Page 27

CHAPTER 26

GIRL DAD

WILDER

I t’s Friday afternoon and Cricket is hunched over her math sheet, the tip of her tongue sticking out as she carefully writes out the math problem, translated from the word problem.

I watch her from where I lean against the end of the island, amused. My heart is all warm and funny inside between sitting next to her at the island and Cass chopping vegetables on the other side.

My mind wanders, never straying far from that fuzzy feeling in my chest. It’s Friday afternoon, and her grandparents are coming to get her after dinner for the weekend. I don’t want her to go, but I know she should be with them as much as we can manage. They’re her home. I’m a stranger.

Anger flares at the thought of the years I’ve missed, but fades when I remember the woman I’m mad at is gone.

Tate didn’t know much else about Trent’s arrest, only that he was taken in. I wonder if Ashley’s parents heard anything. I wonder if they’re as worried as I am. Maybe worse off. But they’d know better than me whether or not he’s dangerous. I hope they’ll tell me he’s harmless and he’ll never come for Cricket. I’d sleep better if they did.

I’ve made a mental checklist, decided to get a security system. Start locking the back door. And the windows. Maybe get a Doberman.

“Okay, what’s the next one?” Cass asks, scooping up a handful of carrot medallions and dumping them in the pot next to her.

Slowly, and with a serious lisp, Cricket says, “Jordan has seven oranges. Maria has three fewer. How many oranges does Maria have?”

“Good. What do we do first?” Cass begins to slice the celery, the knife clicking on the board.

“Find if it’s more or fewer?”

“Right. So what’s it say?”

“Fewer. So that’s…minus.”

“Good job. So, how do we write it out?”

Again, Cricket hunches over in concentration as she painstakingly scrawls out the numbers with a minus between them. Cass watches her with a small smile. I almost tell her to pay attention so she doesn’t cut off a finger, but remember she’s a fucking grown woman and doesn’t need my help.

But the impulse to protect her is a dick like that. Despite the fact, I keep my mouth shut.

I do, however, want a snack.

Cricket pushes the eraser into her chin as she thinks about the answer. “Seven minus three,” she says, but keeps staring.

“Make a model,” Cass suggests as I step up behind her, reaching around to grab a section of celery stick. Our bodies barely touch. I don’t know why I’m torturing myself, but here we are—Cass looking up at me, close enough to kiss, and me smirking down at her like an asshole, chomping on a celery stick.

She makes a little face as I retreat, but I shrug. “What? I was hungry.”

Cricket is all lit up, busy drawing seven squares, then coloring in three of them. The eraser leaves a little mark on her chin, but I don’t want to interrupt her. “Four!”

“Good job!” Cass laughs as Cricket celebrates with a riot of giggling. “What’s next?”

“Nothing! That was the last one!” She’s bouncing and holding her pencil and paper in the air.

“You’re free!” Cass says. “Go put it in your backpack so you don’t forget it.”

“Okay,” Cricket answers and slides off the stool—I hop up to help her, worried she’ll fall.

She doesn’t need my help any more than Cass does. But I’m realizing just how hard it is to have a piece of myself walking around in the world where I can’t always save them from what might hurt them.

“Hey,” I start, “wanna play catch while we wait for dinner?”

Cricket’s grin is snaggletoothed and wide. “Yeah!” The kid is a walking exclamation point sometimes, and the sight fills me with relief and pride as she runs off to her room where her backpack is.

That’s another thing. She runs everywhere. It’s bananas.

Cass chuckles at the cutting board, using the knife to transfer celery bits to the pot. “What’d you do all day?”

“I’m working on building a batting cage in the back for Cricket.”

She pauses and looks at me, that sass smile on her face. “For Cricket or for you?”

“Why can’t it be both?”

“She’s in tee ball?—”

“Coach pitch,” I correct.

“ Coach pitch ,” she repeats. “Whatever, just please don’t knock her out with a pitching machine, okay? I’ll never forgive you if you do.”

“I won’t.”

She shakes her head. “Batting cage. So extra.”

“My kid wants to play ball, my kid is gonna play ball.”

“What all did you get her?”

“Pitch back, tee ball stuff, a couple of swing trainers. Bat, helmet. I got her a glove too. “Look.”

It’s near the back door, and I show Cass the little orange Rawlings glove I’d been breaking in since I learned she wanted to play. It’s oiled and molded, been under my mattress with a ball in it for a week. The palm is curved perfectly, the mitt bending easily.

“Oh my God, it’s so tiny,” she coos, taking it from me. Her eyes go all soft. “You broke it in for her and everything.”

“‘Course I did. I’m not an animal, Cassidy.”

One of her brows arches and she wobbles her head like it’s debatable. The slap of Cricket’s feet interrupts us.

“Okay, I’m ready!” she says.

Cass hands me the glove, and I turn for the door, opening my free hand near Cricket without thinking. Her little hand fills mine, and I don’t think she thought about it either.

My fuzzy heart feels like it might explode into confetti.

It’s warm out, but the side yard is shady, so that’s where we head. I snag a baseball on the way, stopping her under a tree. I put maybe ten feet between us.

“All right. Just watch the ball and put your glove where you think it’s going.”

She nods, crouching down a little, at the ready. Her face screws up like when she was doing her math. “Ready.”

I’m deliberate with my movement as I underhand toss the ball to her. Her eyes follow the arc, widening as she holds her glove out and the ball lands with a smack in her palm.

She squeals and we cheer and the feeling burns itself into my mind.

“Okay,” I start, “when you throw it back, I want you to throw it like this.” I mime an overhand throw. “Don’t throw it yet—hold the ball like this, but turn your hips so your shoulder is pointed at me—no, not the one with the ball, the other—that’s it. Aim with your front shoulder,” I say as I kneel and hold up my glove. “All right, girl—point your shoulder at my glove and put it right here.”

The look on her face is absolute focus as she shifts, pointing her front shoulder at me, lips pursed as she pulls back and lets rip. The focus on her face opens in slow motion as she watches it fly in a straight line into my glove without a single adjustment on my end.

She explodes, and I laugh, chest puffed out in the mother of all proud dad moments. One of my first.

Cricket is wiggling out of her skin but tries to calm down. I toss the ball to her again, and she watches it like a hawk, catching it easily again. Before I can even coach her, she’s pitching it back just like I showed her. It hits my palm hard enough I feel it.

I decide then that she’s going to be an all-star pitcher and get a full ride to anywhere the fuck she wants.

After a few rounds, we find a rhythm, pitching the ball back and forth.

“This is fun,” she says, shifting to get under the ball I tossed. When she catches it, she takes a second to line up and then throws a tiny little bullet at me.

“It is. I’m glad you like it here, kiddo.”

“It’s the best,” she says, catching, throwing. “Cass is a good teacher, and my room is so fancy, and we had Sonic. Twice. ”

I chuckle at her Thonic and toss the ball back. “Was that the best part? The Sonic?”

She catches the ball but pauses, thinking. “That stuff was good, but I think the best part is how it’s fun here.”

Cricket throws the ball. I catch it, my chest aching. “It had to be scary though, coming to stay here when you don’t know us.”

When she catches my next toss, she hangs onto it, watching her shoe toe the dirt. “It kinda was. Mostly when I came with Nana and Pops that time. But then I really liked Cassie, and you were nice too,” she tacks on nervously.

I chuckle. “Cassie’s real easy to like.”

She smiles that toothy grin and pitches the ball. “But then I got here,” she starts, lighting up with every word until she’s beaming. “And I got to sleep in the big bed! And my room is so pretty, and the lights are cool, and I have all my old books! And I got Sonic obvriously ,” she mispronounces, rolling her eyes with a smile. “And I got to go to a baseball game!” She sighs happily, but looks down again. “And it’s what Mama wanted. Mama wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. She wouldn’t make me go somewhere that isn’t safe. So I decided to be brave. Plus, I never had a daddy before, but I always wished I did.”

I was already a mess, but that one little sentence eviscerates me. I close the distance between us and crouch so we’re eye level. “I’ve never had a daughter before, but I always wished for one too. I think I like it.”

Her smiling cheeks are pink when she glances up at me. “Me too.”

My throat is tight, nose stinging. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anybody so brave, Cricket. What you did was hard and scary, and you’ve done a lot of hard, scary things lately. I wish we’d been together sooner, but I’m so, so happy we’re together now.”

“Me too.” An uncertain pause. “Can I…can I call you that? Daddy?”

I scoop her into a hug, squeezing her to my chest as if she could put my heart back together. Maybe she already has.

“You can,” I say softly. “I’m gonna miss you this weekend, bug.”

“I’m gonna miss you too, Daddy.”

Nope. Heart is not intact—it’s hot liquid goo, spilling into my ribcage. I don’t let her go because if I do, she might look at me, and if she looks at me, I might do something crazy like cry and scare her off.

The sound of tires pulling into the driveway sobers me, and I let her go, but take her hand, needing to hang on to her for a second longer. I frown at the Wilson’s truck. When I look down, Cricket is frowning too. She looks up at me.

“I thought I was eating here?”

“Me too. But that’s okay. Go say hi and then run inside to get your stuff, okay?”

“Okay!” she says, popping back into an exclamation point before taking off in a sprint.

I pick up her glove from the grass and stand, walking over to the truck to greet the Wilsons. Cricket zooms past me for the house, and my head swivels so I can watch her, chuckling.

When I reach Paul, I shake his hand. “Sorry we didn’t have her ready, we weren’t expecting you until later. She hasn’t had dinner yet.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” Patty says. “We’re going to a fair in Franklinville, so we’ll feed her.”

I try not to frown, but I’m disappointed. “Oh. Sorry, we thought we’d have a little more time with her. I guess I figured I’d hear from you if the plans changed.”

Patty seems unbothered and waves her hand. “It’s just a couple hours different. We must have forgotten. How was the week?”

I let it go, not wanting to rock the boat—I’m the new one to this party. Maybe I expect too much. I’m sure I just don’t understand the rules.

Makes me feel shitty anyway.

I give them the rundown of the week quickly, needing to ask about Trent before Cricket comes back. “I heard Trent was arrested yesterday. Do you know what happened?”

The levity seeps out of them. “From what I understand,” Paul starts, “they charged him with arson and first degree murder. He’s out on bail. I don’t know much more than that, only that there’s proof of him being at the house that night and that they had a fight. Caught him on a bunch of those doorbell cameras. They…well, the police had come before for fights they had. I just…” He shakes his head, runs a hand across his mouth, his eyes shining. “I have a hard time believing he’d do this.”

The screen door slaps against the frame, and Patty swipes at her eyes, smiling big as she rounds us to help Cricket with her bags.

“Should I be worried?” I ask Paul quietly. “Should we be worried for Cricket?”

“No,” he says without hesitation. “He’d never hurt her.”

“Would he take her?”

Paul blinks, surprised. We’re silent as they pass us for the truck.

“I’ve known that boy since he was fifteen, and despite him and Ashley fighting like cats and dogs, I believe he has a good heart. I can’t imagine he’d ever hurt Ashley, not on purpose. And I don’t think he’d interfere. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t,” he finally answers.

“But not certain.”

The exhaustion behind his eyes is total. “I don’t know if I’m certain about anything anymore, Wilder.”

I nod once and shake his hand again as Cass sidles up next to me and slips an arm around my waist. Cricket runs back over to us and gives Cass a hug first. I watch my wife smooth Cricket’s hair as they say their goodbyes, overwhelmed. The feeling deepens when I kneel and Cricket throws her arms around my neck and squeezes. I pretend like I’m choking and she giggles, harder still when I stand up, propping her butt on my forearm.

“See you soon, bug,” I whisper in her ear.

“Okay, Daddy,” she whispers back like it’s our secret. Like she’s trying on the word to see if it fits. When I set her down and she beams up at me, I hope to God it does.

Because I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose her now.