Page 111 of Come Break My Heart Again

I love how hegetsme. How this conversation would make no sense to anyone else.

“I should go.”

Ryder squeezes my arm. “Drive safe.”

I nod, then dart out into the rain.

21

The basketball’s steady staccato is oddly soothing. I relax into the folding chair Reese brought out from her kitchen, taking a sip from the bottle of beer in my hand.

She still lives eight trailers down from mine, in the same place she grew up. I wonder if it bothers her the way it bothers me. There’s nothing wrong with living here, butstayinghere seems like a failure. There’s no sense of accomplishment earned from moving nowhere.

Reese’s son, Knox, takes another shot. He makes it. In the half hour I’ve been here, I’ve only seen the kid miss a couple, which is a pretty insane shooting percentage.

I glance at Reese sitting beside me. “You might have a future NBA star here.”

She smiles and shakes her head, her expression proud as she watches her six-year-old play. “He prefers football actually.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. He just prefers playing basketball solo. I have a weak arm, according to him.”

I laugh before taking another sip. “I don’t.”

“I remember, Mr. Modest.”

“Next time, I’ll bring a ball. We can toss it around some.”

“He would love that,” Reese replies.

We haven’t touched on the topic of Knox’s father, and I don’t bring it up now. If she wants to tell me, she will.

But Tuck was right; her kid does resemble Phoenix.

It’s dusk, the final streaks of sunset fading from the sky. Mosquitoes will be out soon.

“So, South Carolina was good?” I ask.

“Yeah. It was great to see my folks. My dad’s hip has been bothering him, so it’s hard for them to get up here to visit. Knox got to go to the beach, and my mom and I did some shopping in Charleston.”

“Shopping? You sure have changed,” I tease.

“Shut up. I still prefer shorts and sweatpants, but the occasional dress hasn’t killed me.”

I smile. “Glad you had a good trip.”

“I’m glad the timing didn’t mean I missed you. I-I wasn’t expecting you to stick around town. Don’t get me wrong; I’m happy you have. Just …”

I pick at the wet label on the beer. “I wasn’t expecting to stick around either. Things … changed.”

She waits, letting me decide what else to share. Saying this hasn’t gotten any easier.

“My mom’s sick. Doctors are giving her about a year. I can’t take off now, not after missing the past seven years. I want to help her out however I can. Need to … say goodbye.”

Arguably the one thing I’m worst at. Just ask Elle Clarke.

It takes Reese a minute to speak. She knows my mom better than most people. “Shit, Ry. I’msosorry. That’s just—damn.”

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