Page 63 of Play Maker

“Tommy Lane was a good guy. And our son, his and mine, he knows that. And I didn’t mean to unload all that. The point was: kids are great; grandkids, they’re even better.”

At the end of the tree-lined driveway is a massive log cabin. Two barns are surrounded by fences, and horses are grazing. It’s stunning.

“This place saved my life, but Jade and Luke are my reason for believing I was good enough.”

An old man with a cane steps out onto the porch, and Ryan opens his door. “Come on, kid; let’s cut some wood.”

Chapter12

A Step Back

Lo

We’re just carrying the last box out when the SUVs are coming down the driveway.

“Should we be here or, like, go?” Mags asks.

“We greet them.” Mom giggles.

“We’re a lot,” Mags states.

Riley laughs. “This is true, but there’s no sense in hiding it. She’ll have that figured out if she already doesn’t.”

The SUVs rolls to a stop, and the woman who steps out—Greer—smiles like she knows exactly how much chaos she’s holding at bay. It’s the kind of smile people give when they’ve had three hours of sleep, lifted too many boxes, and are still trying to make a good first impression. And damn if it doesn’t work.

When she rounds the front of the vehicle, Riley actually growls. “No, absolutely not are you looking that damn beautiful and focused being that pregnant.” She looks at me. “She has to go.”

“Keep talking to me like that, and I’ll never leave,” Greer shoots back, smooth as hell.

And that’s when I reallylookat her.

She’s stunning, sure, but not in a glossy, curated way. Dominican, I think—warm bronze skin, dark eyes that missnothing, and the kind of sharp cheekbones that make her look like she could command a battalion or star in a tactical training video. Her black cargo pants are worn in but clean, paired with a fitted, moisture-wick tee that hugs her belly and a zip-up that’s half military, half comfy. A watch sits heavy on her wrist. Not decorative—functional. I’m guessing it does more than tell time.

Her dark curls are braided tight and pulled into a bun that’s perfection. She moves like someone who’s trained not to be caught off guard, even that pregnant.

There’s something in her posture that feels like a challenge. Controlled tension. Not defensive, just …ready.Like she’s had to live in states of readiness too long to completely let it go. I wonder how long she’s been out.

Then the kids tumble out.

Evie hits the gravel with glitter boots and a stuffed unicorn backpack that’s lost at least one eye. Her hoodie nearly swallows her whole, but she’s bright-eyed and humming like nothing in the world has ever scared her.

And then there’s Micah. Eighteen. Too tall. Broad shoulders and a resting glare. He’s got Greer’s eyes—sharp and shielded—but carries himself like he doesn’t want to be here. His skin’s a rich copper-brown, his curls cropped close, and he looks like someone who’s been forced to grow up too fast and resents every damn second of it.

Beside me, Mags inhales like she’s just spotted Sydney carrying cupcakes to us.

Yup. Micah’s going to be a problem.

“Let’s show you around.”

“Shouldn’t take long,” Micah whispers under his breath. “It’s a freaking barn. Not even a barn—part of one.”

“Suck it up, and shut it down,” Greer, who clearly didn’t miss it, retorts.

He opens the hatch and grabs a box.

“Everyone except the two already carrying something in their belly, grab something and let’s get inside where it’s warm,” Mom says.

I take the crate from Greer labeled “KITCHEN OR MAYBE BATHROOM??”

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