Page 37 of Single Chance

“You’re quiet. Seemed lost in thought more than once during the game.”

“I’m fine,” I lied. I kept hoping if I told myself that, it’d start being true. So far, no dice.

“You pissed about those little shits that hurt Sam?”

I’d told the guys about Thursday and how her friends had dropped her.

“I wouldn’t mind throwing the one little punk into the middle of the lake with a concrete block tied around his neck,” I admitted.

“My girls aren’t allowed out of the house till they’re twenty.”

I laughed. “Good luck with that.”

“Sam’s still home?” he asked.

Pulling out my phone, I opened the app to locate her. She hadn’t moved. I held it up to West.

“So it’s not her that’s got you upset,” he said.

“I’m not upset,” I snapped.

West looked over at me with his brows halfway up his forehead.

“Hell,” I said, knowing full well I was being a dick. “Do you need to get home to the girls?”

He checked the time. “I told the babysitter I’d be there by eleven. You want to come over for a beer?”

As much as I hated to admit it, I needed to bounce some thoughts off someone before my head blew up. “Sure.”

“I’ll meet you there.” West got in his truck.

I went to my SUV and followed him to his place. I wouldn’t stay long. I wanted to get home to check in with Sam. Maybe she’d let me watch an episode or two with her. I couldn’t care less about the Gilmores, but I hated that my daughter might be lonely or sad.

West lived in a tiny two-bedroom house with his three little girls—seven-year-old twins, Scarlett and Sienna, and four-year-old Nova. I couldn’t imagine how cramped they’d been when his ex was still his live-in girlfriend. But they made do. His daughters were growing up in a house filled with love, regardless of the size of it.

Once he’d let me in, he got the report from Allison, a high-schooler who watched his kids frequently, settled up with her,then peeked in the girls’ room. I heard the bedroom door squeak as he closed it.

“Sleeping like angels,” he said quietly as he reentered the galley-style kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and took out two Rusty Anchor bottles.

“Thanks,” I said. “Your sitter seems like a good one.”

“She’s a gem. I’d like to hire her for the summer full-time. Their daycare is breaking the bank.”

“It was a lot of money for just one kid back when Sam went. I don’t know how you manage three.”

He swept out his arm. “Livin’ in a shoebox is how.” His eyes sparkled as he said it, telling me without words it wasn’t a hardship and he’d do whatever he needed to for those little girls.

“You ready to spill whatever’s up your ass?” he asked, then took a drink.

I hoisted myself up to the counter and grabbed my beer like a lifeline. “I’ve got a situation.”

“What the hell does that mean?” He followed suit, sitting across from me, his burly body taking up the entire space between the sink and refrigerator.

“I don’t need to tell you this is all confidential, right?”

He brushed me off like I was being stupid. “No shit.”

I took a big swallow of Kayak Smack Ale, holding the bitter liquid on my tongue for a moment. Kemp and our people knew how to brew a damn good ale.

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