Page 16 of Home Sweet Home

West’s Jeep was in his driveway, and lights glowed in his living room window. As Evie walked the twenty feet to his front door, she thought about turning back with every step. But an image fueled her—her mom’s smile as she opened the door for the first time, their new life waiting inside. Evie knew it wasn’t a choice. Not really.

She knocked, and a few seconds later, not enough time for her to change her mind, West opened the door.

“I’ll do it,” she said.

CHAPTERSIX

The samenessof West’s house was unsettling. Evie wasn’t sure what she expected, maybe for Della to have remodeled everything with the stacks of cash West had earned from his career, but stepping through his front door was like stepping out of a time machine.

The same dark-brown leather sofa was still spotless, even after being sat on for years. Gingham-patterned curtains hung in the windows. She’d seen them hundreds of times when she looked out her kitchen window. A family photo of West, Della, and Rex hung on the wall. Della wore a red dress; West and Rex were in suits with red ties. Rex’s hand rested on West’s shoulder, and they all had perfect smiles on their faces, the kind of smiles that said they’d all had braces.

There was something new perched on the mantel, what looked like a shiny baseball glove. Evie ran her hand over the hard metal.

“Golden Glove,” West said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Won it a few years ago.”

“What’s it for?” Evie asked.

“Fielding. Mine’s for shortstop.”

Evie turned to look at him. “Is now a good time to tell you I know nothing about baseball?”

West grinned. “You’ll catch on quick.” He tipped his head in the direction of the hallway. “My room’s this way.”

She followed West, her eyes on the broad shoulders stretching his T-shirt. She wasn’t looking intentionally. It was what was directly in front of her. But as they walked, she wondered what it would feel like to reach out and press her hand against his back.

Pull it together, Evie.

West opened a door and held out his arm like a tour guide. “Ladies first.”

Even though she hadn’t seen West’s room before, she would have bet big money, if she had any, that nothing in here had changed, just like the rest of the house. One look around told her that.

“That’s Jeter.” West collapsed into a chair at a desk in the corner, pointing to a poster above his desk. “He plays shortstop too. And that young lady right there is Morgan Madison.”

With a gleam in his eye, he tilted his head toward another poster above his bed—Morgan Madison in a black bikini top, biting her index finger.

“I know who Morgan Madison is.” Evie rolled her eyes as she sat down on the only other available surface—his navy-blue bedspread. Evie wondered how many girls had been in here. She bet if she ran her finger along the wood of the bedpost, she would find notches. He seemed like the type to keep count. “Where’s the copy of the league schedule?”

West spread his legs out wide in front of him, swiveling the chair from side to side. “You sure get straight down to business. Don’t you think we should do some team building? How about an ice breaker?”

Evie sighed. “Pretty sure the ice is already broken, West.”

“How about, what was your AIM? Mine was BallI$Life69. Theswas a dollar sign.” His grin confirmed what Evie had suspected when they were kids—sixteen-year-old West thought he was hot shit.

“I need to make dinner,” Evie said, frustrated. She’d only agreed to come in because it was now her job, but she was starting to wonder if West had other plans. “And Josh eats like he has three stomachs. Where’s the schedule?”

“At least have a beer,” West said, eyebrows raised as he looked at her as if to challenge her on how she could possibly refuse such an innocent request.

She looked straight back at him, hoping her steely stare got it into his thick skull that this was business, nothing more. Then again, the business would be more pleasant if she were tipsy, so she sighed. “Sure.”

He smiled, so happy she’d agreed she thought about changing her mind, but as he stood up, he inhaled sharply, his smile twisting into a wince. He sat down, massaging his knee with his palm. “Ah.”

Since West Hawthorne had swooped back into Creek Water like a tornado, he’d only smiled, grinned, and smirked, but now he was in pain. It sent a pang through Evie’s chest, her breath catching in her throat. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “My ACL.”

The newscaster had mentioned the injury, but Evie had been so focused on the steroids part, she hadn’t listened to the details. For a second, she felt guilty for being so mean to him when at one point, he’d been very hurt. “Oh. Right.”

West patted his hand on his knee like it was a beloved dog. “I had surgery, but sometimes she still likes to remind me.”

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