Page 12 of Delay of Game (Norwalk Breakers #4)

TWELVE

ROB

The concrete forms fit perfectly into the pitted hill. I shook the wood frame, checking for wobbles and ensuring the rebar frame didn’t touch wood.

“You should call it a night,” Astrid said, approaching me with a large tumbler of lemonade in her hand, the glass coated in condensation. She’d swapped a dress she’d worn home from school for a faded sweatshirt that hung off her shoulder and a pair of distractingly tiny pink athletic shorts.

“Thanks.” I took the drink, emptying it in three gulps and avoiding letting my eyes wander down to her legs. “I wanted to finish tonight, though.”

She tilted her head, a bemused smile on her face. “It’s a school night.”

“That sentence hasn’t meant shit to me in years,” I confessed. “Hell, it barely meant anything to me when I was in school.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, it should mean something to you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. Mila’s first day of kindergarten.

“Fuck. That’s tomorrow?” I ran a hand over my face.

“That’s tomorrow.”

I sighed, frowning at the half-finished steps. “Well, that sucks.”

“Your mom called. She wanted to make sure that you made it home in time to see Mila before bed.”

I grabbed the muted phone in my pocket, turning on the screen long enough to see a string of missed calls and texts. “So, I’m in trouble?”

Her jaw flexed. “Not yet. But maybe wrap this up? What can I do to help?”

“Tell your mail carrier not to hate me?”

She laughed as she picked up the array of tools scattered around the steps, piling them into a nearby milk crate. I set the glass down and hefted up two bags of concrete, stacking them just inside the porch in case it rained. In no time, the yard was clear of construction debris.

“What can I do for the next time you come over?” Astrid asked expectantly.

I bit back a grin. Maybe it was some kindergarten teacher trick, but I liked the way she never made vague offers to help, instead asking specifically what she could do.

“I’m off on Tuesday and have some free time on Sunday.

I’ll finish the stairs and then move indoors.

How about you empty the upstairs bathroom, and we’ll start with the floor? ”

The laundry list of home repairs had been running through my head, taking up valuable space normally reserved for football plays and Mila’s schedule.

I couldn’t get to it all. Not by a long shot.

But in two months, I could help her with a few big projects that would help sell the house.

And ripping up the barely attached linoleum in the bathrooms and laundry room was a good start.

She nodded resolutely. “I can do that.”

“We’ll need to make a trip to a store to pick up some flooring. Unless you can handle that on your own.”

“What do I need to get?”

“Click-Lock would be ideal. Something waterproof and vinyl. If you want to get a jump on it, pull up anything that isn’t glued down. I’ll lay vinyl over the top.”

“I can do that,” she said with enough confidence that I almost believed her.

I paused, conjuring up a lie. “I might have some planks left over from when I put flooring down in the brewery. Let me check first.”

The edge of her lips hiked up. “Okay. I’d invite you in for a drink, but you should probably get going. I’ll see you in the morning?”

I scratched the back of my neck, cement dust blooming from my clothes every time I moved. “Yeah. Any tips for tonight?”

Her green eyes lit up and she held up a finger. “Give me two seconds.”

She jogged back to the house with my glass, returning a few minutes later with a baggie full of glitter.

“You know glitter only makes thing worse, right?”

“It’s ‘Get Ready Confetti.’ Have her sprinkle it under her pillow to help her sleep and give her good dreams.”

I took the bag with a frown. “Does it also come with a vacuum to suck it out of the bed?”

“Oh, that’s a parent problem,” she grinned. The left side of her mouth pulled up slightly more than the right, and she tilted her head, compensating for the difference. I didn’t normally find anyone but Mila adorable, but Astrid looked pretty adorable.

“A parent problem, huh? Are there a lot of parent problems in kindergarten?”

“Unfortunately, yes. And first grade, and second, and third. Pretty much until they hit forty.”

“Are you suggesting that my mom still has parent problems?”

“I guarantee it. Tell Mila I said ‘hi’, and I’ll see both of you in the morning.”

I nodded, unlocking my truck. Astrid followed me to the driveway, waving goodbye as I left.

I paced the entryway, checking my watch to find another three minutes had passed.

“We’re going to be late!” I called up the stairs.

“I’m finishing her hair now,” Mom yelled back.

My duffel bag sat beside Mila’s unicorn backpack. I’d checked the inside a half dozen times now, never quite shaking the feeling that something was missing. School supplies, water bottle, lunch, snack, and a toy for show and tell.

“We’re supposed to be there in ten minutes!” I grumbled, not nearly loud enough for Mom and Mila to hear me from Mila’s bathroom on the second floor. Not that they’d listen to me, anyway.

I took a sip from my coffee mug. Room temperature. I’d woken up nearly two hours ago, working my way through my morning stretches and eating a chef-prepared breakfast stashed in my fridge before Mom and Mila even rolled out of bed. I should have woken them up earlier.

With no sign of life on the staircase, I stalked back to the kitchen to top off my coffee. The full pot waited for Mom. She could spare a cup for me. I popped the top off my mug and filled it to the brim, taking a gulp.

“Daddy!” Mila yelled as she stomped down the stairs. “I can’t be late on my first day of school.”

I rolled my eyes, sauntering back to the entryway. “Excuse me? I have been waiting down here for nearly ten minutes.”

“You were in the kitchen.” She planted a fist on her hip, glaring at me through narrowed eyes at odds with the sparkly pink skirt and unicorn t-shirt. Her brown hair was pulled back into two Dutch braids with a pink bow at the bottom of each.

“I needed more coffee. I was tired. From all the waiting.”

“No arguing this early in the morning.” Mom sighed dramatically as she descended the stairs. Unlike Mila and me, Mom hadn’t gotten dressed yet. She hadn’t even taken her hair out of curlers. “Now, out of here, both of you. Or you’ll be late.”

“Love you,” I said on my way out the door.

“Bye, Gigi! I’m going to miss you so much. I love you.” Mila wrapped Mom’s legs up in a hug, head burrowing into her stomach.

Mom patted Mila’s braids carefully before extracting herself. “I love you too. Have lots of fun and make lots of friends.”

“I will!”

I collected our bags while Mila opened the front door, skipping out to my SUV. I loaded her and the bags inside.

“Don’t let me accidentally take you to work, okay?” I teased as I climbed into the driver’s seat.

Mila nodded, her eyes locked on the window and her mouth drawn into a line.

“You okay back there?” I asked, glancing in the rearview at intervals to study her face.

“Mm-hm.” The blessedly silent ride to school showed that she was not, in fact, okay. On a normal day, I answered two dozen questions before leaving the neighborhood.

The car line into school stretched into the street and down the block. Police officers directed traffic from the two separate entrances onto school property, and administration had helpfully set up signs pointing to where “kindergarten drop off” split away from “stop-and-go drop off.”

The traffic inched along to a packed parking lot, and I ran the SUV onto a curb and created a makeshift parking spot on the grass.

“You’ve already been here. There’s nothing new about today,” I reassured her as I helped her with her backpack.

“There are so many people. What if I get lost?”

I bit back a laugh. Mila had traveled with me to watch my games before she had full control of her neck.

She led family members and friends through stadiums across the country like a seasoned docent.

The tiny crowds of kids were nothing in compared to packed stadiums. But that didn’t make it any less scary for her.

I patted her back. “You got this, kiddo. It’s overwhelming because it’s the first day. By the end of the week, you’ll navigate this school like a pro.”

She grabbed my hand, fingernails digging into my palm as we walked toward the entrance marked “kindergarten.” The trickle of people turned into a tide as we entered the building, packed wall-to-wall with frazzled parents and anxious children.

A little girl sobbed into her father’s pants.

A brown-haired boy stood in the middle of the busy hallway, eyes wide and glassy, before an adult swept him away.

“I’m glad we got a private tour last week,” I muttered.

In the chaos, I tugged Mila toward Astrid’s classroom. Astrid stood at the door, her face lighting up as she spotted me.

No, not me. Mila.

She ditched her summer clothes for a plain pair of leggings and a red dress over the top. No strappy tank tops or flowy sundresses. Still, my eyes wandered down the silhouette of the fabric that clung to her curves.

Without a hello, Astrid sank down to Mila’s eye level. “I am so glad you’re here.”

My stomach twisted. I’d fixed her bathroom and ripped up her stairs! Surely, I deserved a warm welcome.

“Hello, Mr. Grant,” she said coolly as she came back to standing. “How was your night?”

“Good.” Gravel filled my throat, and I wrung the words out. “I got dust all over Mila’s new unicorn shirt and stayed up late washing it for her first day of school.”

Astrid bit back a grin. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

I shrugged. “It was worth it.”

Her cheeks turned pink before she shifted her attention to Mila.

“That reminds me. We have a friend in class who also loves unicorns. Her name is Shanda, and I’d love for you to meet her after you put away your things.” Astrid held her arm out, ushering Mila into the classroom.

Mila grabbed my hand and pulled me inside with her.

Proof of Astrid’s hard work was clear on every wall, table, and shelf.

The classroom, cheery but mostly bare last week, exploded with color.

Neatly labeled boxes lined the shelves. Each locker had a large name tag with corresponding pictures of where they should put their backpack, jacket, and pencil box.

Mila took the lead of the kid next to her, squinting at the row of names and finding hers before taking off her backpack.

“Mr. Grant. I’m Lily. I mean, Ms. Jewel,” Astrid’s co-teacher greeted me. She wore a planet-themed dress that made her look like Ms. Frizzle in the Magic School Bus, right down to her orange hair. She beamed up at me, eyes alight. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Gracie told me tons about you.”

Something about the way she said it sounded ominous. “Nice to meet you, too.”

Mila hung up her backpack and searched the classroom.

Her eyes locked on mine, turning shiny, on the brink of tears.

She rushed at me, but Astrid intercepted her, another little girl in tow.

This one had been crying. Her cheeks were still wet, and she wiped the back of her hand over her nose as Astrid made introductions.

“I heard you’re helping Gracie with the house. That’s really nice,” Lily continued.

“It’s a favor for my mom,” I said as Mila confidently held out a hand. The other little girl took it, and they shook. A surprisingly formal introduction for kindergarten.

“Sure.” Lily shrugged, unconvinced. Her gaze followed mine to Mila.

She and her new friend sat on the carpet with some other students, all of them clustered around a wooden barnyard.

Mila opened a box, passing out the animals inside.

“Now would be a good time to wave goodbye and take off. Before she remembers to be scared.”

“You think?” I asked, suddenly worried. Mila didn’t know where anything was. How would she get to the cafeteria? Or the bathroom? Or the library? What happened if she got hurt?

“Yeah. It’s easier that way.” Lily gave my elbow a comforting squeeze. “Mila, say goodbye to your dad. He’s gotta get to work.”

Mila’s head snapped up, as if she’d forgotten I was even there. “Bye, Dad.”

“Love you. Have a great day.” I hesitated, wanting to check her backpack for lunch or her pencil box to make sure she hadn’t pilfered some of the art supplies for her personal collection at home.

“She’ll do great. We’ll see you soon.” Lily’s hand cupped my elbow, leading me out of the room.

I waded through the kids and parents in the hallway back outside, my stomach in knots. I started the car but sat in the parking lot, fishing my phone out of my pocket and texting Astrid.

She’s okay, right? She didn’t cry when I left?

The message stayed unviewed, which, no shit. The woman was teaching a classroom full of kids barely out of diapers. She didn’t keep her phone on her.

I started the car, bouncing as I tore out of the lawn and back onto the street, fighting back something dangerously close to tears the entire way.