Page 51 of The Masks We Break

I begin to open my mouth to ask but instead he grins. “You play ball?”

Huffing, I drop his hand, catching the wing of a green butterfly in the corner of my eye. It’s an intricate tattoo, running up the length of his arm. “Running back.”

“Ah, you any good?” He lifts a dark brow, his eyes sparkling with mischief, and I suddenly see why his mother spoke with suspicion. “I mean, you’re dressed in a suit, talking about potatoes, so…”

I laugh from my nose, shrugging. He’s entertaining. I bet he’d get along well with Bellamy. They would probably both talk shit until they’re blue in the face. “I’m alright.”

William scoffs, smiling wide. “Humble brag. I like it. Alright, well it was nice meetin’ ya. Gotta go meet my tutor. She gets on to me if I’m late.” He plants a quick kiss on his mother’s temple before disappearing back into the kitchen.

I nod, sitting down and trying again to run his face through my mind. I didn’t recognize the parents, so hemust be the reason the name Cassidy is familiar to me.

Making a mental note to text Lily later, I turn back to his father who is eyeing me over the rim of his glasses. “What school you play for?”

“Solace, sir.” My tone comes out pinched, forcing me to clear my throat. I talk to men every day, but it’s another thing entirely when they are fathers. It forces my spine up straighter, a new awareness taking over.

“That’s where I’ve heard your name! Oh, y’all got a mean ass quarterback. And you’re one fast man.” He points at me, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Any business gone from his stature.

The notion twists in my chest, and I have to readjust. “Yeah, Bellamy is good.”

“Good?” Mr. Cassidy huffs, gesturing to me while looking at his wife. “Honey, these boys are brilliant on the field. Wait. Don’t you have a game tonight?”

I nod. Glancing at the clock behind them. Seven hours, thirteen minutes. “I do.”

“Joanne, stop messing with the man and sign that paper. You’ve been talking about it for weeks.”

Mrs. Cassidy rolls her eyes, a softness overtaking her face as she finally sits back down. “Excuse my husband. He sits around every Saturday watching football, and he just wants me to rush this—”

“You are completely right, baby. Andyouknew you were gonna sign this paper a few days after you got it. So let’s get back to our regularly scheduled program so he can go win his game.” He looks at me, a broad smile blooming across his face. “And you’re gonna win cause you got a new client.”

I mirror his smile, but I still can’t shake the tightness in my sternum. Observing a couple outside of my parents isn’t a common thing for me, and seeing that it isn’t all stern looks and neglect is jarring. From the carefree stance that both of them take on, to the comfortable air floating around them as they sit so close, constantly touching, all of it seems odd.

My throat bobs with a hard swallow as Mr. Cassidy bops his wife on her nose with his index finger, then kisses it. Her cheeks round with her grin and sure enough, she leans over the coffee table and signs above the solid line.

Satisfaction sweeps through my limbs, unwinding the dozens of knots in my muscle.

It’s done.

The countdown to my father’s end has begun. I want to bask in the feeling of knowing my plan has officially started, but as Mrs. Cassidy grips his jaw for a chaste kiss, looking at him as if the day starts and ends with him, I can’t. Instead, gold hexagon frames cross my mind.

My hand tingles to text her and ask her what she’s doing. But my focus is waning already, and I know I’ll become too distracted to focus on my game.

I clear a burn itching the back of my throat and rise, shaking Cassidy’s hand. “It’s been a pleasure. Welcome to Clean Source.”

Mrs. Cassidy grins politely, giving her husband a playful warning of a glance. Her chin tilts down, and she peeps at him from behind curled lashes.

He winks at her before looking at me, an odd twinkle crinkling at the corner of his eye. “Good luck tonight. And if you wouldn’t mind doing an old man a favor?”

My eyebrows furrow. “Sir?”

He lowers his voice, leaning closer to block off his wife. “When you get yourself one of your touchdowns, can you point the ball at the camera? I wanna brag to my friends and tell them I know Bardot.”

My eyes widen, but I correct my face quickly, readjusting my watch. “Sure, sir.”

“Joanne, get my phone. I gotta call Jerry.” He turns to me, shaking my hand again. “Don’t be a stranger around here.”

I nod, and walk back to my rental car, a prickle itching the back of my neck. I’m not sure what to make of someonewantingto brag about knowing me, nor asking for a touchdown shout-out. But it feels as if a cord has been cut somewhere, making my steps a little lighter as I cross their walkway and drive to my game.

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