Page 56 of The Way We Touch
“I mean, I’m going to touch her?—”
“Ah-ah!” He points a thick digit at my nose. “I don’t want to hear about it. You read me?”
I hold up both hands and laugh. “Loud and clear.”
We’re at Cooters & Shooters, and I see her inside laughing and talking to Craig. My whole body lights up, and I want to go to her. I want to pull her into my arms and kiss her. I think about what Garrett said about kids, and my chest tightens. What would she say if I told her about it? That’s nuts, and way too fucking soon to even think about.
I’m not thinking about it now…
“Just remember, always keep in mind every second of every day…” Garrett’s voice is a low warning. “If you hurt her, if you make my little sister cry, I’ll beat your ass so bad?—”
“I’ll gladly take it if I ever make her cry.”
“So long as we’re on the same page.” He glances at the restaurant. “Let’s get cleaned up. I’m kind of looking forward to you being on your best behavior.”
“I’m always on my best behavior compared to you.”
“Sounds like some bullshit to me.”
A smile curls my lips, and I let him take off a few steps ahead of me while I linger behind, watching her inside the restaurant waving her hands and shaking her head so her pretty dark hair swishes down her back.
Calm is something I haven’t felt in a long time, if ever. But standing here, gazing at my future, I’m just as calm as a perfect day on the water. Not a cloud in sight.
12
Dylan
My brother Zane is tall with dark hair like mine and stunning blue eyes. He’s naturally muscular, and he has our dad’s square chin and our mom’s wide, perfect smile with a deep dimple right in his cheek.
It’s a smile I haven’t seen since he came home six months ago.
Zane is five years older than me, but way back when I was three and he was eight, he was the only one of my brothers who’d sit and read to me.
He wasn’t as rowdy as Hendrix or a brute like Garrett, who was already huge at six and throwing me over his shoulder, running around like I was a football. He didn’t have Jack’s raw talent, but he loved the game.
Being a former team captain, our dad was constantly watching and working with his boys. Zane was a good teammate, but he didn’t want to be the star. He liked to do his own thing and be left alone, which is why Dad steered him to kicking.
Dad would say the kicker is one of the most important members of the team. An entire game could turn on a single field goal or an extra point. Zane was consistent and accurate, he could get good height and rotation on the ball, and it gave him space.
He went in the first round of the draft, and by the time he made it to Baltimore, he was one of the highest paid kickers in the league.
Then the accident happened, and his entire life turned on a single fake field goal. Now he’s always alone.
“Zane?” I tap on his door, waiting in the quiet hall in the middle of the day.
A rustling noise from inside precedes the door opening a crack. “Dylan, what’s up?” His voice is low and scratchy, like he was asleep.
“Come down to the restaurant. I made more pulled pork than we can sell tonight. It’s your favorite.” I smile, doing my best to pry him out of this cave.
“Thanks, sis.” He straightens as if he’ll close the door again. “I’m not really hungry.”
“Wait!” My hand shoots out, and I stop the wooden barrier. “Just come down and sit with me. I miss talking to you.”
He inhales slowly, releasing the door and stepping away. I push it open, stepping inside his neat bedroom. A box in the corner holds several discarded trophies, and the walls are bare.
A large bookcase is mostly empty, and I walk over to see it holds fabric-covered hardback classics. Pulling one down, I read the spine, A Separate Peace.
“Are you reading this?”