Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Paige
The smell of charcoal fills the air and something about it feels nostalgic.
It reminds me of my childhood when Dad would pick me up after elementary school and instead of heading home, we’d go to parks just like this one.
We’d make hot dogs on the same type of built-in barbecue Mason is grilling on right now, and I’d play with whoever else got to go to the park after school that day.
I miss him.
I’ve missed this.
My eyes slide toward Chase, sitting in a folding chair beside Ari and Brady. They’re laughing and chatting, but he’s picking at the label on the water bottle he’s holding, his shoulders slumped.
The sight breaks my heart, and I pull in a lungful of air to work past the ache threatening to take over there.
“Do you think he’s okay?” I ask quietly.
Payton follows my gaze, her smile fading. “I don’t know. What’s he said?”
“He apologized, right after the game when he came to Ari’s. I told him I didn’t even need an apology, that I was just worried but he didn’t do anything wrong.” I sigh, my own shoulders sagging. “Then he just apologized again.”
“Sounds about right.”
“Yeah, but since then, it’s like he’s…” I can’t quite say it out loud and maybe that’s because I don’t really have words for it at all.
It’s almost like he’s always present but never really here.
Payton reaches out, squeezing my hand gently, then picks Deaton up off the table, kissing his cheek as she snags the bag of chips he tries to take with him.
“Hey, buddy, I think Uncle Chase wants to go play,” she whispers to her son, meeting Mason’s eyes when he looks over with the most grateful of smiles, his own worried expression moving to his best friend.
“Just don’t tell him Mama told you so, ’kay, D? I think he’ll like that.”
Deaton nods excitedly, then runs full speed until he’s throwing himself in an unsuspecting Chase’s arms with a big oomph.
“Uncle Chaser, let’s go play!” Deaton grins up at him.
Chase’s smile is instant and he’s on his feet in the next moment, turning for the playground without a thought.
Mase leans over, kissing Payton’s cheek. “Good job, Mama.”
I nod absentmindedly, watching the two boys as they race for the slide.
Deaton gets ahead of him, but then he trips climbing up the last step and falls forward.
But Chase is already there, picking him up and saying something none of us can hear as he dusts off his little hands and reties his shoe. Deaton starts waving his hand all around, talking as animatedly as ever, and Chase is completely enamored, smiling down at the little boy.
He’s trying so hard to be okay. God, it only makes me love him more.
Because I do.
I love him.
I watch the duo for ten minutes or so, and when Mason announces it’s time to eat, I’m the first to volunteer to get the boys from the playground. I push away from the table, grabbing a juice box for Deaton and a bottle of water for Chase.
I just need to be close.
Chase
I hear her before I see her, the soft shuffle of sandals over the sand.
I don’t look up right away.
I don’t know if I can.
She doesn’t speak, just kneels beside me, offering Deaton the drink she brought over for him.
“Thanks! I was so thirsty.” He smiles, downing half of it in one pull. “We were playing Chase is on the case, and he was being Chase!” He laughs, and I can’t help but chuckle with him.
He’s just so damn cute, and the littlest of things make him happy.
The thought sends a ping through my chest.
Can I make her happy like that if I have nothing to offer but myself?
I swallow, and in my peripheral, I see her look my way.
“You want to play?” he asks her, his little legs kicking over the edge of the jungle gym.
“I’d love to play, but your daddy was hoping you’d be ready to eat.” She smiles at him. “I even heard your mama say you could have more chips if you ate all your hot dog.”
His eyes go comically wide with excitement, but then he points a finger at her, and I watch curiously, waiting to see what he’s going to say. “But we’re still having some cookies with frosting?”
“You bet we are. I got all the stuff, so we’re just waiting for a certain little boy to eat all his lunch first.”
He jumps up, his little tongue tucked between his lips as he climbs the steps and slips into the slide. He turns back with a smile. “Blast off!” he shouts, then disappears down the bright-yellow tube.
I chuckle lightly, watching as he crosses the sand to the grass, and I don’t look away until Mason spots him coming.
Just like that, we’re alone and the headache that won’t seem to go away constricts a little more.
My eyes flick to her fingers, resting lightly on the edge of the step beside me, an unopened water bottle sitting between us.
I should say something. I hate this stillness between us, and it’s been this way for the last few weeks, but if I open my mouth, I’ll lose the small grip I have left on my emotions. I just want to be strong for her and I don’t feel strong right now.
So instead, I reach out, like I always do. My hand finds hers, and I wrap my fingers around it, warm and small and familiar, and when I finally drag my gaze up to meet hers, she’s already watching me.
Waiting.
Her eyes are so soft that it kills me. She leans into the contact, like it’s all she needs. Like my touch, as tiny as it is, is enough.
And I swear, that nearly breaks me.
I pull her into a hug, burying my face in her neck, and breathe her in, hoping she can feel the real rawness behind it.
It’s a hug that I hope says I’m still here. I still see you.
I’m sorry I can’t be better right now but, but I need you to know you matter to me.
You matter more than anything ever has.
More than the game I might have lost or the future that graduating college could have awarded.
She melts into me, her arms sliding around my waist.
Her head rests against my chest, and I close my eyes.
I wish things were as simple as this day is: food and friends and chilly November air.
If only.
A small voice calls from across the playground, gently tugging us back to reality. “Paige!”
Her name echoes across the yard, and I feel her shift, blinking up at me.
We look over to find a smiling Deaton running this way. He jerks to a stop at the edge of the sandbox, his shoes having come off at some point.
“I’m ready to make cookies now!” He grins, his tiny fists clenched in excitement.
Paige’s expression softens as she looks at him, and her smile is apologetic when she faces me. “Duty calls,” she teases, brushing her lips along my jaw as she pushes to her feet.
I want to tug her back, keep her here, but I’d sooner cut off my own hands than take away from that little boy’s happiness.
I watch her walk across the yard, her arms outstretched as Deaton barrels into her with a laugh. She scoops him up and kisses his cheek, and the way she beams at him… Damn.
She carries him over to a little spot she reserved just for the two of them on the picnic table, and together they start pulling things out of a bag.
He tugs on her top and she turns, giving him her full attention, listening raptly as he tells her who the hell knows what, but his little face is so serious, it makes me smile.
I lean back and allow myself to watch her—the way she smiles and gushes over every cookie he decorates. The way she flicks her ponytail over her shoulder when it falls in her eyes. The way she kisses the top of his head when he leans over and takes a look at her own decorating skills.
I glance at my friends to see if they’re watching her as closely as I am, but they aren’t.
They aren’t looking their way at all, in fact, because they trust her with the most important person in their life.
She is the most important person in mine.
My eyes move back to the beautiful blond, and a lump forms in my throat.
She’s so good with him, so natural.
A quiet, cautious thought dares to slip into my mind, and I allow it to come to fruition. To ask the question I suddenly am desperate to know the answer to.
Does she want a little one of her own one day the way I do, and could I be the man to give her that?
And then I shut the thought down fast.
What am I doing?
I run my hands down my face and let out a slow, quiet breath.
My phone beeps in my pocket, and I tug it out to find an unknown number on the screen.
Curious, I open the message, and instant anger pulses through my veins.
Unknown: you can’t ignore me forever, Son. I just want to talk.
My fingers fly across the keys angrily and I send the message before I can even think twice.
Me: You lost the option to talk to me when you crushed my dad. You lost the right to call me son when you stole my future from me, and you lost all my respect when you showed up to the game my father taught me how to play with someone else.
My fingers tingle and I wring them out before I block that number like I did hers last week—after dozens of calls and texts, all of which I ignored—and turn off my phone.
I don’t know how many more Sundays like this I’m going to get, so I’m going to enjoy this one.
I walk right up to the table where Deaton and Paige are decorating what look to be sugar cookies of all different shapes and sizes.
I’ve just swung one leg over the seat when Deaton looks up with a frown, making me freeze in place.
“Uh, Uncle Chaser, you have to sit over there with my dad,” he tells me, but there’s a little unsure pinch to his brows and he looks to Paige. “Right, Paige?” he asks her, with big puppy-dog eyes. “It’s just-me-and-you time?”
Paige opens her mouth, looking to me and back, and I wait for her to save the day, too, but honestly, I wouldn’t even mind walking away right now after what he said and the way he said it.
His and her time. He loves her too.
Somehow I want to stay even more while equally wanting to go and give them this.
“It is our special time,” she confirms, brushing Deaton’s little curls from his forehead. “But what if we let Uncle Chaser decorate just one cookie? You can be the boss and tell him if it’s good enough to go on the tray for your grandma and grandpa’s big Thanksgiving party.”
I know she’s got him before he even speaks, his eyes lighting up, head tilting. “I get to be the cookie judge?”
Paige nods sharply. “Oh yeah. The head judge.”
“Yay!” His hands shoot into the air, and he climbs to his feet on the bench. Paige shoots her hands out to steady him. “Guys! Come on! Come make just one cookie and I get to be your judge!”
The others chuckle, not really understanding but getting up and coming over regardless.
I sit down, reaching across the table to fold my hand in Paige’s.
She looks up, her smile soft as the others file around us, and Deaton tells them what they are and are not allowed to do, including which cookie each person is in charge of.
And we all sit there, letting the little three-year-old boss us around.
Not one of us would have it any other way.