Page 67 of The Curveball
“Ah. You made it. I wasn’t sure if you’d show.”
A brisk, deep voice shakes my attention to one end of the table. A man rises from his seat, and now I understand why Wren has been jittery. Grant Pierson is broad, his eyes are dark, and he’s mastered staring down his nose to make others feel small.
“I said we’d be here. And I couldn’t miss seeing the birthday girl.” Wren gives her stepsister a big smile, but when she faces her dad again, she curls into me a little more, almost like an instinct. “I’d like you to meet Griffin Marks. Griff, this is my father, Grant Pierson.”
I keep one hand on the small of her back, and hold out my other hand. “Good to meet you, sir.”
He shakes my hand, smirking and sizing me up. Let him. I’d rather keep his attention on me than on Wren.
“Mr. Marks.” His greeting is rough and lined in suspicion. “Well, sit down. We’ve been waiting to start eating.”
Her dad keeps watch on me as I pull out Wren’s chair. What more does he want to convince him I care about the woman? Even if I was pretending, I’m here. Is it so impossible to see us together?
Wren offers a stiff introduction to her stepmom. She’s not so bad. Polite, asks a few questions about the team, but she loses interest quickly and looks at something on her cell phone.
Dinner is like the house. Cold and quiet. Not even close to the boisterous gatherings I’m used to. This is no party for an eight-year-old. This is a business dinner for executives who hate each other.
Darren and Carter occasionally steal glances my direction. They’ll roll their eyes, or wink, as if they can read my confusion and are finding a bit of amusement in my discomfort. I’m not quiet by nature, so this is a cruel sort of torture.
Meals should be shared alongside loud laughter, stories, jokes, even tears. I’d take some tears over this suffocating silence.
I’ve reached my breaking point. I’ve been quiet a total of eighteen minutes, and time is overdue for some conversation. I pick the safest person.
“So, Ruby. Wren tells me you like to run.”
The little girl lifts her head from pushing her broccoli pilaf or whatever they called it around her plate. She scrutinizes me for a few breaths, then cracks a toothy grin. “I am fast.”
“Yeah? Do you race all your friends?”
“At school sometimes.” She starts to wiggle in her seat. “I win a lot.”
Her little lisp gets Darren to chuckle. “I don’t know Rubes. Trev said he beat you once.”
Her eyes flash in fury. “He did not. Did not. I mean, maybe his toe crossed the line, but I think I still won.”
“Ruby,” her mom scolds. “Keep your voice down.”
“Sorry.” The girl curls her shoulders and goes back to pushing her green sludge pile around her plate.
Well, I tried.
I’m about to speak to Darren or Carter when the door to the dining room opens.
“Apologies for being late. Meetings.”
A little squeak scrapes out of Wren’s throat. Her hand grips my fingertips hard enough I wince. I look over my shoulder. Another man steps into the dining room. He’s lanky and clean-shaven with styled blond hair. Not one lock out of place.
“What is he doing here?” Darren blurts out. For the first time I notice how flushed his face has gone.
Grant glares at his son. “Clay was invited.”
Clay. Clay. I rack my memory until it clicks. Wren mentioned her ex-stepbrother. He screwed Darren over with his business. I already hold a bit of protectiveness over Wren’s brothers. Happened quickly. They might not know it, but I’d have their backs if the needed my back up.
“Come on, Darren,” Clay says, a snide smile on his face as he takes a place next to Grant. “Are we going to bicker in front of Ruby on her birthday?”
Emma whispers something to her husband and strokes the back of his neck. I don’t miss the glare she shoots Clay’s direction.
But Clay isn’t looking at Emma, his eyes are pointed at Wren.