Page 17 of The Foul Out

“Claiming what’s mine,” I teased as I pressed my pen against her shoulder. Years of practice meant I’d marked the back of the jersey with my name before she could balk.

I was stepping back when she went ramrod straight and fired visual daggers at me, her eyes sparking with anger. “I am not yours.”

“But your shirt is, Crabby.” Grinning, I clicked the pen again.

Her scowl deepened, and she spun, her arm brushing against my chest. An electric spark shot down my spine at the contact. For one second, I desperately wanted to touch her again. But looking into her amber eyes, I remembered exactly who she was. And I forced her back into the box labelednot allowed.

“Stop calling me that,” she snapped.

“Then lighten up.” I smirked.

“You don’t understand anything,” she huffed, fisting her hands at her sides. She tried to hide her pain, but she tamped down on the wince a moment too late. It was the third time I’d seen her do that.

“I want a sweatshirt,” Piper announced.

Thankful for the distraction from the fiery woman giving me a run for my money, I turned to the little girl.

She pointed at a blue shirt with a circular Revs logo. “That one.”

Dropping the pen back into its holder, I strode over to her. “This one?” I asked as I snagged the garment from where it hung high on a rack.

She nodded.

“Does it have a tag?” Harper, forgetting about my jersey, focused on Piper for a moment before scanning the store to check on her other child. Damn. This woman was more alert than any person I’d met, and that was saying a lot, since I played a professional sport. She was constantly waiting for one of her kids to explode. It must have been exhausting.

“No tag. No hood. It’s soft inside,” I assured Piper as I handed the shirt to her. She tilted her head and almost made eye contact, but rather than focusing on my face, she let her attention wander to the wall across the room. “Hey, guys,” I said, turning. “We’re done.”

“Yes!” Asher called, slamming his fist into the air. “To the field.” With that, he ran for the door.

“To infinity and beyond,” Grey yelled, fist in the air as he chased after his dad.

“Yes!” Sam cheered, taking off too.

“They are so cringe.” Clara, Asher’s eight-year-old, rolled her eyes.

Laughing, Zara wrapped her arm around her daughter’s shoulders and dragged her out of the store. Harper watched them until they disappeared, the look on her face one I could have sworn was longing. But when she turned to her daughter, her expression was neutral.

“Come on, Piper.” She stepped up to the little girl, careful to keep several inches of space between them, and guided her from the room.

With a nod at the security guard who’d let us in, I followed them.

Although the group in front of us chattered as we moved through the stadium, voices high-pitched and echoing around the high ceilings and concrete walls, neither Harper nor Piper spoke a word. Each one was radiating anxiety so intense it thickened the air around us.

We’d hardly made it up to the dugout steps before Hannah was there.

She grinned, her eyes flashing. “I love that you’re in his jersey.”

Harper glanced down, eyes wide, like she was surprised to find that she still was sporting the pinstripes.

“Filming this is going to be perfect,” Hannah said. “Couldn’t have asked for a nicer fall day, either. Sixty and sunny? I’ll take it. Everyone is here.” She waved, pointing out Emerson and Gianna, who were standing with Mason, his girlfriend Rory, Avery, Christian, and Puff. The guys were all in uniform, and the girls were in street clothes—except Rory, who was wearing a Boston Bolts polo. She was probably headed over to the arena to work tonight’s Bolts game.

Mason caught as many home games as he could over there. In fact, he’d purchased a box, and I joined him as often as I could.

“Oh my gosh. Puff’s here.” Clara’s eyes lit up. She was too cool for most things lately, but she loved that bird.

Asher took off across the grass, headed straight for the puffin, with Clara and Grey on his heels. Sam glanced up at his mother, his lip caught between his teeth. When Harper gave him a small smile and nodded, he took off too. Piper, though, remained rooted to the spot as she took in the details of the field. I’d give her a minute to adjust.

I trotted out behind the others, giving my boys each a fist bump as I went, then bent down and held a hand out to Puff. With a squeak, he tapped his beak against my fist. It was still orange, though the color had begun to fade for winter.

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