Shaking his head at me, his face bled of all emotion before he turned his back and jogged up the stairs. Clueless fans held out their hands as he ran by, but it was like he didn’t see anything around him.

“Whoa,” a stunned voice said, whistling a row below me. “You’re the girl Jude Ryder’s going to marry and make baby superheroes with?”

If Danny hadn’t heard Jude’s and my heated exchange, maybe that meant everyone within a ten seat radius of me who were staring like I was a pariah didn’t either.

“I think I just decrowned myself of that title,” I answered, feeling numb. Or, at least, more numb.

“You are like the real life Lois Lane,” he continued, bouncing in his seat. “Only blonder. And younger. And prettier too.”

I couldn’t even make a half-hearted smile feel real.

He gaped at me like I was almost as cool as comic books. “Holy‌—‌”

“Danny!” his mom shouted, giving me a sympathetic smile.

So much for no one hearing.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Danny was watching me. Not saying anything, but something was eating this kid from the inside out.

“What is it, Danny?” I asked, biting on my nails. I’d never, up until this moment, been a nail biter.

“Why were you and Jude fighting?” he asked, looking relieved he’d gotten that off his back.

“Because that’s what we do and we’re good at it,” I answered.

“But you love him?”

I glanced over at his mom, wishing she’d choose this time to usher the kiddos out for a bathroom break or something. “Yeah.”

More relief flooding into his face. “So you’re still going to get married? “

“I don’t know,” I said, working my teeth over the next nail. Manicures were so last season. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” I said, getting why parents were such a fan of this one word answer go-to. “Because sometimes love just isn’t enough.”

His freckled nose curled. “Well, duh,” he said, flapping his hands over the back of the seat. “I just turned six and even I know that.”

A six year old had more life wisdom, it appeared, than I did. The concept was more depressing than it should be.

“You know that, huh, smartie-pants?” I said.

“I know a lot.”

“And as a kindergartener who’s probably dated a total of zero girls,” I said, arching a brow at him, “what exactly do you know about love?”

He did that little unamused face my mom had become a master of back in the day. “Mom told me that love is like a seed. You’ve got to plant it to grow. But that’s not all. You need to water it. The sun needs to shine just enough, but not too much. The roots have to take hold,” he continued, narrowing his eyes in concentration. “And from there, if it pops its head above the surface, there are about a million things that could kill it, so it takes a whole lot of luck too.”

I felt my mouth ready to drop open. I was about to mutter a curse when I caught myself. This kid was wise beyond his years.

“You can’t plant a seed and hope it will grow on its own. It takes a lotta work to make anything grow.” He smiled up at me, clearly pleased with himself.

“Wow,” I replied, stunned. “That’s some seriously smart stuff, Danny.”

“I know,” he said. “Do you have any questions?”

I was smirking at a six year old. Not one of my better moments. “I think I’m good, but I’ll let you know.”

He turned around in his seat and I was halfway through a sigh of relief when he looked over his shoulder.

“You shouldn’t have gotten into a fight with Jude,” he said, his eyebrows drawn together. “You could really mess with his game. He might come back to the second half and be a mess. You might be solely responsible for losing the game if we do.”

“Jude will be fine,” I said, looking down on the quiet field. “He’s used to us fighting. It’s never stopped him before.”

His mouth made a duck face as he considered this. “That’s sad,” he responded, with the entire world of replies at his disposal. That’s the one he chose.

“It is sad,” I repeated as the stands started to explode with rising bodies and voices.

As Syracuse took the field after the half, Jude wasn’t leading them. I almost panicked, sure our fight had unraveled him and he took off, to never be heard from again, but then I caught a glimpse of number seventeen in the middle of the pack.

It wasn’t only me that noticed this either. Narrowed eyes of confusion turned my way, narrowing a hair tighter in accusation. They might as just well brand the word pariah over my forehead because it couldn’t have been any more uncomfortable than I felt now.

Kickoff was just getting under way when someone stopped at the end of my row, turned, and was so obviously staring at me I couldn’t even pretend I hadn’t noticed.

“Yes?” I said in irritation, glancing up at the frat boy grinning down at me. His frat, delta-delta-douche something, was scrolled onto his baseball cap. I couldn’t help rolling my eyes.

“This seat taken?” he asked, eyeing the empty seat Jude had occupied earlier. He’d sat in it for all of five minutes, but I was protective of it.

“Yeah,” I said, dropping my purse onto it, “it is.”