Page 75 of Protecting What's Mine

“He’s really progressing. He’s a natural just like his Pop-Pop.”

“You played?” she asked, biding her time with a bite of hot dog.

He surged to his feet along with the crowd around them at a pop-up into left field. “Get it, Tyrone!” Mack stayed on her butt to save her ankle for the arduous limp back to the parking lot.

The man’s grandson trotted across the green of the outfield, screwing up his face in concentration. The ball hit his mitt and—thankfully—stayed put.

“Out!” the ump yelled over the celebrating crowd.

Leroy danced a surprisingly spry boogie. “That’s my boy!” He turned back to her and gave her a hearty high-five, then continued down the whole row.

The Spider Pigs skipped off the field, whooping their delight.

Her gaze skimmed to the blond, muscular coach high-fiving kids left and right.

She felt a foreign, female kind of satisfaction watching Linc with the team. Then immediately dislodged the feeling. She wasnotthe type of woman who would swoon imagining a gorgeous hunk of man holding a baby in his strong arms. She was more likely to be impressed by nice, neat stitches closing a wound or technical form on an overhead squat.

Or the very important ability to efficiently deliver sexual satisfaction.

When she let herself think about it, Mack was sure Linc could deliver on all those fronts.

Hell.Not having sex with the man was only making her think about having sex with him more. It was the classic forbidden fruit.

Her phone vibrated.

It was a text from Ellen, including a selfie in a swim cap.

Ellen: Five swims in toward the new me. I hate kale. But I can tolerate arugula. And I haven’t murdered anyone in my house yet! How’s the meditation going? I found an app that might help!

She decided to respond later…after she’d meditated. Just as she was pocketing her phone, it buzzed again.

Andrea: Kenzie, your direct deposit STILL isn’t here, and my rent is due! I’d think you’d be more responsible than this.

One day late.

One fucking day late because some dumbass broke her foot.

She shouldn’t be responsible for Andrea. The woman was an adult. Mack knew her guilt was misplaced. But it was so much easier to transfer the money every month than to have the conversation. To take that stand. Because she knew once she did, it would be her final one.

Calmly, Mackenzie squelched the urge to hurl her phone into the trash can in front of them. She pushed aside the knee-jerk emotional fallout that texts like these always brought. She had more pressing matters to deal with.

She cleared her throat. “You know, Leroy. It’s been a while since you’ve had a checkup,” she said, dragging her attention back to her purpose when he sat back down.

He sighed heavily. “You sound like Dr. Dunnigan. She put you up to this before she left?”

“We should schedule a checkup. You haven’t been seen in almost two years. Not since your hip surgery. The surgeon made a note that you skipped out on the last follow-up.”

Leroy mentioned something about Dr. Tattletale under his breath.

“We just want you to be healthy,” she pressed. “You’ve got Tyrone here depending on you. I want to keep you healthy enough to throw ball with him for a long time. But I can’t do that without seeing you for a physical. We don’t even know if you’re still on your blood thinners.”

“I’m not,” he told her. The droop in his shoulders made her feel bad for taking the shine off Tyrone’s athletic prowess.

“I’m overweight,” he said. “I’m old. I don’t need anyone else telling me that.” His lips pressed in a firm, unyielding line under the white of his mustache.

“Who told you that?” It certainly didn’t sound like something Trish or Russell would say.

“The surgeon. He told me it was a waste of time doing the surgery on me if I wasn’t going to get off my ass and get healthier.”