Page 103 of Bad Habit
Seventeen
Faith
The sun dissolved the last of the morning’s fog, and I tipped back my head to let the sun’s rays strike my face. After five months, I was still pale for a Californian, but I loved how the light kissed my skin and absorbed deep inside me, easing the ache I’d felt since I’d last seen Mac.
“Good shot, Jeremy!” I shouted as the tiny kid sank a layup.
The boy grinned ear to ear as he turned toward me.
“You’re the ref,” Gloria said, hands on her hips. “You aren’t allowed to cheer!”
“I’m cheering for both teams equally.” I walked toward the children. “And it’s not whether you win or lose—”
“It’s how you play the game,” the kids chanted in unison in a tone more mocking than genuine. But regardless of tone and intent, their words made me smile as I glanced at my wrist to check the time.
Nearly time to let the kids go home so I could start studying. Turns out, there were a lot of subjects my mother had never taught me, and very few she’d taught me well. I had a lot to learn, but as soon as I got my GED, I planned to apply to every college social work program in Northern California.
I wasn’t quite sure yet how I’d pay for school—or rent or food—but I was willing to work hard and apply for assistance and scholarships and take out student loans. I’d do whatever it took to get an education and make my own way in the world.
Whatever it took, within reason.
Sister Henry had suggested a GoFundMe campaign, but that didn’t seem right. I couldn’t ask for handouts when there were so many in greater need.
My watch flashed four thirty. “That’s it for today!” I reached toward Jeremy.
He passed the ball, and it landed in my palms with a satisfying slap, filling me with pride at how I’d learned a few things about this sport the kids loved to play. Having alittlepride wasn’t a sin.
I tucked the ball under one arm and headed toward the far side of the court where the second ball was resting against the fence.
“Thanks, Sister!” a few of the kids yelled. “See you tomorrow, Sister!”
I turned to wave and watch the kids scatter through the far entrances to the public basketball court. I’d be leaving the mission soon. After that, no one would ever call me Sister again—just as I’d gotten used to the mistaken honorific.
I turned back to get the stray ball.
My breath caught in my chest. I couldn’t move.Mac.
Holding the ball, he walked toward me, slowly, as if afraid I’d attack.
Every nerve in my body exploded, flooding me with the desire to run into his arms, to kiss him, to hold him so tightly he could never go. The sunlight gilded his chestnut hair and licked his muscular shoulders and arms. As slowly as he was moving, I needed more time. More time to regain my ability to speak, to think, to breathe.
Seeing him would only add time to my heartbreak sentence.
About ten feet away, he said, “Hi.”
I nodded, trying to pull my tongue off the roof of my mouth. I couldn’t trust Mac. We were over.
I knew that, but I wondered whether my heart, my whole body, would ever get over how badly I wanted him. How much I still loved him in spite of all that had happened. In that moment, seeing him, it was almost like my heart had forgotten it was broken.
“It’s nice to see you.” Mac stopped about four feet away. Far enough to make it clear he was giving me space. Or maybe he needed the space—so he could make a run for it if I called the police.
Tucking the ball under one arm, he rubbed his head with the other hand, making bits of his curly hair stick out to one side. With his expression, his disheveled hair, he looked like an eight-year-old boy caught misbehaving. He looked adorable. Then my focus shifted to take in the entirety of Mac.
He was no boy. He was all man, and the sight of him fueled the passions already sparking inside me. Passions I needed to quash.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
His chin jerked up like my words had struck him. “I wanted to see you. Talk to you.”
