Page 103 of Really Truly Yours

Okay, would. Would be another story altogether. Unlike the guy currently throwing balls and strikes—way too many balls, according to Gray’s grousing—Gray’s wavy hair falls below his ears, stopping a little short of his shoulders. He’s recently shaved, too, while most of his teammates have full facial hair. Gray says sometimes that’s a tradition when a team hits the playoffs.

Gray, Gray, Gray. I sound like I’m in the eighth grade. Worse, my contrarian stomach, already on the edge, liquefies every time he looks at me. Grins at me. Winks at me.

How. Dare. He.

But behind some of the audacious familiarities, like eyebrow wobbles and private smiles, I see stress. In the good moments, thin tension carries on the wind. In the bad moments, I worry someone is about burst. Donny owns a certain obliviousness, saying the exact things he shouldn’t. His social skills are not highly developed. I’m sure hard drugs dulled lots of things over the years.

At one point, I thought Tripp was going to rocket through the ceiling, if not launch a fist into Donny’s face, when, between drippy bites of chips and queso, Donny started talking about the boys’ mother and how lucky they were to have had her looking out for them when he wasn’t around.

But the moment passed. Now, Gray, at the opposite end of the white sofa where he and I are seated, has his elbows on his knees, hanging on every pitch.

For the moment, everyone can relax. Donny nodded off several minutes ago and snores from the recliner at my side. Avery’s phone rings. She apologizes, excusing herself to take a call from her sister.

Before darkness fell completely, I noticed a beautiful swimming pool beyond the wall of windows across the rear of the living room. A tropical jungle of plants, interspersed with colorful flowers, caught my attention. Avery offered to take me outside and show me the work she’s been doing there but then got distracted.

Needing to stretch, I stand. Tripp notices. I smile. “Do you mind if I walk out by the pool for a minute?”

“Not at all. Just don’t fall in.” A smile breaks the harshness that’s cloaked most of his forced pleasantry the better part of the evening. “Flip the switch by the door on your way out.”

As I gaze at the beautiful flowers, the aquamarine palette of water, I’m overcome. I don’t need a ton of stuff, really, but is it wrong to tire of having so little?

Probably. Contentment is a Christian virtue, and lately, I’m failing spectacularly.

Ugh. I’m strongly disliking the way my brain is operating of late. I have food. I have shelter. I have my health, for the most part. Sam is my only family now. Some people don’t have even that.

I lower onto the end of a lounge chair, mentally allowing myself two minutes to collect myself before rising to social duties. It’s warm inside, despite the fact that I’m perpetually cold. Nerves, I guess. These people are good people. They’re just not my people. I don’t fit.

Where do I fit? Not with Max’s druggie crowd. Nor with Sam’s beer drinking buddies. The lives of these people are so…normal.

“You didn’t turn the light on.”

My hand flies to my heart. Tripp has somehow snuck up on me. “I’m sorry.” I notice he didn’t turn them on either.

“Nothing to be sorry about.” He lowers his long frame, lankier than Gray’s, onto a chair next to the massive planter overflowing with flowers near my feet. “Am I not the only one needing a moment?”

Admitting to the stifling sensation I feel inside would be rude. “It’s so peaceful out here.” Oops.

His dark eyes watch me before his posture relaxes. “Avery’s done a great job. She tells me we need to cover all this stuff before tomorrow night. Got a strong front coming through.”

“That’s what I hear.” Tomorrow, I’ll carry in my little clay pot of purple petunias from the porch railing. I’d replace it with a plump pumpkin, but the last couple years I did so, both were smashed inside of a week.

An easy breeze plays a set of wind chimes dangling from the overhang. Tripp leans onto his knees. “May I ask you a question, Sydnee?”

Must he? “Sure.”

“Gray told me how you helped Donny when he collapsed, but you two seem very close. I’m not sure I see the appeal.”

Some harsh feelings creeping out there? I won’t judge him.

I consider my words. There’s more to the story of Donny’s and my meeting than the version I gave Gray. It’s nobody else’s business, but I want Tripp, Donny’s son, to at least have a chance to appreciate the good that’s in his father.

Knotting my hands, I make my decision. “When Donny first moved in across the street, he tried to be neighborly. I ignored his waves, his hellos when he caught me at the mailbox.” I shrug. “You’ve seen the neighborhood.”

Understanding infuses Tripp’s thoughtful nod.

“After my grandmother died, my brothers were angry she’d left me the house. Max especially.”

“The mechanic?”

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