Page 18 of Summer Affair
“I know who you are. I’m more a Beaver fan myself, but seeing as you’re a guest here, it’s only neighborly that I invite you to my weekly game. Texas Hold ’Em, hundred dollar buy-in.”
“I heard it was twenty.”
Eddie sized Clay up, then shrugged. “Fifty and you have yourself a deal. Now, go get my nephew. Got my hip replaced last spring and the doc said I can’t climb trees anymore. Plus, it’s hell on the knees.”
Clay looked up the tree, then down to his knee and sighed. He nearly waved the white flag until he noticed a little pair of sneakers dangling off the side.
“Hey, Little Man. Can I come up?” he called.
He heard a few sniffles and what sounded like the kid wiping his nose on his arm. “Yeah. But be careful, the third step’s broke. My dad’s gonna fix it.”
Not only was the third rung broken, rungs four and five looked about a two hundred pound footballer away from snapping in half. Knowing that climbing that tree was a stupid move, he let out a breath and started up the ladder, which was made of cut two-by-twos haphazardly nailed into the tree trunk. It was a slapped-together fort.
He worked his way up, only grimacing when he bent his right knee and, yup, as anticipated, when he hit rung five, rung four’s nails gave under the pressure and he crashed to the grass below.
“Shit.”
“You have to put a quarter in the swear jar,” Sammy announced. “No swears in the house.”
Technically, he wasn’t in the house. He hadn’t even made it to the porch, but he didn’t think Jillian would care. A swear was a swear.
“No swearing. Got it.” He finally made it inside and had to fold his body to fit. He was a foot too tall for the roof, his legs went the full length of the fort and stuck out the open side by a good six inches. But the second he saw Sammy a wave of relief settled in Clay’s stomach. The threat of tears was gone, and the kid no longer looked beaten down.
“How you doing?”
He lifted a little shoulder. “My dad and I watch you play football. Well, when he’s around.”
“I know what that’s like. My dad isn’t around anymore either.”
Sammy looked up and met his gaze for the first time. “Do you miss him?”
“Every day.”
“Me too.” Which was rough since his dad’s excuse was being dead. Dirk didn’t have an excuse other than being a dick.
Sammy went back to staring out the open side of the fort. “Who taught you how to throw?”
“My older brothers.”
“I don’t have older brothers and Bentley’s too small to hold a ball.”
“Well, I can teach you.”
Sammy went from dejected to excited. “Really?”
How could anyone disappoint this kid? “I’ve got physical training in a bit but how about after?”
Sammy sat back, looking very disappointed. “Oh. Okay, later, I guess.”
Clay realized that Sammy heardlatera lot, and in his little world, it was a blow off. “I have a little time before PT, we can throw the ball around for a bit now.”
Between the breakfast delivery, being Jillian’s left tackle, and making a kid’s day, Clay hadn’t thought about football all morning and, instead of bringing on a tsunami of stress, it felt damn good.
Chapter Six
Resolutions from Jillian’s Journal
Sweats are for the weak.
