Page 4

Wild

I swing the hammer with all the force of my anger simmering from yesterday, but a nail snags on my beaded bracelet, and it snaps. Beads scatter everywhere. It's an old gift from Aunt Mae, the sassy, no-nonsense woman who helped care for us before Mom arrived.

I pick up one of the beads and mourn its loss. I've worn it every day for the past year.

It's a cool morning, but I've worked up a sweat putting the new porch together. I have training and other engagements in the evening, but I'm fuming.

And I miss physical labor.

Repairing fences, shoveling manure, and building a barn are grimy, grunt work, different from working out in a gym. I miss it. The work and the waking neighborhood remind me of the ranch, back home in Charity, and working side by side with Dad.

Mrs. Izaacs, Evie's neighbor, opens her screen door, and it screeches. I make a mental note to grease it up for her. Anyone who cares about Evie is a friend in my book.

I wave at her, and she screams, "Good morning."

My phone starts ringing. I don't pick up. It's either Richard or Charlie. I'm mad at them, especially my best friend, Charlie, for not looking out for Evie or knowing where she lived.As for my agent, let ’ s just say this off-season will be a battle of attrition.

"I've been busy," Charlie said when I left Evie's place to his house for the confrontation.

I scoff, taking the towel tucked into my back pocket to wipe the sweat off my face.

Evie doesn't even have a bed. I'm hurt she didn't call me for help and angry with myself for not being there for her. I barely slept all night, thinking of how the house could crash on her. It's an exaggeration because the house is solid, but...yeah.

By morning, I made a vow to build Evie her dream home.

The front door crashes open, the screen door falling halfway down before Evie catches it and holds it upright. She squints like she can't believe what she's seeing. Then she reaches up her hand to rub her eye. Cute.

"You're the one denying me morning sleep?"

"Is it me or your lack of a bed?"

"I don't need a bed to sleep."

"So, what have you been sleeping on?"It's an effort to keep my voice level. I want to have more words with Charlie. "I can take you on a drive later so you can catch more sleep."

"Hmmm."Evie steps off the unfinished porch, her every step dainty.

"Did you ice your foot?"

"You called me before and after I iced it and made me do it all over again. How could I have forgotten?"

I watch her step until she stops on the lawn.

"Wild,"she murmurs, covering her face with her hands as she bursts into tears.

"You hate it?"

"It's perfect."She drops to her knees and jumps back up on her poor leg. "It's perfect!"

She's crying and laughing at the same time. All because of a porch. And I ’ m not even done yet. Like a switch going off, my pent-up anger melts away. I'm even grateful I get to give her this, knowing how much it means to her.

Evie runs forward and back, exclaiming over the porch. Curtains flutter, and screen doors open as neighbors come out to see the cause of all the fuss. She runs toward me, and for a second, I think she's about to launch herself into my arms.

She stops short, breathing hard.

"I have my own porch."

It took me a few days of work, but seeing her joy makes it worth it.

Her brown, tightly curly hair is a riot all around her face and shoulders. I reach a hand to push away the strands, but she jumps again, waving at Mrs. Izaacs to celebrate her new porch with her. I clench my fists, drawing up a smile for Mrs. Izaacs.

Evie's unrestrained joy is doing something funny to my heart. I've always loved to make her happy, to see her smile. And it's not just because she deserves it. You can gift Evie an apple, and she'll cry over it. She's very appreciative, never taking anything for granted.

Mrs. Izaacs and her other neighbors arrive with their grandkids and snacks. They sit with Evie, keeping me company as I work.

I check out the rest of the house. The property has solid bones. I can see why Evie's over the moon about it.

Late afternoon, I get ready to leave. Richard is blowing up my phone. I text him to say that Ihaven'tforgotten the charity gala. I hate putting on a suit, the media buzz and the camera flashes, but this one is for a good cause. Also, the business connectionswill be good for my post-basketball plans.

Not that I have a plan to speak of. But a thirty-four-year-old sportsman better have any kind of plan. Even a half-baked one. It ’ s a principle.

Before I leave, Mrs. Izaacs catches my hand between hers. She's a sweet old lady, and I couldn't be happier she's Evie's neighbor. Her kind eyes remind me of my mom. On impulse, I lean down to kiss her cheek.

"Thank you for looking out for Evie."

"Thank you for building our Evie a porch,"she says, eyes twinkling with merriment. "If you were any slower, I would have gotten my grandson down here to do it. And that boy can't tell a nail from a hammer."

Over her shoulder, I catch Evie's eyes. Her brown eyes are liquid with joy, and under the afternoon light, she's glowing. Like my mom would say, it's not like I gave her a box full of diamonds.

Evie raises her hand in a tiny, almost shy wave. I return her wave, holding her gaze for a second too long.

“ You just made her week,” Mrs. Izaacs says.

“ It ’ s really nothing.”

If anything, I want a chance to do it all over again.