Page 153 of The Problem with Players

I grimaced and clasped my hands together. “So…what are you leaning toward?”

“Truthfully?”

“Yeah.”

“A big part of me wanted to tell her to piss off and never come back to this town.”

“But…the other part?”

He frowned and glanced into the streets sprinkled with people in costumes, living their lives. “The other part knows that Priya deserves a chance to know her little brother or sister. I grew up with my brothers. I couldn’t imagine my life any other way. I wouldn’t want to take that away from her.”

“Even if the kid isn’t yours?”

He paused for a moment, falling deeper into his thoughts. Then he shook his head. “If they are her family, they are mine, too. If that little baby came into my house, they’d be mine as much as I’d be theirs.”

And that, folks, was why Evan was the best father in the galaxy.

“Well,” I said, patting him on the shoulder. “If that baby comes to the farm, we know one thing for sure: they’ll be loved and cared for. If they don’t, we can’t be certain what will happen to them.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “And I don’t think I could risk that outcome.”

“Well, little brother, it’s about time I got another niece or nephew.”

He huffed and chuckled lightly. “This was probably the only way you’d get another one out of me.” He pushed himself to a standing position. “I better get home and tell Pri before it spreads around the farm too fast.”

“What? You think I can’t keep a secret?”

“I know you can, but I told Easton already. And you know he can’t keep a secret if his life depended on it.”

I laughed. “True.”

I stood and hugged him. “Proud of you, brother.”

“Take another shot for me,” he ordered as he glanced behind him and looked into the bar to see everyone else still having a good time. “Mother Nature, huh?” he mentioned, speaking of Willow’s costume. “That’s fucking stupid.”

I snickered and shoved Evan in the direction of the farm. “Night, brother.”

“Night.”

He walked off, and within a few seconds, my bottle of ketchup burst out of the bar. She looked in one direction before turning to find me. “Nathan, come on!” Avery said, her glassy eyes filled with drunkenness. She held a hand out toward me. “We’re taking cherry bombs!”

50

AVERY

NOVEMBER

We almost kissed on the pitcher’s mound in November.

We ate pumpkin pie cheesecake on the mound and talked about our hopes for next season. We talked about our hopes for our next lifetime.

We talked until we ran out of words. Until our stomachs were stuffed.

He fed me one last bite.

I leaned in.

He did, too.

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