“Both,” Grace answered as the Stingrays fanned out onto the field.
Brendan grinned at Paige as he walked behind home plate, now wearing all of his pads. He flipped his baseball cap backward, and put on his catcher’s mask. Shep and Jax walked out onto the field together. They split as Jax took his place at the mound and Shep went to his spot between second and third.
“So do their numbers have significance?” Paige asked Grace.
“Brendan is number four because my mom’s birthday was August fourth. Jax is seven because his favorite Yankee has always been Mickey Mantle and that was his number, and Shep is thirteen because it’s his lucky number.”
“Shep likes to go against the grain, doesn’t he?” Paige asked.
“Always has,” Grace said.
Paige watched as Jax stretched his shoulders, a grim look on his mouth.
“Jax always looks so serious,” Paige said. “Has he always been that way?”
“Yup,” Grace said. “He’s serious about everything, and I do mean
everything
,” she said, drawing out the last word.
Paige looked at Grace, whose attention was solely focused on Jax. Paige was pretty sure that Grace wanted Jax to be
serious
about her.
When the first batter came up to the plate, Brendan crouched down and Paige had an awesome view of his very nice butt in those very tight pants.
Jax wound the pitch and it sailed into Brendan’s mitt.
“Holy shit,” Paige whispered.
“I know, right?” Grace said in an equally awed voice.
The first batter struck out, but the next got a hit on the third pitch. There was a runner on first and second base when Jax struck the last batter out and the Stingrays ran into the dugout. The score was tied at zero.
Shep was the first up to bat. Landing a hit on the second pitch, he made it to second base and some other guy on the team named Banners walked out to bat. Banners struck out, but McCoy hit a ball just over the first baseman. McCoy was tagged out at first but at least Shep made it to third base.
Brendan walked out onto the plate, minus all of his pads and his baseball cap flipped foreword. He tapped the bat against the inside of his cleat twice before he brought it up, his fists wrapped around the neck. The pitcher wound his arm and the loud
thwack
of the wood against the ball echoed through the field.
Brendan threw the bat down and ran as the ball sailed into the middle of the outfield, hitting the ground and rolling through the grass. Brendan ran to first base as Shep sailed past home plate, scoring the first run in the game. The next batter got Brendan to second but the third struck out and the teams switched places again. By the end of the fifth inning, the Stingrays were ahead four to three.
* * *
The Mullets tied it up by the end of the seventh inning. In the eighth, Brendan went up to bat with only one out left. He hit the ball far into the outfield and when the center fielder threw the ball to the short stop, he missed, the ball rolling in the red clay. Brendan tore off to second base and made it there just before the ball did.
Jax came up to bat next, and Brendan could hear Grace shouting for him to knock it out of the park. Brendan looked past Jax to where Paige was sitting. Her hair was piled on top of her head now, a few curls trailing down around her forehead. She had one long leg crossed over the other. Sydney’s head was in her lap, her slender fingers scratching behind Sydney’s ears.
Jax missed the first pitch but his bat connected with the second. Brendan went out a couple of paces, waiting to see where the ball went but there was no need. It sailed over the left corner of the fence. He rounded third and ran to home plate. He turned to find Paige screaming his name. She put her fingers to her lips and whistled loudly as he walked by.
The next batter struck out and Brendan put his gear back on for the last inning. By the bottom of the ninth, the Mullets were only one run behind. Jax struck out the fourth batter, Brendan catching the last ball in his mitt. He stood and stretched, walking over to the fence. Paige stood up from the bleachers and walked over to him.
“Nice game, King,” she said, putting her hand against the fence.
“Glad you liked it. Let me just grab my stuff and I’ll be right back,” he said, putting his hand against hers with the chain link between them.
“I’ll wait here with Grace and Syd.”
He walked over to the dugout where the team was already taking off their cleats.
“Paige and I will be at your place before two. I’m just going to go home and take a quick shower.”
Shep raised his eyebrows.
“Don’t even,” Brendan said, holding up his hand.
“Fine. But if you show up with another one of those,” Shep said, pointing to Brendan’s neck, “I’m going to assume the worst. Or should I say the best?” He smirked.
Brendan just shook his head. Sometimes with Shep it was best to just not engage him.
B
rendan lived on the outskirts of Mirabelle. Paige could see the Gulf of Mexico from the big bay windows that looked out from the back of the house. The water was probably a hundred yards away from his back door, and all of the land was his. The house had been built on stilts above the open garage, and the back porch had a staircase that led out onto the grass. There was a hammock just off to the side, tied between two sturdy trees.
Paige clutched her sweating glass of sweet tea and looked around Brendan’s living room. He’d told her that she was free to snoop while he took a shower, and that’s exactly what she was going to do. She had to do something to take her mind off the fact that he was in the other room, naked and soaking wet…it was very distracting.
Brendan had a flat-screen TV mounted above the stone fireplace and white bookshelves lined the wall on either side. A massive brown leather sofa sat in the middle of the room and the coffee table looked like it was made of pieces of driftwood. The blond hardwood floors stretched out from the living room and into the hallway, and so did the light-green walls.
Paige wandered over to one of the bookshelves, studying the scattered picture frames. There was a fairly recent picture of Brendan, Shep, and Jax, all wearing camo and holding hunting bows. There was another of the three of them in high school wearing their baseball uniforms. There was a picture of a little boy with blond hair holding a baby wrapped in a yellow blanket. His face was turned down to look at what was in his arms. Even though she couldn’t see his face, Paige knew that it was of Brendan holding Grace. There was a picture of Brendan and Oliver up to their elbows in grease as they worked on a truck, and another of a teenage Grace and Lula Mae cooking in the kitchen of Café Lula.
Paige’s gaze wandered to an antique picture frame in the corner. She reached for it before she even knew what she was doing. It was of a blonde woman with Brendan’s eyes and smile. She was looking at the camera, her hands resting on her protruding belly. She was wearing a light blue dress that reached down to her ankles, the gauzy material blowing in the breeze.
“That’s my mom.”
Paige turned with the picture still in her hands. Brendan was standing in the doorway to the hall wearing faded jeans and a maroon T-shirt. His dark blond hair was still wet from his shower and his bright blue eyes were on her.
“What was her name?”
“Claire. Claire Elizabeth King,” he said, walking over to her.
“She was beautiful,” Paige said looking down at the picture and tracing the hem of her flowing dress
“She looked like Grace.”
“She looked like you,” Paige said, looking up at him. “You have her smile.”
“Grams tells me that all the time.”
“Was she pregnant with you or Grace in this picture?”
“Grace,” he said, reaching out and touching the frame.
“How old was she?”
“Twenty-three.”
God, that was two years younger than Paige was now. She couldn’t even imagine having one kid by herself, let alone two.
“How old was she when she had you?” she asked, putting the frame back and looking at Brendan.
He was still staring at the picture. After a second, he cleared his throat and looked at Paige. There was a deep sadness etched all over his face. She just wanted to reach up and brush his pain away, but that was impossible.
“She was eighteen.”
Eighteen.
It made her heart hurt.
“How old was she when she died?” Paige asked, reaching out for him and wrapping her arms around his waist.
“Thirty-four.” He brought his hands up to her back and started moving them up and down.
“I—I can’t even imagine,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry, Brendan,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his jaw before she settled her head on his shoulder.
“Thank you,” he said softly. His arms tightened around her and he buried his nose in her hair, pressing his lips against her temple.
* * *
Shep lived in his grandparents’ old house that was just a couple of miles from Brendan’s place. When his grandfather had died, his grandmother had moved in with his parents and Shep had gotten the house.
The grill was going and everyone was out on the deck, beers in hand. Brendan was leaning back against the railing and Paige was leaning back against his chest. He rested his free hand on her hip, his fingers tracing the lace hem of her white tank top. Paige was laughing about something with Grace, but Brendan wasn’t paying attention. He was too distracted finding shapes in the freckles on her shoulders.
Talking about his mother had always been a difficult thing for him. Her death had never gotten easier. When she’d died he’d felt like he was drowning, and then with time, he’d figured out how to breathe underwater. But when he’d talked to Paige about Claire, he’d felt like he was coming up for air again. She’d asked him questions and he’d wanted to talk, he’d wanted to tell her about the woman who had raised him. He’d wanted her to comfort him, to wrap her arms around him, and she had. He wanted her to know him in every way.
Brendan pressed his nose into Paige’s hair, breathing in the citrus scent of her shampoo. She felt so right pushed up against him, like she fit here, in his arms and in his life.
* * *
Paige got up early on Sunday and drove over to Brendan’s. When he’d dropped her off the night before, he’d asked her if she’d go out on his boat with him for the day.
“Just you and me? Out in the middle of the ocean? Fishing?” she’d asked as they stood on her parents’ porch.
“Among other things. You scared?” he challenged.
“Do I have a reason to be?”
“No.” He grinned.
“Why don’t I believe you?”
“Because you’re a smart girl.”
Yet she’d said yes anyways.
She parked in his driveway and headed up the stairs to his front door. She knocked and he opened the door a minute later, Sydney at his side, her tail whipping him in the leg.
“Morning.”
“Morning,” he said, pulling her inside. As soon as the door was shut he pushed her up against it and kissed her. When he pulled back sometime later he looked at her with a dazed expression that she was sure mirrored her own.
“You hungry?”
“Uh-huh,” she said as her eyes dipped back down to his mouth.
“I meant for breakfast.” He laughed. “Glad to know your mind is in the gutter.”
“And where’s yours?”
“Right next to yours,” he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her into the kitchen. “Sit. I’m going to make you breakfast,” he said, depositing her in one of the bar stools at the counter.
“I thought we had to get an early start.”
“The fish will still be there in an hour. Coffee?”
“Yes, please,” she said, leaning back in her chair.
For the next thirty minutes she sipped her coffee while he made breakfast. He moved around the kitchen with ease, dicing vegetables and whipping up eggs.
“Did Lula Mae teach you to cook?” Paige asked while he sprinkled cheese over the cooking omelet.
“Yes, but so did my mom.”
“She was a cook too?”
“Yeah,” he said and nodded, slipping a piece of cheese to Sydney. “She worked at Café Lula too.”
“How long has it been there?”
“My grandmother opened it twenty-six years ago. She had a job at a diner and she saved up for over twenty years. When she had enough money she bought that old cottage.”
“That’s amazing,” Paige said, twirling her spoon around her coffee. “To be able to do that. Follow your dreams and start out on your own. And your grandfather did it too.”
“What are your dreams?” Brendan asked, looking over at her.
“My dreams?” she asked, touching her chest with her hand. “To sell my art in a gallery.”
“Have you sold any of your work before?”
“No. After I got out of school I got a job at the advertising agency. I didn’t really have a lot of free time to paint or take pictures.”