Page 5 of Only Between Us

This time last year, on the first anniversary of his death, I’d settled for spending a couple extra hours at Ship Happens, the bait and tackle shop I inherited when Dad died. Spent the rest of the night listening to Mom, and Carla and Evan—Shy’s mother and father—tell stories about him over a cribbage board.

This year, though, it’s like my dad was calling me here. All the way to Oakwood, the next town over from Baycrest where I grew up, both before and after the new life he gave me.

And it wasn’t about coming here to sit in our old season seats. For whatever reason, I felt like Dad wanted mehere.

Down on this field. Standing right in the middle, where I am now.

My gaze affixes on a football being thrown nearby. It arcs perfectly between a guy in an official-looking UOB T-shirt and the aforementioned bubble-butt owner, who shuffles to make the catch with the kind of grace, agility, and glutes I shamelessly admire.

“Daddy,” Rosie coos.

“That’s not Daddy, Ro. Daddy is away, remember?”Misses her dad, Shy mouths at me when I shoot her a curious look. My heart pinches. There’s a lot of that going around.

Shy turns her attention over my shoulder, in the direction of the guy I’d just been ogling. “He’s cute. You want Rosie to wing-woman you an introduction?”

Ithinkwe’re looking in the same guy. It’s slightly confusing, consideringcuteis the last thing I’d label him. Even from here, I can tell he’s something else entirely. He’s got two full tattoo sleeves, for crying out loud.

“Hell no. He looks like one of them.”

“Oh, yes. The big bad athletes you refuse to go near after Tom. Shame.” She tilts her head, perhaps just now noticing his killer ass. Not sure what took her so long. “Here, let me take a picture of you on the field. Your mom will love this.”

Shy’s right. Mom had always been more tolerant of the batshit habits I brought into their home—the sneaking out at all hours of the night, cutting out of class, slowly corrupting good-girl Shy when we became friends after my parents took me in. Found them entertaining, even.

I hand Shy my phone and shake out my shoulders and the heavy weight of grief off my chest. Gussy up my hair for the picture, straighten the straps of my overalls.

Ignore the sudden commotion on the field behind me.

“Hey—hey—watch your head, lady—”

Shy’s eyes go wide, tracing a trajectory in the sky behind me. She drops my phone and shields Rosie with her body just as something painfully solid smashes into me, knocks the wind out of me. Sends me careening forward. Flailing my arms to break my fall, keep from smashing my face on the field beneath me.

I land on the ground with a shocked yelp. Face down, overalledass up. And the wrecking ball that just did its best to obliterate me lands behind me.

Or rather, he landed drapedoverme, in a melee of muscled arms wrapped around my waist to catch me. Break my fall as though the damage hadn’t already been done. A thud of thick, solid thighs hits the backs of mine, and the juncture of bent-over hips slaps into my ass in a way I’d very much appreciate if I hadn’t just nearly swallowed a mouthful of grass.

All things considered—and by all things, I mean the stinging pain in my elbows and knees—this isn’t so bad.

Mr. Wrecking Ball may need to brush up on his knight in shining armor skills, but he smells like a delicious mix of heady pine and clean man-sweat. His body certainly feels like the impressive product of the aforementioned man-sweat, all hard and strong behind me.

Really, this isn’t so bad at all.

His arms clench around me, lifting me with perfect ease to allow me to plant my hands underneath me. He dips his head, peering over my shoulder—trying to make eye contact I’m frankly unready to return given the way he’s still cuddling me doggy-style on this well-attended football field.

“You all right?”

I clear my throat. “I definitely didn’t expect to get trampled close to death today, but there are much worse ways to die.”

Flash.

Our heads snap up.

Shy peers over my phone with as close to a shit-eating grin as I’ve ever seen on her. “Now, this is one hell of a picture.”

Mr. Wrecking Ball peels himself off me and scrambles to his feet. Sitting back on my heels, I’m struck by the length of this man’s shadow. He’s a giant.

“I am so sorry.” He steps around me as I brush the grass off my overalls.

What do you know? Mr. Wrecking Ball happens to be the grace, agility, and glutes I watched catch that football a minute ago.

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