17. Kate
Chapter seventeen
Kate
O yster shells crunch under my flats as Parker and I walk up the familiar path toward the T-ball field. The evening breeze teases the hem of my dress and brushes against the paper bag of snacks I’m gripping a little too tightly in one hand.
The bag crinkles with every step; it has pretzels, juice boxes, cut-up apples, and dinosaur gummies, and I’m glad I packed them all like I promised I would. I don’t want to show up empty-handed again.
But I don’t expect it to feel this hard to walk toward the field.
My fingers tighten around the paper bag until my knuckles pale. The field stretches out ahead, bright under the evening sun, dotted with kids in baggy uniforms chasing each other while the adults gather in little circles like they’ve all got it figured out.
If it weren’t for Parker, his excitement, his nonstop talk about being the team’s fastest runner, and his new mitt, I’d still be at home, barefoot and uselessly staring at the same unfinished painting on my easel.
But I’m here. For him. Because he deserves normal, even if my insides feel anything but.
I take a breath. Then another. I keep my eyes on the ground, resisting the urge to search for Noah. Parker's skipping beside me and grinning, the bill of his cap too big for his little head. His joy doesn't match the tension I feel.
Parker skips ahead a little, then doubles back to grab my free hand, his small fingers curling around mine. “You okay, Mama?”
The question lands like a pebble dropped in still water, sending quiet ripples through me. I blink down at him, caught off guard. He’s peering up at me, squinting against the sunlight, but it’s more than that. He’s studying me. Like he knows.
Kneeling, I meet him at eye level. His eyes are so much like mine, but without the weight I carry. His gaze is steady. Unburdened.
“Of course, I’m okay, sweetheart.” My voice is light and practiced. Smiling while your heart is cracked open is a skill I’ve mastered.
But Parker frowns. “You look like your heart has a tummy ache.”
That stops me. I tilt my head. “A tummy ache in my heart?”
He nods seriously. “Like when Blaze has to stay home and I miss him a lot. It feels weird in here.” He pats his chest, small fingers pressing lightly. “Like something’s not right.”
My laugh almost slips out, but it dissolves into something quieter. I reach out and smooth his curls back from his forehead, letting my hand linger there.
“Oh, baby,” I whisper, smoothing his curls back with one hand. “I’m just… thinking too much, that’s all.”
He leans in and wraps his arms around my neck. “You don’t gotta think so hard. You can have my gummies if that makes you happy again.”
That undoes me. I pull him in tighter, burying my nose in his hair. “You are the sweetest boy, you know that?”
“I know, you always tell me,” he mumbles into my shoulder, and I smile through the sting in my eyes.
When I pull back, he’s watching me with the same expression I’ve seen on his face when he’s coloring outside the lines and worried I’ll say something about it. “Is that why you didn’t paint with me this morning?” he asks. “’Cause you were thinking too much?”
I nod. “That’s exactly it.”
He seems to mull that over, then shrugs with all the seriousness a five-year-old can muster. “Well… maybe you can paint tomorrow. Or paint now in your head while I go hit a home run.”
I laugh softly. “Sounds like a plan.”
I pat his bum gently. “Go warm up, superstar.”
He beams, then takes off across the grass, legs pumping; and I straighten slowly, eyes trained on the ground. I know better than to look across the field. I know exactly who I’ll see. I know if I even glance in that direction, I’ll falter.
I’ll feel everything all over again; his hands, his silence, the stupid hollow throb that creeps in when I think about what we had and how quickly it slipped through my fingers.
So, I don’t look. I won’t give him that power.
Instead, I lift my chin and slip on the smile I’ve worn many times over the years, the one that used to get me through stiff family dinners and photo ops at galas I didn’t want to attend.
It stretches too tight across my face, all teeth and nothing behind it. By the time I reach the bleachers, my cheeks ache with the strain of a smile that doesn't belong to me.
Emily sees me first. “Hey, you!” she calls, bright and familiar, already moving toward me like she’d been waiting for the exact moment I’d need her.
Her arms wrap around me without hesitation. She smells like sunscreen and vanilla lotion, and it almost undoes me right there. Ava is next, her hug firmer but no less warm.
Then Rachel slides in last, looping her arms around all of us like she’s trying to hold the pieces of me together before they slip through the cracks.
None of them say a word. No probing questions. No awkward glances toward the field. Just warm bodies pressed to mine, silent understanding humming between us like a low current.
I press my lips together, fighting the wobble in my chin. My throat tightens, and for a second, I can’t breathe past the knot lodged there. So, I just hold them. I hold them like they’re the only thing anchoring me.
Because maybe they are.
These women don’t know the whole story—not even close. But they know something’s broken. And they don’t need details to love me through it.
I let them.
God, I let them.
They finally let go, and the crinkled snack bag is pried gently from where it’s been crushed between us, Rachel smoothing it out like it’s something delicate and worth saving. It makes me swallow hard.
They lead me to sit on the bottom row of the bleachers, where the metal is warm beneath my thighs, and the sun filters in from behind the field netting, casting everyone in this soft golden haze that feels far too gentle for the storm inside me.
Emily sits close to my right, knees angled toward mine like she’s ready to listen before I even speak. Rachel’s on my other side, still holding the bag, and Ava settles across from us, crouching so she’s at eye level.
Emily’s the first to speak.
“So…” she starts, drawing the word out enough to soften it. “Yesterday. We saw you leaving with Noah.”
I can see curiosity layered in care in her eyes.
Ava tilts her head. “And Connor said when he dropped Parker off, you looked like you were trying really hard not to cry.”
I laugh, but it’s thin. Brittle. “Sounds about right.”
They wait. No one rushes me. And maybe that’s what cracks something open in me.
“I don’t know,” I run a hand down my thigh, brushing invisible lint, just to do something with the nervous energy pulsing under my skin. “It’s like… when he touches me, it’s not casual. It’s not just sex. His hands say something else. Like it matters. Like I mean a lot to him.”
I look to each of them in turn. “And in the moment, I can feel it. I know he means it. I can tell. But afterward... afterward, it’s like he’s someone else. Cold, distant. Like he regrets it or maybe regrets me.”
My voice shakes at the last word, and I hate that it does.
“I keep thinking maybe I’m imagining it, or maybe I’m doing something wrong. Like, is it something I said? Did I come on too strong? Did I push too hard without realizing?”
Rachel reaches out, placing her hand over mine. Her touch is warm and comforting against my sudden clammy skin.
“You’re not imagining it,” Ava says quietly.
I blink at her.
Emily nods toward her. “Ava’s kind of the expert on this.”
That earns a soft laugh from Ava, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Connor did the same thing to me,” she says.
“The first time, we… slept together. It was slow, it was intense, it was real. And then, just like that, he pulled back. Told me outright that we couldn’t be anything. That he wasn’t built for it.”
I lean forward, needing more. “What did you do?”
Ava shrugs, but it’s the kind of shrug that hides an ocean of heartache. “I let him go. Not because I wanted to. But because I needed to protect my own heart. And sometimes, that’s the only choice. But… he came back. Eventually. When he’d figured himself out.”
“But what if he doesn’t?” I whisper.
“You’ll survive it,” Ava says. “But also… maybe he will. Maybe he needs time to stop fighting whatever it is he’s scared of.”
I nod slowly, taking it in. Every word settles into me like rain into parched soil. But there’s something else, too. Something I can’t help but ask.
“There’s one more thing,” I say, and my voice lowers, cautious. “Last night… he asked if no one had told me anything about him. I didn’t understand what he meant. But it felt… loaded.”
The women exchange glances, silent and thick with meaning.
“What?” I ask, my chest tightening. “What is it?”
Rachel speaks carefully. “It’s not really our story to tell, Kate.”
“But we can tell you this much,” Emily adds gently. “He lost someone. Someone he loved a long time ago. And it wrecked him.”
Was that what he meant by a life he almost had?
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Like… a partner?”
Ava nods. “Yeah. And maybe more than that. It’s why he holds back. The reason he doesn’t let people in. You’re not doing anything wrong. He’s still scarred from something you can’t see.”
I stare down at my hands, my nails pressing crescent moons into my palm. My heart aches—not just for myself, but for him. For the man who holds me like he means it and disappears like he doesn’t.
Rachel reaches for my hand again. “You don’t have to fix him, Kate. But if you care about him… maybe don’t walk away just yet. Give him a chance to open the door himself.”
I nod, slow and unsure, as a breeze sweeps over the field and the faint cheer of kids playing filters through the air.
But deep inside, the ache doesn’t lessen.
If he doesn’t open that door soon... I know I’ll have to walk away.
Even if I don’t want to.
Margaret’s voice floats over just as I manage to draw a full breath again.