CHAPTER NINE
WEST
OKAY, SO SKYLAR STONE KISSED ME.
I don’t think she meant anything by it.
It was a momentary lapse of judgment, obviously.
Because although I have no doubt that I’m perfectly kissable, that one felt more like a girl seeking comfort and not really knowing what she was after. It seemed like a moment I shouldn’t take advantage of, though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it for a beat.
I barely know Skylar, but I do know she’s been hurt. She’s low on friends and even lower on trust. And what kind of pig would I be if I took advantage of that after listening to her spill her guts in the most heartbreaking and infuriating fashion?
But none of that prevented me from staying up, laid out flat on my back, staring at my ceiling while replaying the kiss in my mind.
The only thing that distracts me from the kiss is the story about her ex.
And her parents. And what royal assholes they all sound like.
I have staff to do morning chores now, but my body still wakes me up at the crack of dawn on the best days. The morning light has been shining through my useless curtains for some time now, and I know I need to get
moving, but I’m trapped in my head.
Thinking.
And no one has ever accused me of being a big thinker.
But I can’t let this one go. Can’t stop wondering how her parents could have put her through what they did.
My parents have come through for me at every turn. Even when I was at my wildest—at my worst—they bailed me out. They may not have always
liked me, but they’ve always loved me, no matter what.
I strive to be that type of parent. It’s never occurred to me that anyone would strive to be any other type of parent. I feel naive for the first time in a long-ass time.
It’s a stark reminder that Skylar and I come from two different walks of life.
What’s more troubling is I sense she gave me the vaguely summarized version of her family history. I didn’t miss the way she froze in the kitchen when that glass broke. Which means it’s gotta be worse than what she let out.
It’s none of my business to ask her more, but it doesn’t keep me from wondering.
I’ve never been especially good at doing what I’m supposed to anyhow.
That’s why I’m still lying here with a light sheet over my legs, mulling over the few pieces of her puzzle she handed to me.
In a matter of one day, my image of her and what’s going on in her life has taken shape. She’s like a new problem horse at the barn. I assess them just as carefully and get a read before I do any hands-on work.
Not that Skylar is a horse.
And I don’t think she needs any hands-on work. If anything, she needs space. A friend. And if I’m known for anything, it’s making friends with absolutely anyone.
I, Weston Belmont, am the world’s best friend.
And the world’s worst enemy. I’m the guy who lets fists fly if the situation warrants it, but I’ve mostly outgrown that phase in my life. Now I’m the life of the party. The social calendar planner. I’m the guy that brings grown men together to bowl on Thursday nights for Dads’ Night Out.
So if Skylar Stone is here to stay and she needs a friend, who better to take her under their wing than me?
I could easily be Skylar’s friend. Sometimes friends accidentally kiss.
Sometimes friends get accidental raging hard-ons thinking about said kiss.
Totally normal.
Yeah, I’ve got this in the fucking bag.
“Dad!” Emmy’s shout precedes the heavy thumping of her elephant-like footfalls blasting down the hall to my room. Her peach-toned hair flies in a wild mane behind her as she takes a running leap onto my bed and lands on all fours like the animal she is. “What time is soccer again?”
With a groan, I reach for the bedside table while she snuggles into my
side. I ignore the pang in my chest when I realize she doesn’t fit quite like she used to. She’s growing too damn fast. I’d like to shrink her, freeze her at about four years old, when her voice still sounded all sugary and she followed me everywhere.
My arms tighten around her as I search for the phone that I know is there somewhere. When my fingers wrap around it, my eyes widen. I’ve been lying
here for a lot longer than I thought.
Thinking. Obsessing. Planning.
“Shit. We’ve got forty-five minutes before we need to be at the field with the rest of your ragtag team.”
“Five more minutes,” she mumbles, nuzzling her face into my ribs. And how the hell am I supposed to say no to that? Soon, she’ll want nothing to do with me. Soon, I’ll get eye rolls and scoffs and doors slammed in my face.
So I turn and tug her against me, taking five more minutes to snuggle with my baby girl.
I don’t open my eyes, but I smile when I feel Ollie’s quiet presence as he crawls in on the other side and presses his back against mine. I can hear the soft flick of the pages in his book as he turns them.
It’s the coziest moment. Ruined only by the fact that I can’t stop thinking about Skylar. Wondering if she got any moments like this with her parents.
As if this morning wasn’t hectic enough, two messages come in back-to- back. Both my assistant coaches are bailing on me at the last minute.
Which means it’s just me and fifteen girls at a chaotic kids’ soccer game.
Just me to do subs.
Just me to switch pinnies.
Just me to retie laces that come undone at a rate that downright defies the odds.
Knowing other people’s kids are relying on me to make this experience a good one weighs on me. Which is why it only takes me a couple of minutes to realize what I need is a friend to help me out this morning.
And I have a brand-new friend, one who owes me for saving her from a grizzly.
So, with my coffee in hand, I head out the front door while Emmy and Oliver bustle around the house getting ready.
“If you’re not ready to go in five, I’m leaving without you, and you can walk into town,” I call before letting the screen door slam behind me.
“Really nice, Dad!” Oliver shouts back at me. And I can’t bring myself to chide him. If he wants to yell, I’ll just be grateful he’s talking.
I hustle across the yard to get to the bunkhouse, hoping I can talk Skylar into this. The prospect of doing it on my own makes me want to throw my hot coffee in my face. And the prospect of doing it with her feels much better.
I’m not above holding a favor over Skylar’s head to get her to help me.
It’s for the children. Plus, after watching her with my kids’ last night, I think it might be good for her.
The aromatic press of warm, dry pine needles eases, and the clearing toward the lake opens before me. I spent my entire life here, and the view still brings me up short some days. There’s something magical about Rose Hill.
Something that stops you in your tracks. Forces you to take in the view, even for just a beat.
And that’s all the time I have this morning, so I soak in the lake and mountains quickly before forging ahead. I take the dirt path down to the house that loosely matches the main one. The white shiplap siding appears more weatherworn than ever, and the red tin roof has gradually trended toward more of a chalky pink hue.
On the small wraparound porch, I find Skylar sitting in the old rocking chair, wrapped in a Navajo blanket, with her fucking bird on her shoulder.
She’s staring out over the water, rocking gently and looking alarmingly at peace.
Before I can make my presence known, Cherry announces me by shouting, “Go away!”
Skylar jumps and turns to face me. She’s pulled up her caramel-colored hair with a big black claw clip and her face is scrubbed clean of the makeup she had on yesterday. I can tell because the dark circles under her eyes are on full display.
She looks beautiful and forlorn all at once.
Not that I would tell her that.
I may be single, but it’s not because I make a habit of putting my foot in my mouth around women.
It’s because I can’t quite bring myself to settle down. Don’t especially
want to bring someone new into the fold with my kids either.
“I think your bird hates me,” I joke, trying to ease the tension from last night’s moment of insanity.
The expression of surprise fades from her face, but it’s replaced by the two splotches of pink that match the roof taking up residence on her cheeks.
Mission not accomplished.
She can’t even meet my eyes. Instead, from the corner of her eye, she peeks at the gray parrot and smiles softly. “I think she really only likes me.”
The parrot rubs the top of its head against Skylar’s pink cheek, bunting against her lovingly as though that might help erase the blush.
“Clearly,” I reply dryly.
“I rescued her from a shelter. She wasn’t well taken care of. I was there to do a commercial and something about her just spoke to me.”
“Did she literally tell you to go away?”
Skylar chuckles now. “She didn’t talk then.”
“She, uh”—I flick a hand toward the bird—“have her wings clipped?”
“They used to be. I never could bring myself to do it to her, though.
They’ve grown back now. Physically, she can fly, but she never does.”
Her eyes meet mine now, the confidence she oozed yesterday absent this morning. She looks small and vulnerable wrapped in the blanket. “Sometimes I sit outside with her and will her to just try, you know? I want her to know she can. But I’m scared she won’t come back.”
I shrug. “Maybe she knows she can fly but doesn’t want to leave?”
Skylar blinks like I just said something she hadn’t considered. She moves her gaze back to Cherry, and her eyes go a little glassy as she reaches up to stroke the bird’s back.
She looks sad and I can’t fucking handle sad. So I spit out what I came here to ask. “Remember that time I saved your life?” Because who knows?
Maybe watching a bunch of hooligans run back and forth across a field will make her less sad.
She snorts and hits me with a droll expression. “I have officially erased all of yesterday from my memory. So…no. That doesn’t ring a bell.”
I react with a dramatic gasp and throw an offended hand over my chest.
“Oh my god. You erased our kiss? How could you?”
Her heart-shaped lips pop open, as though she can’t believe I’d dare to bring that up.
“Want me to tell you about it so you can commit it to memory?”
A dry laugh lurches from her chest. “No. God. Please don’t.”
“Oh, come on. I’m a great kisser. Everyone says so. Trust me. You won’t want to forget it.”
She shakes her head at me, but now her eyes twinkle with amusement rather than unshed tears. “It felt like kissing a corpse. You didn’t even move.”
“So, this might come as a surprise to you, but you kissed me. I was in shock. Cut me some slack.”
“West!” She drops her head back and stares up at the pale blue morning sky.
“Dragged me outside and practically mauled me. Like a bear.”
Her shoulders shake as a silent laugh racks her body.
“And being the gentleman that I am, I took one for the team. Then you just shoved your tongue down my throat and preyed on all this—” I gesture over myself like I’m a prize you can win on a game show.
Skylar wheezes a hollow threat. “I’m going to kill you.”
But it’s Cherry who scares me with her echo. “Kill you. Kill you.”
That’s what sends us both into a fit of giggles.
Her murderous bird and all the diffused tension.
She wipes tears from the corners of her eyes, and while I think they may have originated as sad, they spill from her eyes as tears of laughter.
I must be a simple guy to please because knowing I helped change them gives me pleasure. It fills me with pride and satisfaction.
“So, about that favor?”
“What is it?” she asks, straightening and trying to gather her wits.
“Everyone bailed on me, and I need help with coaching Emmy’s soccer game in”—I tug my phone from my back pocket and check the time—“ten minutes.”
“I’m…” She hesitates. “Not a soccer coach.”
“No shit. But guess what?” I lift my coffee mug in her direction. “Me
fucking neither.”
“I—”
“Do you know how to tie shoelaces?”
Her brow furrows, and now she’s back to looking offended.
“Jesus, Skylar, it was a joke, not an insult. I know you can tie shoelaces.
Let’s go.” I turn and wave her along. The blanket rustles as she moves it.
“But I need some time to get ready. I haven’t washed my face or put on
my makeup —”
“I don’t care. We’ve got a game to get to. Let’s go, Coach Plain Face!”
Skylar responds with a disbelieving laugh. I get the sense no one has ribbed this girl in her entire life. She’s in for a rude awakening, being friends with me.
The door to the bunkhouse creaks open and Cherry squawks, “Kill you!” one last time.
“I dare you, Cherry,” I shout back, hearing Skylar’s soft laughter and the thunk of the door as she shuts it behind her.
Then, “Hey! Wait up, Coach Thick Thighs! I need a ride.”
And all I do is groan and slow my steps, because despite my best intentions and internal pep talk, my head is way down in the gutter where Coach Plain Face is concerned.