Page 33 of The Foul Out

He ignored the move and instead dropped his backpack on the ground next to him and unzipped it. “I brought these noise-canceling headphones.” Yanking a pair of blue headphones out, he showed them to Piper. They were blue, with a Revs logo on each ear.

She blinked rapidly, but her hands froze their pinching motion.

With a brow arched, he eased them a little closer to her. “Thought maybe you could borrow them.”

“Don’t—” I said. If he put them on her, there was a good chance she’d lose it. Piper didn’t like having her shoulders, neck, ears, or hair touched.

To my relief, he just held them in his palm and made no other move.

Piper turned his way and carefully eyed the blue headphones.

“Mom, can I plays with Grey?” Sam tugged on my black dress pants, startling me.

“Come on,” Dylan said, taking his hand. “I’ll get you settled while Mom helps Piper.”

To my absolute shock, he happily followed her to the classroom and didn’t look back. The tension in my shoulders eased a fraction as I watched them disappear. At least he was happy.

Piper, however, stood stiff as a board, still blinking rapidly. Kyle hadn’t moved, so he was still squatted beside her, holding the headphones out patiently.

Finally, she tentatively stretched an arm out and took them. After a careful inspection, she put them over her ears. It only took a second before her entire body sagged.

Kyle tapped his ear, and Piper, understanding the silent request, stretched the headphones away from her head.

“There is a quiet area.” He pointed across the room to an area by the window with a single beanbag chair. A double-sided bookshelf sat three feet to its right, and just past that, there was a colorful rug with four more beanbags. “You can pick any of the beanbags to chill in while you get used to the place.”

She nodded, and with that, the two of them walked off, leaving me on my own. Piper chose the chair away from the others and settled into it.

“Everyone seems good,” Dylan said as she headed back my way. “We’ll call you if we need you. Get to work.”

“She might run away,” I blurted out, wringing my hands.

Dylan smiled patiently. “If she tries, we’re equipped to handle it.” She smiled patiently. “We’ve got security set up at both exits, and they are aware of the possibility.” She patted my arm. “I promise the universe wants this all to work out.”

I wasn’t sure I believed in that kind of thing, but I forced my body to relax and took one more peek at Sam, who was happily building a magnet tower with Grey. Then I sought out Piper, who was sitting in the beanbag chair with the blue headphones on. Kyle stood behind her, looking relaxed. It almost seemed too easy. But I wouldn’t complain. Plus, I didn’t have time to overthink the situation. I had to get to work. So I slipped out the front door and headed for work.

Boston Lights was thirty-five minutes from the Langfield Corp building, so even after the easy drop-off, I barely made it to my desk by eight thirty.

“You had quite a weekend?” Carolyn, our do-it-all assistant, popped into my office while I was getting settled.

“I guess.”

“You guess,” she scoffed, the sound full of excitement. “On Friday, you catch a foul ball and become Boston’s enemy number one, and then on Saturday, you hang out with the Revs. By Sunday, Kyle Bosco is calling you and the kids his friends and swearing that his comments on Friday were all in good fun.”

“Yeah. I’m hoping it all blows over.” Bostonians were as passionate as they come when it came to sports, but, thank God, they were great about moving on rather quickly. And with the Bolts’ season beginning and football and basketball in full swing, the Revs and all the drama associated with them would fade away for the next few months.

Carolyn dropped her head back and cackled. “Sure. Blow over. That’s why some British woman called first thing this morning with instructions to contact her if we have issues with reporters.”

My heart dropped.Issues with reporters?

“Don’t Worry,” Carolyn said, stepping closer. “We haven’t. But Mrs. Price requested an hour of your time at lunch.”

Frowning, I straightened a stack of papers on my desk. “Zara wants to have lunch with me?”

Carolyn smirked. “On a first name basis with the Price family, now, are we?”

I supposed the Price family seemed like a big deal. They were both gorgeous and famous. The kind of people who walked the red carpet at the Met Gala. But though Iwason a first-name basis with Zara, it wasn’t because we were friends. “It’s not like that.”

The walkie on my desk beeped, and the tinny voice of the orderly working in the common area echoed around my office. “Ms. Sparrow hasn’t made it to breakfast.”

---