Page 47 of Cloudless
He squeezes the air out of me as his laugh reverberates through his chest and into my ear. “You’re not from the south, are you?”
I shake my head as he releases me from his vice-like grip. I run my fingers through my hair to smooth the strands his scruff assaulted. “Nope. Chicago, actually.”
He pats me on the head as he walks by. “It shows. It really shows.”
I scrunch my brows up as I look at Kam to explain what the hell just happened.
His laugh grows as he takes in my confused expression. “Don’t look at me. I’ve lived in Pennsylvania all my life. I know nothing about being in the south.”
I help Kam get the dishes out to set the table while Dax, Posey, and Jasper round the corner. Dax’s voice is adamant as his hands wave around him in circular motions. “It’s important that you visualize the circle. Okay, so Adam has a pizza that is split into twelve slices. Barbra comes along and takes three.” He mumbles under his breath, “Which is totally rude, by the way.” His voice picks up as he walks through the kitchen. “How many slices of pizza does Adam have left?”
I exchange an amused look with Kam as we laugh. “Are you sure he doesn’t mind helping them with homework? We can just do it when we get home.”
He hands me a stack of plates from a shelf far too high for a normal person. “I promise. He’s actually wanted to be a teacher. This is good practice for him.”
My eyebrows raise. “Dax wants to be a teacher? I thought he would play for the NHL or something.”
Dax’s head lifts when I make it to the table. “I do. I’ll play for a few years, then go teach somewhere and become a coach. I can’t waste the opportunity to make all that money.”
I pass the plates out around the table as Wyatt appears in the doorway. Water droplets drip from his hair to leave dark-grey dots on the shoulders of his t-shirt. He groans as he inhales. “That smells amazing.” Jasper’s giggles float through the air as Wyatt ruffles the thick strands of his hair on his way through the kitchen.
As he pulls his seat out, the sleeve of his shirt rides up to reveal the beginning of a tattoo. Great, now my mind is reeling with all the places Kam might have a tattoo.
Mace places an enormous plate piled high with baked potatoes in the middle of the table. “Hey, Ranger. How was your workout?”
Wyatt shrugs as he grabs a plate. “It was fine.” I pretend not to see the pink lollipop sticking out of his pocket that will no doubt end up in Posey’s backpack later.
My breath catches as Mace sits a plate of chicken nuggets down in front of Posey. A serving of ketchup is already on the plate in the shape of a heart. My eyes water as I clear my throat of the emotion that’s currently suffocating me. “Mace. Thank you so much. You didn’t have to go through all that trouble.”
His eyes shine as he gazes down at my sister. “It’s no trouble at all. A few of my sisters are picky eaters. I just figured it would be nice to have some nuggets in the freezer.”
I look away from the scene in front of me before my tears betray me. The smile I hear in Posey’s voice brings a watery smile to my face. “Thanks, Mace!”
“Anytime, little Sullivan.”
Kam’s eyes snag mine from beside me as tears gather in the corners of my eyes. He grasps my hand under the table and gives me a comforting squeeze. He whispers, “Do you guys want to come to the beach with us on Saturday after the last hockey camp?” His eyes flick toward the twins. “I meant to ask before we came in here, in case you had something else going on. I didn’t want to get their hopes up. It’ll be all of us, a few others from the team, a few other friends and girlfriends.”
My eyes drift to Jasper and Posey’s laughing faces before they return to a smiling Kam. “Yeah, Trouble. We’d love to.”
CHAPTER 22
MAILBOX CONVERSATIONS
KAM
I turn the knob on my dashboard so my music fades into the background as I pull onto her street. The varying shades of tan and gray houses blur by as I scan the mailboxes for number 2722.
Her red car sits alone in the driveway of a two story gray house in a cul-de-sac at the end of the street. Empty flowerpots frame the fire engine red door. The mailbox lid is open, and the trash can sits at the top of the driveway. My car door slamming behind me echoes through the quiet street. A horrible squeaking sound fills the air as I close the empty mailbox.
I take two steps up the driveway before the squeaking sound fills the air once again. The rusty hinges protest as I slam the lid back into place. I cross my arms as I have a stare-down with a mailbox in the front yard of the girl I’ve got a crush on.
Like an opponent on the ice taunting me, the lid slowly falls back open. I level it with a glare. “You just declared war.”
Great, now I’m talking to mailboxes.
A crease forms between my brows as the envelope in the mailbox catches my attention. The red wordsPassed Duemight as well be a glowing neon sign in the dimly lit hole.
I can hardly feel my feet moving along the pavement as I walk up the driveway.
