Page 2 of Doyle

She passed it over.

He ran to intercept?—

Bam!The collision hit him so hard it hurtled him into the air, and he flew, thudding into the weedy grass.

His head bounced off the ground, and he lay, dazed. Blood erupted from his nose, his face on fire.

“Gotcha.”

He held his nose—grimaced and looked up.

Kemar stood over him, holding the ball in his gloves, the sun against his dark head, no smile.

Right.

He sat up, and Kemar stepped away as Andre crouched beside Doyle. “You okay? Let’s get you to the clinic.”

“I’m fine,” Doyle said, even as Gabriella ran up, holding a towel. He shoved it against his nose, then got to his feet.

The world spun.

Kemar stepped away, smirking.

“Why’d you do that, Key?” Jamal had run up, now stood in front of his brother. “You didn’t have to hit him.” His voice shook.

Doyle held up a hand. “It’s just a game, Jamal. We’re all good.”

Kemar laughed as he grabbed Jamal, his arm around his neck. “See, bro? Don’t worry about it.”

Jamal pushed away from him. “You good, Mr. D?”

Doyle touched the boy’s shoulder. “I’m good. Get back in there.” But he didn’t miss Kemar’s glower. Or the clench in his own gut.

Kemar would hate him if the Jamesons refused to adopt both boys.

Doyle sank onto a bench on the side as Andre blew the whistle. Andre had run to get the out-of-bounds ball that had fallen into an old grotto, now overgrown at the edge of the field. Another project on Doyle’s long fix-up list.

Kemar threw the ball back into play.

“Doyle. I’ve been looking all over for you. I thought you were going to meet me?—”

He turned, still holding the towel, now soaked, to his face.

Tia, her long brown hair up, a few hairs falling out of the bun, wearing a sage canvas shirt that pulled the green from her hazel eyes and a pair of black cargo pants and KEENs, strode over to him.

The look in those pretty eyes saidoops,he’d landed in the doghouse.

Again. Seemed like a regular occurrence over the past two months.

She frowned at the towel, one perfect brown eyebrow dipping, and then shook her head. “You can’t go like that.”

“Like what?” He took the towel away, glanced at his shirt. Sweaty, blue, and,oy—covered in his own blood. Checking his nose—the bleeding had stopped, so maybe not broken—he stood up, trying to wipe the blood off. “Where are we going?”

“Seriously?” She sighed.

Oh, right.“The X-ray machine.”

“Yes. It came into the port in Esperanza yesterday.” She braced her hands on her hips. “Never mind. I’ll take Keon again.”

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