Page 118 of Don't Let Me Go (Don't Let Me 2)

I clear my throat and clarify, “Technically, he was my brother’s best friend before he was mine. But yeah. Crush was his favorite growing up. He used to have it all the time.”

“I only get it on special occasions or if I save up enough allowance,” Bridger admits.

Oh, my heart.

I continue asking him questions, and he continues answering them for another few minutes when a familiar red Toyota truck pulls into the parking lot.

It takes me a second to place it, but when I do, the hair rises on the back of my neck.

“What about you, Miss Blakely?” Bridger asks me.

I tear my gaze from the parked truck and back to the little boy beside me. “I’m sorry. What was the question?”

“What’s your favorite sport?” he repeats.

“Oof. Tough question.” My lips purse as I weigh my options. “Not gonna lie. I kind of love hockey, but you can’t tell anyone.”

“Hockey?”

“Yeah. My brother’s a hockey player, so I was kind of raised watching him play.”

“My brother’s in prison,” Bridger mumbles, his lips pulling into a frown.

Shit.

I’d done my best to stay away from anything family related, but apparently, I slipped up. It’s like the kid’s a minefield. I wrap my arm around him and pull him into a side hug without saying a word.

But the silence only spurs him on.

“He was dealing drugs. Ended up in juvie.”

Damn.

I didn’t even know what juvie was at his age, let alone how to get drugs.

My throat constricts, but I clear it. “I’m…I’m sorry, buddy.”

“It happens.”

My heart pinches, but I bite my tongue to keep from arguing with him. Because he’s right. It does happen. But it shouldn’t. Especially not with kids.

“Trudy’s here,” he mutters, pushing to his feet while still cradling the soccer ball to his chest. I’d been so focused on our conversation, I hadn’t noticed the seafoam green van pulled up next to the curb. The windows are rolled down, and Mia’s talking to the driver, though they’re too far away for me to hear what’s being said.

As I stand up and wipe off my butt for any dirt or pieces of grass, he offers the ball to me, but I shake my head. “Keep it, Bridge. You can practice juggling and show me your progress at the next get together, okay?”

He shakes his head. “I can’t take––”

“Dude,” I scold with a smile. “Take it.”

He frowns and looks at the ball in his hands, then glances at me again. “You sure?”

“One hundred percent. Like I said, my brother’s a hockey player and is going to be big and famous one day. I think he can afford a ball.” I wink at him and add, “I’ll see you on Thursday, okay?”

His chin dips in a tiny nod. “Okay.”

“Bye, buddy!” I wave my hand.

As he walks back to the parking lot, a car door squeaks open before closing with a solid thud, and I turn to see Russ striding toward me with his hands in his front pockets.

---