Hazel shuts her mouth.
“Oh, right, the good doctor,” Libby says in a playground singsong. She waggles her eyebrows over her coffee mug. “How are things with the two of you?”
I ignore her and focus on Hazel and my promise that I would try to keep the peace. “Grace is arranging a whole pregame brunch thing on the sidelines, so I have to be there at seven thirty. You want to ride with me?”
“I want to go,” Libby says.
“No,” I reply.
She pouts. “Come on. I haven’t had a morning off in forever.”
“And you want to spend it watching children you don’t know play soccer?”
“No, I want to spend it with my girls,” she says with a theatrical touch of pain in her voice.
Hazel gives me a look. “It’s fine,” she tells me, as if saying it will make it so. Then she turns back to Libby. “You can ride with Eden and me. I need to scrub the peanut butter off this one, so you go ahead, Wyatt. We’ll meet you there.”
“Peachy,” I mutter, suddenly dreading this soccer game a whole hell of a lot more.
I arrive at the field to find the whole McBride clan gathered by the soccer field at Whitlow Park. Grace told me she was putting together “a little pregame brunch,” but this is another level.
“Jeez, you went full Ole Miss tailgate,” I say as I peruse the folding table she brought, topped with a red linen tablecloth. Grace is a bomb-ass cook, and she’s really outdone herself this morning. The table is practically creaking under the weight of platters filled with flaky biscuits, French toast sticks, bacon-wrapped sausages, egg bites, and a colorful fruit salad. A large pitcher of orange juice sits beside a stack of red Solo cups.
“There’s champagne under the table,” she whispers, lifting a corner of the tablecloth. “Be discreet. I’m pretty sure it’s illegal, and Archer will kill me if I embarrass him at this game.”
Across the field, Archer has his feet planted shoulder width apart, arms crossed over his chest, a whistle in his mouth. He’s blowing it at regular intervals while his team of nine-year-old soccer players moves through warm-up drills like a squad of Navy SEALs.
“I don’t think it’s illegal, but getting tipsy at a children’s soccer game is certainly frowned upon,” Felix says, reaching for one of the cups.
Grace snatches it from his hand. “Then no mimosas for you,” she retorts.
“Hey, no judgment!” Felix says, then looks around. Mr. McBride is standing hip to hip with Corianne, his girlfriend, as they share a heap of goodies from a red paper plate. “Where’s Dan?”
“Archer said he was coming, but then Dad said he left last night to go back to New York. So as usual, I have no idea what his deal is,” she says with a sigh, sipping her mimosa.
“Well, a guy in a suit stopped by my house this morning looking for him. Said he was with the SEC and left his card,” Felix says. “Apparently Dan gave them my address when he was crashing with us? But that was months ago.”
“SEC? Like the football conference?” I ask.
“The Securities and Exchange Commission,” Felix says.
“What the hell ?” Grace asks.
Felix shrugs. “I’ll try to call him. I’m all for giving him space or whatever, but this shit’s fucked up. Guy had a bad suit and a shiny badge and looked like he resented setting foot in the state of Indiana. Whatever’s going on is straight-up not good.”
Grace sighs again as Felix trudges away, phone to his ear.
“Hey, I’m sure everything is fine,” I say, even though it sounds very much not fine. Dan has been slinking in and out of town for months, taking furtive phone calls and saying absolutely nothing to anyone. If the feds are looking for him in Cardinal Springs, Felix is right—shit’s fucked up.
Grace shakes her head. “I highly doubt it, but there’s nothing I can do about that right now. I’m just trying to focus on this food to distract me from my brother’s troubles and the fact that the final round starts tomorrow.”
Decker’s hockey team just finished a brutal battle in the semis that lasted all the way to the final seconds of Game Seven, when a buzzer beater guaranteed them a trip to the final. Since Decker is retiring at the end of the season, this is his last chance to win a Stanley Cup, and Grace is as nervous as if she were donning skates and playing herself.
I reach beneath the table and find the bottle of champagne, which is wrapped in a red towel. “Girl, skip the OJ. Go straight for the bubbly,” I say, tipping the bottle into her cup.
She smiles. “Bless you.”
And then Grace is pulled away by some of the soccer parents coming by to fill their plates. Now that no one is paying any attention to me, I decide to take a nice stroll down the sideline to where a very handsome medic is setting up at the center line.
Owen is wearing a pair of black joggers that make my mouth water and a neon-yellow T-shirt that says medical volunteer in large black letters.
“Excuse me, Doctor, I’ve got an itch I just can’t scratch,” I say in a faux-breathy voice.
Owen looks up from the cooler he’s filling with ice and grins.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he says, his blue eyes slowly sweeping over me. “You look like a naughty cheerleader in that skirt.”
I pop a hip and grin. “Wanna meet me under the bleachers after the game?”
Owen glances over at the small set of metal risers positioned across the field, only four rows high.
“I think I’m a little tall,” he says with a laugh. “How about instead I take you back to my bed and fuck you until you scream?”
My mouth nearly drops open in surprise. I’ve been getting hot and heavy with Owen since January, and it still shocks me that the mild-mannered pediatrician has a mouth like that.
“Yoo-hoo!”
And just like that, my vagina dries right on up—my mother is walking toward us from the parking lot. She’s wearing a pair of white cutoffs and a red V-neck baby tee, kitten-heeled sandals on her feet. Which is why she’s wobbling on the grass like a drunk toddler, the heels sinking into the damp soil with each step.
When she finally arrives, she grins. “Wyatt, hon, introduce me to your man friend!”
“You’ve met,” I deadpan.
“Yes, well, that was before he was your man friend,” she trills.
I huff out a sigh. “Owen, this is Libby,” I say, gesturing to my mother. “Libby, Owen.”
“Nice to see you again, Libby,” he says, reaching out to shake her hand.
“Oh, the pleasure is all mine,” she says with a wink, and I want to die . I can’t even be bothered to hide my eye roll. “Now, Owen, you’re a doctor, so let me ask you?—”
“Oh my god, please do not hit this nice man up for free medical advice,” I plead.
“Fine, fine,” she says, waving me off like I’m the one being unreasonable. She smiles at Owen. “Wants you all to herself, I see.”
I groan. “Go get food. There’s mimosas.”
“Honey, you know I don’t drink anymore.”
Did I know that? My mother keeps up a near-constant stream of chatter, and I’ve gotten very good at tuning her out when I’m forced to be in a room with her. I guess I’ve missed a few things. Then again, I can barely picture Libby Hart without a beer in her hand, so I guess I’ll believe it when I see it.
“I’ll let you two have your alone time, though,” she says. “I’ll just go make conversation with your other friends.”
I must have a panicked look on my face, because Owen takes a furtive glance around, then drops a quick, soft kiss on my forehead and nudges me toward her.
“I’ll see you after the game,” he says, then gives me quick a swat on the ass as I turn to walk away.