Page 98 of A Surefire Love
“Yeah.”
Sydney smiled softly. “You’ll be all right.”
Maybe he would. He and Sydney had shared many talks like this one. Her take on difficult situations had steered him well the entire year they’d dated. “You’re wise. You know that?”
She chuckled. “You’re welcome to tell me. I don’t turn down compliments.”
“You said some good things the last time we talked too. I’m sorry I didn’t see the truth about us sooner. And for the pain I’m sure I caused you.”
She nodded slowly. “Me too.”
He turned toward the basket, resuming his drill.
“You can’t get by on your coaching wages forever. What’re you going to do?”
“Not sure yet.” He didn’t like his options, especially after watching Blaze’s face fall as he described them.
“I won’t have any basketball coaching positions until summer, but we’re looking for a facilities manager.” Her voice lifted. As the director of the community center, she filled a few positions every year.
“Is that a janitor?” After a job with so many interpersonal dynamics to navigate, spending time cleaning might prove cathartic.
“More like a handyman and equipment monitor.” She outlined a couple more details about the position, but another person arrived in the doorway behind her.
Dylan—with Carter in tow.
Joy swelled in Anson’s chest, and a grin overtook his face. Dylan waved at him. Carter glowered.
Sydney stepped aside to let them in.
“Hey, Sydney?”
She looked over her shoulder.
“Thank you. I don’t know about the job, but I appreciate the offer.”
She waved and walked away as the brothers stepped onto the court.
Between clarity from their conversation and his gratitude that the Lord had brought the Newsome brothers to see him, Anson could take on the world. Or at least Carter and Dylan. He lifted the ball. “Two on one? Winner buys burgers?”
“You mean loser?” Dylan half-danced, half-strutted onto the court.
“Nope. Winner. For the record, that’s going to be me.”
“We’ll see about that.” Carter clapped his hands, demanding the ball.
“Pride really does go before a fall.”Dylan’s voice echoed around the court. “But we’ll still let you buy us food anyway, right?” He smacked his brother with the back of his hand.
The basketball propped against his hip, Carter studied Anson. “You lost on purpose.”
Anson lifted his hands. Dylan had served as a handicap for Carter, but as soon as the game started, Anson had been distracted by an idea. One he credited to God. After begging the Lord for direction, Anson couldn’t very well ignore Him—even if the prompt meant doing something he had avoided for years.
“You won fair and square,” he said. “But yeah, dinner’s on me.”
“We already ate.” Carter passed the ball from one hand to the other in a slow, steady rhythm.
Dylan stood on his toes. “We could eat more.”
“You drove here, Carter?”
