Page 51 of The Foul Out

“World Series.”

I blinked. What the hell?

Kyle held a hand up. “You were going with unicorn there, weren’t you? But honestly, the World Series is my unicorn, so it fits.”

“You know how some people get each other so completely that they can finish each other’s sentences?”

He nodded, his brows lifted and his eyes dancing.

“That’s not our thing,” I deadpanned.

Head tossed back, he barked out a laugh.

“So is he staying for dinner?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Awesome.” With a pump of his fist, Sam ran out of the kitchen.

I sighed.

“Am I making the lima beans or the nuggets?” Kyle asked, holding up two white bags.

I rolled my eyes.

“So both? Cool.”

Despite my annoyance, a laugh escaped me.

He dropped the bags to the counter and pulled open the fridge. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Isn’t that my line?” I asked.

He shrugged. “It looks like you’ve got Citizen’s Cider or Knocked Out IPA. Which do you want?”

“Cider.”

Kyle pulled out one of each and passed me the cider.

“Are you really cooking?”

“Sure.” He flipped the bag of nuggets over and studied the cooking instructions. “How hard can air frying these things be?”

I leaned against the counter and took a slow sip of my cider, settling in to watch the show.

After a silent moment, he spun and zeroed in on me. “I’m really serious. How hard is this?”

Shaking my head, I pointed at the air fryer. “See that black thing? Hit the power button. I’ll walk you through it.”

Once the chicken was going and I’d given the kids a ten-minute warning for dinner, I turned and asked the question that had been haunting me for almost a week.

“Why did you start Hope Speaks?”

Kyle froze, his beer halfway to his lips. “I guess you don’t want the token answer.” He smirked, but it was forced.

I shook my head. Since that moment last week when he’d told me he knew what it was like to be drowning, I’d been thinking that maybe his life hadn’t been what I thought it was.

---