Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 91937 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91937 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
“What do you mean, you don’t know how to play catch?” I ask. “You have a glove and a ball.”
“Yeah, but Mom bought it for me,” he admits. My insides burn, and I’m not ready to admit to anyone why that is.
“Okay.” I bend to pick up the ball. “First thing is, your glove has to be open to receive the ball.” I hold up the ball, go behind him, show him how to have the glove open, and then toss the ball in the air a little and move his hand out to catch the ball in the air. “See?” I say when it plops in his glove. “Now, you do it,” I urge, walking in front of him and then tossing him the ball. He closes his eyes, making me laugh as he tries to catch it but misses.
“You can’t be afraid of the ball. The glove protects you,” I tell him, and he nods. It takes about fifteen tries for him to finally catch the ball. The smile on his face is one I don’t think I will ever forget. It’s filled with amazement that it actually happened and then pride that he did it.
“I did it!” he cheers, tossing me the ball. “Do it again.” He catches the next six out of ten before the front door opens, and she comes outside. Her hands go over her eyes to shield herself from the sun as she calls his name.
“Wyatt.” She stops when she sees me. “Dinner is ready.” Her voice is not like it was this morning at the bar. No, it’s more in the tone of when Winston comes to smash at her door. I’m close enough to see that her eyes are red, and she looks like she’s been crying, but wants to hide it.
I walk with him to her. “Momma,” he chirps, his voice animated, “the neighbor showed me how to play catch.” He walks up the steps, and she smiles at him, but it’s not really a smile.
“That’s great. Say thank you to Mr. Thatcher, and go wash your hands,” she states, and he turns around.
“Thank you, Mr. Thatcher,” he says before rushing into the house, my eyes never leaving her.
“Are you okay?” I ask, and she turns from watching her son walk into the house back to me.
“I’m fine,” she assures me. “Thanks for teaching him that,” she mumbles before walking back into the house and shutting the door behind her.
I wait a couple of seconds before turning on my heel and walking back over to my house. My sister’s words suddenly play in my head.
“She took business classes and accounting.”
“Was she looking for office work?”
“Heard that she had to move again.”
“Even though Winston has been fucking his way through the town, even while married. He’s been giving her a hard time since she finally left him.”
The words keep spinning around and around in my head like a record. I stop at my truck to look back at the house. The door is closed, but all the windows are open. I put my hands on my hips, looking at my truck, then my house, then back at her house before I make a decision. I open the passenger door to my truck and grab the plate before storming back over to her house. I should think about this before I do it, but instead, my feet are walking up the steps. I go to the door and pick my hand up to knock on the door.
Not pounding on it like her dickhead ex, knocking like a normal human would. I wait a couple of minutes, enough time to turn around and head back home. Instead, I knock again impatiently, and the sound of footsteps comes closer to the door. It opens, and I see her face is still the same. Her eyes red and puffy, the tip of her nose red. “Here,” I say, handing her back the baking dish.
“Thank you,” she mumbles, and she’s about to close the door when my voice stops her.
“Be at the bar tomorrow morning.” She gasps at my words. “Ten should be good.” Her mouth hangs open and I don’t wait for her to reply, instead I turn and jog down her steps and walk to my house. Pulling out my phone, I see the text from Taylor still there but I ignore it and pull up Autumn’s name.
Me: We need to have a meeting tomorrow morning.
I look over my shoulder at the door, seeing she’s still there with the plate in her hand and her look is one of shock and, trust me, she isn’t the only one.
CHAPTER 8
Harmony
“Do you have all your homework?” I ask Wyatt as he puts on his shoes at the front door, kneeling on one knee as he ties one lace and then switches over to the other foot.