Chapter 12 Cooper #2
“All right, then. I’ll do my best.” I was about to turn away, but at the last second, I asked, “Anything new about Frank’s job situation? You haven’t said anything and…I just wondered.”
“No. I think we’ve ruled out San Diego, though. It’s just too far away, and that’s fine. He has other options.”
That sounded extremely vague. “I see. Well, keep me updated.”
Sarah smiled wanly. “I will.”
There wasn’t much more to say, and it frustrated me.
I’d been content with the radio silence for too long, but I couldn’t bury my head in the sand and hope everything would work out in my favor.
It rarely did, anyway. According to the attorney I’d retained in Rutland, I had to be prepared to sift through the rough parts of our divorce if custody were to become an issue.
I was ready.
I had rights and if push came to shove, I’d fight for these two knuckleheads with everything I had.
With a curt nod, I strode to the truck, unclenching my fists and rearranging my features into something more pleasant for the kids’ sake.
“Yahoo! I get to be in charge of the entertainment,” Chase shimmied in his seat and lunged for the console. “Let’s listen to the haunted house story.”
“No one likes that story, Chase,” Ivy snapped sulkily from the back seat.
“Ivy…”
“It’s okay, Dad. She has sour grapes,” he intercepted in a surprisingly mature tone. “Ooh! This is where we left off last time. Shh!”
“…the wind howled, drowning the ghostly cry of the dark demon and…”
I caught Ivy’s eye in the rearview mirror and winked. She sighed but winked in return, then settled into the leather seats, seeming far more interested in the audiobook than she’d claimed to be.
The chapter ended as we crested the ridge to Wood Hollow. The ghost story had been a perfect reset from my niggling fear and anger and Ivy’s silent stewing.
I muted the volume and turned onto Red Oak Lane, where tendrils of new leaves brushed the top of the truck like a lazy curtain, filtering the afternoon sunlight into spun gold.
And there he was.
A golden man in snug jeans and black tee that showed off his broad shoulders and bulging biceps to perfection.
Silas glanced up from whatever he was looking for in the Jeep’s trunk and gave a friendly wave.
Like any neighbor might. But my heart rose to my throat, and my mouth went dry at the sight of him.
Jesus, I had it bad. Acting as though we were new friends for the sake of appearances might be a bigger challenge than I’d counted on.
Chase unbuckled his seat belt, craning his neck to get another glimpse of Silas. “Who’s that? Is he the football player?”
“Obviously, genius,” Ivy huffed sarcastically.
Chase ignored her and barreled on. “Mom said she heard he’s here again. We didn’t meet him last time. Can we meet him, Dad?”
“Yeah, but—” He was out of the truck like a shot.
“Ugh! He never listens.”
“Hey, be nice to your brother,” I scolded. “And if possible, leave the bad mood behind. Got it?”
“Okay, fine.” She gave a sharp nod, the garish blue paint shading her pretty eyes like two bruises. She gathered her things and closed the door, her expression softening as she peered through the barrier of trees. “Have you met him?”
“Yes. His name is Silas, and he’s a nice guy.”
“He’s really…big.”
I snorted. Silas would love that.
“Not bigger than me,” I teased.
Ivy pulled a comical face. “I think his muscles have muscles, Dad.”
I hid a grin as we wandered next door, where Chase was lobbing questions at my amused lover faster than a pitching machine on a high setting.
“Did you ever play with Tom Brady? Did you ever go to the Super Bowl? Like, play in it? Did you ever meet Denny Mellon? He’s from Elmwood and he’s a famous hockey player. And Jake Milligan too. Did you meet him? Is that a real NFL football in your Jeep? Can I see it?”
I sensed Ivy wanted to roast her brother for his lack of chill, but the mention of a real football was too intriguing to play it cool. She darted from my side and made it to the Jeep just as Silas pulled a football from his truck.
“Whoa! You’re multiplying,” he joked, offering Ivy his hand to shake. “I’m Silas. Nice to meet you.”
“I’m Ivy and this is my brother, Chase.”
“I already told him that,” Chase grumbled.
“And that’s our dad.”
“We’ve met,” I said in a neutral voice…you know, as if he were the mailman, a familiar bartender, or the friend of a friend I’d bumped into more than once or twice.
But this was Silas.
This was the man whose bed I’d been in this morning.
This was the man I’d made coffee for and sat next to at the island trading newsworthy headlines while nibbling toast with our knees touching.
This was the man I’d kissed good-bye and had apologized to in advance, knowing we’d have to be something else in front of the kids. Strangers.
The deception was harder than I’d thought it would be.
“Hey, Coop,” Silas replied breezily. “I didn’t know your kids were big football fans.”
“We play flag football at the park. Dex, the donut guy, started a league last year,” Ivy informed him.
“Yeah, and we play for Wood Hollow, and Wood Hollow is the best,” Chase boasted proudly. “It makes my Fallbrook friends so mad. Can I see your football?”
Silas tossed it to him and shuffled down the driveway, motioning for Chase to pass it. Chase had a decent arm. His spiral wasn’t as tight as it could be, but he stepped into his throw like a boss and delivered a nice shot.
“Not bad,” Silas enthused.
“Thanks. I’ve been practicing,” Chase called out.
Silas threw the ball, then glanced at Ivy. “How about you? Wanna show me what you’ve got?”
Ivy’s grin was quick and disarming. She dropped her bag at my feet and ran to the opposite end of the driveway.
For the next ten minutes or so, I played spectator, watching Silas charm the hell out of my kids. He threw the ball over and over, plucking unwieldy passes out of the air before they nailed the Jeep or landed in a shrub. And all the while, he answered their endless stream of questions.
Yes, he’d played with some of the greatest QBs in the game. He’d been in two Super Bowls: lost the first, won the second. It was the most incredible feeling in the world.
“Like Christmas morning and Santa brings you a bike, a puppy, a trampoline, a foosball table, all-you-can-eat chocolate cake, and more.”
No, he’d never met any of Elmwood famous athletes in person, but he’d been to their games.
“How is a pro football different?” Chase asked, wincing as the next ball slipped out of his hand and bounced on the driveway.
Silas motioned the kids to his side. “It’s bigger, the ends are pointier, there aren’t any stripes on it, and you can tell it’s a little smoother, too. That makes it harder to grip. Yet you two have been chucking this thing like beasts. Gimme a high five.”
He held his hand just out of reach, chuckling as they both jumped to smack his palm.
“All right, guys. Thank Mr. Anderson and—”
“Silas,” he corrected.
Chase and Ivy said thank you and invited Silas to come by for dinner and call whenever he felt like throwing the ball around. I sent them ahead of me and hung back to sneak a few minutes alone with him.
“Like it or not, you just made two new best friends.” I pivoted to face Silas. And God, I wanted to grab his face and kiss the hell out of him. I brushed my fingers over his instead and shoved my hand into my pocket. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I’ve been loitering outside for an hour, hoping to meet them. And…see you, of course.” He spun the football on his palm, adding, “They’re pretty cool.”
“I think so too. Look, I, um…I don’t know how much I’ll be able to see you this week, but—”
“Hey, it’s okay. I don’t expect you to shuffle your calendar for me. Do your thing. I’ll be around. I’m happy to be a random after-school football diversion if that works best.”
That sounded safe and smart and—
“Come for dinner tomorrow,” I blurted. “Six o’clock. I’ll barbecue ribs and veggies and make a salad…or something.”
We stared at each other for a long moment. Like two magnets trying hard to resist attraction.
“I’ll be there.”
I finally broke away. “See you tomorrow.”
“Sleep well.”
I snickered at his lascivious eye-waggle. “You too.”
The kids were flying high, excited to tell their friends and classmates about meeting a real live football player. And when they found out Silas had accepted a dinner invitation, they were beside themselves.
“Dad, we have to make something really, really good,” Ivy declared.
“He’s a celebrity, you know. Ribs are fine, but I’ll make a special rub for it.
Or what about fish? Do you think he likes salmon?
Chicken is safe…a little boring unless we spruce it up with a good side dish or a fancy salad.
We have to think about it. Obviously, we can’t just feed him lettuce. ”
I could have told her that Silas would have been perfectly happy with grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup from a can, but the idea of preparing a meal for a guest thrilled my burgeoning chef, who’d hurried off to shower and wash away all traces of makeup before gathering a stack of her favorite cookbooks to do some research.
I probably hadn’t dodged the makeup quandary, but I took the respite and figured I’d broach the topic another time.
For now, it was nice that we all had something to look forward to.
Silas.