Page 68 of Play Book

I discovered that there were more bruises than just that black eye, telling me she wasn’t safe in that group home. She can hate me, but I won’t let anyone hurt her, so going back to that setting isn’t happening.

Living with me isn’t ideal, but it’s the only option we have at the moment.

And I’ve already done something incredibly stupid because of it.

It’s ironic that I finally meet a woman who makes me rethink my position on almost everything and then immediately have to take custody of my niece. I don’t know what the universe is trying to tell me, but it’s not funny.

“Come on, get dressed,” I tell Ally.

She looks up from the box of cereal she’s eating out of with a frown. “Why? Where are we going?”

“Lots of stuff to do,” I say. “Get a move on. And brush your teeth!” I yell as she slinks down the hall to the guest room she’s commandeered.

I live in a condo. It’s plenty big enough for a single guy, with three bedrooms and two-and-a-half bathrooms, but it feels incredibly small now that Ally’s here. Like I need to buy a house immediately, even though that’s ridiculous. Twenty-five hundred square feet is more than enough for a single guy and an eleven-year-old.

Right?

She’s still in the bathroom when the intercom rings and the security guard downstairs tells me that a Ms. Stephanie Marchand is here to see me.

What’s Stevie doing here?

I tell him to let her up and wait for her by the door.

“Stevie.” I immediately reach out to the large, flat package she’s carrying.

And my heart sinks because I know what it is.

“What’re you doing here?” I ask.

She gives me a strange look. “Making a delivery for Saylor.”

“The painting.”

She nods. “Yes. She wants you to have it.”

“She’s mad, huh?”

Stevie cocks her head. “I wouldn’t say that. I think you hurt her feelings.”

Great.

In some ways, that’s worse.

“Stevie!” For some reason, Stevie is the only person Ally’s met so far that she seems to genuinely like. They spent the whole evening together at the game the other night and Ally had talked about her non-stop since then. “What are you doing here? Are we going shopping?”

A burst of hope shoots through me.

If Stevie takes her shopping, I can go see Saylor.

Apologize.

Explain.

Somehow make it up to her.

“I’m delivering a painting your uncle bought,” Stevie says, “but I am free the rest of the afternoon. We closed the gallery so if you want to go shopping, and it’s okay with Canyon, we can hit the mall.” She gives me a look that tells me she knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“You need clothes,” I say, pulling out my wallet. “And I’m not the best person to take a young woman shopping.” I just went to the bank yesterday, so there’s almost a thousand dollars in my wallet. I hand five hundred-dollar bills to Stevie. “She needs a backpack for school. It can be any size, design, or color, but no profanity—” I give Ally a look. “And no text other than a brand name. It can say Nike but it can’t say Nickelback.”

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