Page 43 of Curveball
She nods along with my story. “But . . . wow. How does someone take care of an infant with the schedule you have playing ball?”
The feelings of worry and guilt from those early days still give me sleepless nights.
“Hannah had been living with her mom while she went to school, and Adele agreed to help when we weren’t in town,” I state honestly. Because I don’t know how we would have survived without that woman. “We were so lucky to have her on our side. How many single parents have someone offer to jump right in with support, however it’s needed?”
“Yes, lucky.” Tears suddenly shimmer in her eyes. What nerve did I touch?
I find myself reaching out and using the pad of my thumb to gently sweep away a drop of moisture overflowing her lower lid. My heart kicks, the feel of her flesh underneath mine a visceral memory reincarnated again today, along with the sensation of her knuckles rubbing against my beard and her hands cupping my cheeks as I lower my brow to hers.
I shake my head to clear it, and peer at my thumb as though I don’t remember how it became wet.
“We each fight our own battles, Palmer. Make our own choices. It’s easier when you know you have people in your corner.”
Palmer’s brows make a quick, sardonic movement. “My corner seems incredibly light these days.”
I don’t know her friends, but she must have several who are close. She has her son. Maybe family, though she never speaks of them. I bump my arm against her shoulder.
“I bet you have more there than you realize.”
She gives me a long, doubtful look, peering upward to meet my eyes. I sidle close to her and wrap my arm across her shoulder to comfort her.
I shrug and tip up one side of my lips. I have a dimple there, but it’s the side that lifts naturally. Nothing contrived going on, no matter how much shit I’ve taken over the years. No matter how much pussy it bagged me when I was young.
“You never know,” I add after her look of total disbelief and my protracted silence. And then, I wink.
I do it on purpose this time, a way to mock my errant eye twitch the night we first met. And hopefully, a way to lighten the mood.
She smiles broadly and my breath catches. My heart flip flops and there’s an immediate lightening in my chest—as though I made something unexpected but good happen.
I walk with her all the way to the front entry. Our kids are sitting out front on a porch step. I spot them through the long vertical pane at the side of the door. Palmer reaches for the knob, then pivots so she’s backed against the wooden panel.
“Thanks for . . . today, Max. It was . . . good.”
I cut her off by reaching out and wrapping my hand around her wrist. I lower my lips to hers for a slow, lingering kiss, the solid front door hiding my action from the two sitting outside.
“Come to my game today.”
“What?”
The invitation is as much a surprise to me as it is to her, but I’m running with it.
“Yeah. Bring the kids.” I snap my lips together, roll my eyes, and then let out an embarrassed chuckle. I spread my arms to the sides, and releasing her wrist is a tragic casualty of my movement. Wanting the contact, I drop my palm to the nape of her neck, my thumb lightly massaging that pulse point I found earlier. “That sounds very domestic. I’m . . . out of practice, but?—”
She steps out of my touch and my hand falls to my side. “But Adele still can’t drive. You want Natalie there, and she needs a ride.” She reaches for the knob again with her head bowed, shaking it slightly, as if in regret. “I’m sorry, Max. I want to help, but . . . it’ll have to be another time.”
Clouds of disappointment fall over my vision and I look away, observing the kids sitting side-by-side and debating something either overly lighthearted or terribly serious, considering it involves broad hand movements and exaggerated facial expressions. I’m learning it could be anything with those two. When I turn back to Palmer, I’m recovered, my gaze returned to steady and clear, though disappointment looms heavy.
“I understand.”
She rolls her head back so she’s staring at the ceiling, but her eyes are squeezed closed. “Look, I need to get things organized at my house. Summer classes start Tuesday.”
Her voice is strong and forceful, almost angry. And . . .totally transparent. The realization hits me over the head like a forty-ounce bat. I just need to understand how to read her.
This woman is alone, resourceful, and independent. Her initial reaction is always to protect her son, and then herself. I don’t want anything from her—nothing she’s uncomfortablesharing or giving anyway. She’d carve me up for that observation, but her thoughts seem to transmit in invisible waves only I can hear.
I tip my lips up in a smile, this time, letting that dimple work for me. Fuck, this must be the most I’ve smiled since the night I met her.
“Palmer Sloan, would you like to come to my game tonight?”
