Chapter 7
“What the hell just happened?” he asked, rubbing his hands down his face only to curse when the motion pulled at his stitches.
“She’s gone into hiding,” Kasey said with a sympathetic wince as she pushed his hand away and checked his stitches. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
“I was,” he said, deciding not to mention that Mikey was the reason that he was out of bed since the poor kid was in enough trouble as it was.
“You need to sit down,” she said, already dragging him towards the kitchen that he’d hoped that he would never see again.
“No, I need to lie down,” he said, pulling his arm free as he turned around and-
“What’s that smell?” he asked with a frown, uncaring that the action pulled at his stitches as he scented the air, positive that his mind was playing tricks on him.
“Part of our apology,” Kasey said, gesturing for him to follow her into the kitchen that he’d fantasized about taking a sledgehammer to last night while the doctor had stitched him up.
Slowly, he took a step closer, barely paying attention to Kasey as she moved around the kitchen, telling him how sorry she was about everything while he stood there, taking in all the platters of food covering the kitchen island and table and couldn’t help but wonder if he’d died and gone to heaven. Not that he really cared one way or the other right now, not when it meant that he was surrounded by all this food.
He shifted his attention back to Kasey to find her rushing around the large room, piling fried chicken and baked macaroni and cheese onto a plate while apologizing for not knowing what he liked as she added more food to the plate than it should have been able to hold. Seconds later, he found himself sitting at the kitchen table, a fork slapped in his hand and the plate overflowing with food placed in front of him.
“I hope you’re hungry,” she said, adding a large glass of what he hoped was homemade lemonade in front of him.
“Starving,” he heard himself saying as he took in the food before him.
God, he’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life, he thought as he picked up a piece of fried chicken. He took a bite and moaned as a combination of flavors that he hadn’t even known existed hit his tongue.
“Oh, God,” he groaned loudly as he took a second bite, terrified that the first bite had been a figment of his imagination, but if anything that first bite had been nothing more than a hint of what lay ahead.
“Are you okay?” she asked with a concerned frown as she reached over and-
“Did you just growl at me?” she asked, amusement twinkling in her eyes as she placed another piece of fried chicken on his plate.
“I guess I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said, smiling easily as she pushed the platter of cornbread closer to him.
“As you should,” he murmured between bites, helping himself to a large piece of cornbread as she sat down and poured another glass of lemonade.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, gesturing towards his temple with her glass.
“Like I took a sledgehammer to the side of the head,” he answered with a shrug as he took a sip of the best lemonade that he’d ever had.
“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head slowly and looking at a loss as to what else she could say.
“It was an accident,” he said, hoping that she would stop apologizing before his head exploded. “Next time I’ll wear a helmet,” he said with a shrug, helping himself to another slice of cornbread.
“Next time?” she asked, looking adorably confused the same time he heard a commotion in the hallway seconds before Mikey came sliding to a stop next to him. “Next time?” she asked, absently wiping at her red eyes as she waited anxiously for his answer.
Shrugging, he took a sip of his lemonade. “Your curve ball needs work.”
Mikey’s face scrunched up adorably as she considered his words. “I can’t control the release,” she admitted, surprising him.
“No, you can’t,” he agreed, placing his empty glass back on the table.
“I don’t think this is such a good idea,” Kasey said, worrying her plump bottom lip between her teeth even as she poured more lemonade into his glass.
“But, Mom-”
“Shouldn’t you be in your room praying for mercy?” Kasey asked, shifting her attention to her daughter.
“Probably,” Mikey agreed, throwing him one last wistful glance before mumbling her goodbyes and walking away with her head bowed, sighing heavily as she made a dramatic exit that most of the men in his family would envy and damn near making him smile, but the woman now glaring in his direction promptly put an end to that urge.
She waited until Mikey was out of sight before she said, “Someone will get hurt,” which of course earned her a pointed look.
Waving it off, she said, “You know what I mean,” as she stood up, grabbed a pair of oven mitts and walked over to the stove.
“She loves baseball,” he said, pointing out the obvious as he took a bite of macaroni and cheese and nearly moaned in ecstasy before taking out his phone, snapping a quick picture of his plate and sending it to the two bastards that had mocked the shit out of him last night in the emergency room.
“That’s an understatement,” Kasey said, shaking her head in resignation as she opened the damaged oven door that hadn’t been like that yesterday and pulled out a large pan as his phone chimed, letting him know that the bastards had responded. Ignoring the mean bastards, he put his phone away.
“Is she on a team?” he asked, hating the fact that he cared so damn much.
He had enough problems and didn’t need to add any more bullshit to his already fucked-up life. If he had any brains he would finish his food, thank her, steal that platter of double-fudge brownies and cupcakes, and get the hell out of here so that he could spend the rest of his summer wallowing in self-pity. But, after spending the night in the emergency room with absolutely nothing to do but think about all the fucked-up choices that he’d made in his life, he realized that wallowing in self-pity was the last thing that he needed.
He didn’t want to sit around dissecting every fucked-up decision that he’d made in his life, second-guessing every choice that he’d ever made, or wondering what he could have done differently. He already knew that he’d fucked everything up and nothing that he said or did was going to change that. He needed to accept his fucked-up life, move on and do his best not to fuck it up again.
After spending the night in the ER, he realized something important, he was done following in his twin’s footsteps. He needed to start making some hard choices and sitting on his ass and whining about his life wasn’t going to change anything. It wasn’t going to bring back the last year and a half and it sure as hell wasn’t going to get his job back. He needed to stay busy and if what he’d overheard the nurses talking about last night was true then the woman cutting an obscenely large piece of lasagna could use the help.
“Technically, she’s on a team,” she said, placing the large slice of lasagna in front of him.
Wondering if she had any Italian bread, he asked, “How can she technically be on a team?”
“Because they wont let her play,” she said, sounding tired as she sat back down and rubbed her hands down her face. “The parents don’t want her on the team and the coach is terrified that she’s going to hurt someone. So, if she wants to practice, which is the only thing that they’ll let her do, Eric has to go with her and risk his neck so that she can toss the ball around.”
He nodded as he watched her, taking in her short spikey black hair, down to her baby pink tank top partially hidden behind a bright white apron before switching his gaze to glance around the terrifying kitchen they sat in as he ran everything that he’d heard last night at the emergency room through his head and couldn’t help but feel like a fucking asshole.
“She’s going to end up getting frustrated sooner or later,” he pointed out as he took a bite of lasagna and groaned.
“You like it?” she asked with a warm smile.
“It’s incredible,” he said, taking another bite and wondering how she’d learned to cook like this.
“I try my best,” she said with a smile and a wink that he refused to find sexy.
“There’s no point in her being on a team if they won’t let her play,” she said, getting back to the topic at hand as she shot a worried glance over her shoulder.
“And they won’t let her play until she gets a little more control of her arm,” he guessed.
“Exactly,” she said, taking a sip of her lemonade, looking a little lost and god help him, but he wanted to help her.
“I can help her with that,” he said,
“I can’t ask you to do that,” she said, shifting her attention to the battered side of his face.
“You’re not asking me. I’m offering,” he said with a shrug as he dug into his food.
“Why?” she asked, looking genuinely confused by the offer, which made two of them, because for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why he was really doing this. He considered telling her that he had nothing better to do, but she didn’t need to know that.
Instead, he shrugged it off and reached for another piece of cornbread, “We didn’t get a chance to finish our game.”
“Because she split your skull open and sent you to the ER?”
“There is that,” he conceded with a nod.
“And it was such a fun experience that you can’t wait to do it again?” she asked, blinking at him and giving him a look that clearly told him that he was insane.
She was probably right, but since admitting that would only be detrimental to his plans, he decided that it might be for the best if he didn’t voice his opinion on the matter. Instead, he said, “She’s got a hell of an arm on her and I’m curious to see what will happen once she gets it under control.”
Sighing heavily, she refilled his glass with a sad shake of her head, “Something tells me that you’re going to regret this, Yummy.”
“Probably,” he agreed with a shrug, not really bothered, because there wasn’t much in his life that he didn’t regret.