Page 77 of Honeysuckle
Josh looked up from fixing his belt, and our eyes met.
Those sable brown eyes were usually hard, angry.
But today, they held a softer concern that spoke volumes about the guy that Josh actually was beneath all the anger. Sure his jaw was tense and his hands were usually balled into fists, but he was kind, and intelligent. I just hoped he knew that he wasn’t just his anger and trauma.
Lately, I felt like it was up to me to show him… but it would have to wait until after we got through dinner. I couldn’t manage the two things at once, and as the front door swung open, my fight-or-flight response was triggered, and nothing else was as urgent.
“Franklin.” My father stood in the doorway in a navy sweater, his glasses low on his nose and his lips pressed into a tight line. “We’ve been waiting.”
“Practice ran late, sir,” I said quickly. I apologized with my head down. I stepped to the door, and it was only then that he noticed Josh behind me.
“Walt Tucker,” he held out his hand to Josh, and I bit down on my tongue as Josh stepped forward and extended his hand.
I looked down at his palm and tensed. The lengths he was going to, just to be here, didn’t go unnoticed.
“Joshua Logan.” He shook my father’s hand without a fuss, but I could tell that his palm was itching from the unwelcome skin-to-skin contact.
“The new pitcher,” my father noted.
“I apologize for the intrusion. I don’t have any family in Harbor, and Dean is doing his captain duties by dragging me along for Sunday dinner,” Josh said. His diplomatic tone made me uncomfortable, but it was impressive enough that my father smiled and let us into the house.
“We’re happy to have you!” My father said, his voice more chipper than before. “We have more than enough food and are proud of Franklin’s new status,” he added, the words more clipped that time.
Josh didn’t look over at me but I could feel how uncomfortable he was as we were led back past the large staircase to the living room. The townhouse was old, hundreds of years old and was laid out in tight hallways with too many rooms for afternoon tea and gentlemen hours. My fathers study was across the hall from the living room, and the kitchen was at the back of the house, connected to the massive dining room.
“Can I get you a drink?” My father asked Josh, and before I could tell him no, Josh politely declined. “Sober for the season, I get it. Baseball is hard on the body.”
He wandered around me as I sat down on the couch, and his fingers dug into my shoulder in passing before he sat in his chair at the head of the living room. I could hear Mom moving around in the kitchen, surprised she hadn’t come to check on us yet, but too scared to go see if she needed help. I closed my hands in my lap and tried to slow the tempo of my racing heart.
Josh sat on the couch next to me, leaving a gap between us like always, but his foot pressed against mine on the floor, and I inhaled slowly, grounding myself to him.
“How are you settling into Harbor?” My father asked and I couldn’t tell if the mundane small talk was welcome or not, I almost wanted him to flip out and get it over with.
Whatever the hell he was doing felt like he was playing with his food.
“It was an adjustment, they do things a little differently than Lorette, but good. The team is ready for the season, and I’m excited to pitch,” Josh answered. He was so unbothered and smooth with every answer. I was jealous of his ability to justbe himself.
“They do, don’t they?” My father said, his head slowly turning to look at me.
There it was.
The other shoe.
“Can we just have dinner?” I asked him as he lifted the glass of whiskey to his lips.
“We will, and you’ll sit there and listen to every word your mother has to say and then you’ll thank her for dinner just like you always do,” he said, no doubt having more to add but there was a knock at the door.
It opened before he could get up, and Harvey piled in with his kids and wife. The noise volume in the house exploded as everyone barreled through the hallways to the kitchen, where my mom’s voice echoed with laughter.
“Franklin.” Harvey stopped in the hallway and shoved his hands in his pockets as his wife rounded the corner with a flip of her hair and a disgusted look on her plastic face.
“Harvey,” I responded. "Lianna,” I nodded to her, but she just looked me over and disappeared in her heels toward the kitchen. Most likely to gossip with my mother about me before we all sat at the dinner table, so she could berate me in front of everyone.
“Is Anna coming?” My brother ignored me and Josh to look at my father.
“No, she’s stuck at work, it’ll just be us.”
“Stuck at work or couldn’t stomach it?” Harvey sneered, and Josh tensed on the couch.
