Page 13 of Someone to Have (Skylark #3)

Toby flashes a smile that's more a baring of teeth. “I’m not upset about that, and why are you anywhere near my sister?”

I sit down on a nearby bench and start to unlace my skates. I'm not sure what my eyes might reveal when talking about Taylor, but no point taking chances. Toby's the only friend I've got in town, and being a part of the hockey program—even JV—could make a world of difference for Rhett.

“You know she's my neighbor, right?”

Toby lets out a relieved sigh as he plops down next to me. “Right. I forgot you’re in her building. One step away from a retirement home, that place.”

“I like the quiet. ”

“Then you and my sister are two peas in a pod. Unless those book club friends drag her out, Tink is a complete homebody. It's kind of concerning.”

“Really?” I pretend to act casual. “She was telling me about auditioning for some community theater production.”

“Dude, no way. She hasn't been on stage since she peed her pants and spewed all over the front row of her elementary school pageant. It's a legend around here. If she does try out, they either need to clear the front row or hand out splash ponchos.”

“That’s fucking rude,” I growl, although I have no reason to feel so defensive on Taylor's behalf.

“Also true,” he counters.

“I’m just saying maybe you don't know her as well as you think you do, or you might reassess your assumptions.”

Toby snorts. “Sure. Whatever, man.”

“Seriously, though.” I place a hand on his shoulder. “Stop with the manwhore comments. I’ve told you about a million times, I’m not the indiscriminate horn dog I was in college.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Maybe I just want to relive the glory days.”

“Live your own life, jackass.” I wipe the sleeve of my sweatshirt across my brow. “And next time, a little warning that you’re going to sic those kids on me.”

“You handled them.”

“The Kircher boy is good.”

Toby nods. “He's also fucking smart. Got a perfect score on the math section of his SAT.”

I whistle under my breath. “Are the Ivies scouting him?”

Toby's mouth twists into a grimace. “He got some interest, but the family doesn't care about academics, so they're not into it. He’d be the first to go to college.

His dad is pushing hard for Juniors, but I think it's more about the potential financial upside for dear old Dad than what's good for Hudson.”

“Fuck. That's a hard one. ”

“He'll look after Rhett, though.”

“Yeah, thanks.” We stand, and Toby waves as the boys file out.

Hudson raises a hand as he walks by. “We're good for five, Coach. A bunch of us will be here.”

“Appreciate it,” Toby answers, and I nod.

“Thanks for doing that for Rhett. How’d you see film on him? I didn’t know he had any.”

“The coach from his club team in Denver emailed me. Your nephew is legit. Is he really at the library with my sister?”

“Yeah, and about that…the next time you see Taylor…”

Toby's gaze sharpens. “What about the next time I see her?”

I run a hand through my hair and then check my watch. I need to get back over to the library, so I won’t have time to stop home and take a shower. Not sure why I care about potentially seeing Tinkerbell when I’m a sweaty mess, but I wouldn’t mind a deodorant refresh at the moment.

“He got into it with some douchebag teacher in the library yesterday. Ended up being so frustrated he launched a book at the guy, who ducked. Your sister was in the line of fire.”

“Tink has the reflexes of a drunk kitten,” Toby mutters.

Marty said something similar. I wonder what it must have been like to grow up in this competitive, athletic family and not fit the Maxwell mold.

“It was an accident, but she's got a bit of a shiner. Rhett feels really bad about it, and he's going to make it up to her. Hence the volunteering. I want you to know it was an accident.”

“It’s cool, man. No biggie. Her life is basically a series of near-miss disasters.

One year, our parents convinced her to go out for softball.

Figured it was a good entry-level sport, slow pitch and all.

Mom sent me out in the back yard to teach her how to catch.

That shiner was also accidental—on my part. ”

I frown. “A little different than this situation, but I appreciate the understanding.” Although I don't get it. If some punk-ass kid hurt my sister—even accidentally—I’d be pissed .

“Bring Rhett back a little before five.” Toby smiles. “We’ll run through some drills and see what we’re working with.”

“You bet.”

“Hey, Anderson,” he calls as I head for the locker room to grab my bag. “You were good with the boys. I can always use another assistant coach for the season.”

My stomach does a funny flip-floppy thing. Must be the donut. “I don't know how long I'll be here. Jen should be out of rehab in six weeks. I have a feeling she's not going to want me to stick around while she pieces her life back together.”

“I'd take you for six weeks. I don't mind a short-term bet.”

“I'll consider the offer,” I say, willing my stomach to calm the fuck down as I turn away. Definitely swearing off donuts. In the locker room, I take off my pads, stash them in my duffel bag and head back to the library.

The story time deal ended fifteen minutes ago, and there are a few people walking out with kids as I take the steps two at a time. I sort of expected Rhett to be waiting outside, the derisive scowl I’ve come to know and not love plastered on his face.

I pull open the heavy door and walk into the quiet space.

The interior feels warm and inviting despite looking like it hasn’t been updated since horse-drawn carriages parked out front.

High ceilings with exposed wooden beams stretch overhead, and the smell of books mixed with a hint of the musty scent of an old building fills the air.

Polished hardwood floors creak under my weight as I pass rows of shelves with colorful spines.

I’m amazed at how many patrons are browsing or using the computers near the back of the main room.

It’s easy to find the children’s section, tucked into a corner with a mural on the far wall with a row of illustrated characters from classic stories.

There’s a soft, patterned rug in the center of the open space, and my nephew is on his stomach, stretched across a bright green beanbag, reading to the boy leaning over his shoulder.

A tired- looking woman with her hair in a messy topknot and a baby strapped to her chest talks with Taylor as they watch Rhett and the kid.

As if sensing my arrival, Taylor glances up and gives me a soft smile that…s hit …are those my knees going weak?

I run a hand through my helmet-flattened hair and resist the urge to sniff my pits as I approach. Should have had a stick of Old Spice stashed in my duffel bag. I know how I smell after being on the ice, and it’s not good.

“Angie, this is Eric Anderson, Rhett’s uncle,” Taylor says as I approach.

“Sweaty and stinky uncle, unfortunately,” I apologize as I shake the woman’s small hand.

“I’ve got a one-month-old who has her days and nights mixed up,” the woman tells me. “I haven’t showered in a week. You’re among friends, Uncle Eric.”

Uncle Eric .

Huh. I don’t think anyone has called me that before this moment. Jen just says Eric, and Rhett either grunts or…you know…bruhs me to death.

I like how it sounds but have no idea if I can be the role model my nephew needs. “Cute little girl,” I say, even though the half of the face I can see sleeping against her mother's chest looks like a grumpy old man.

“Ellie is the cutest,” Taylor confirms. She's staring at the baby with a look of such rapt adoration, it makes my mouth go dry.

The only time I've seen a look like that on a woman's face is when I've been undoing my pants to release the Kraken. I’m joking, obviously. I don’t call my dick the Kraken, but that look of adoration?—

“Did you just say 'release the Kraken'?” Rhett and the kid draped across his back are staring at me.

“No.” I shake my head. What the hell is wrong with me? I need water, electrolytes…something. Hell, a shot of tequila would work .

“Your nephew is great with kids,” Angie tells me.

Make that a double shot. Rhett, who spends an inordinate amount time when he’s at home thrusting his pelvis, dabbing, or grabbing his crotch, can’t be good with young kids.

Taylor beams. “He's got a gift.”

“Nice work,” I tell the teenager, noticing color creeping into his cheeks. These two women have the damn kid blushing.

“Bruh,” he answers. That’s all I get.

“Bruuuhhh,” the boy on top of him yells, sitting up to ride Rhett like a bronco.

“Come on, Griffin, fun time's over. Maybe we'll see Rhett next Saturday?”

“Will I see you next Saturday?” Griffin asks Rhett, bending down to peer into his eyes.

“Yeah, I'll be here,” my nephew grumbles. He doesn't sound happy about it, but I think he is.

“Yay!” the boy shouts and pats Rhett enthusiastically on the head.

“Thank you again,” Angie tells Taylor. “It's our favorite time of the week.”

“Mine too,” Taylor assures her.

After the woman and her kid head toward the library’s checkout counter with a giant pile of books, Rhett pushes to standing and resumes his expression of abject boredom.

“Can we go?” he mutters. “I'm so done with this.”

I'm about to lay into him for being rude, but Taylor pulls him in for a tight hug. “You were awesome today. Thank you for your help.”

“You're welcome,” he says when she steps back. His cheeks are flaming at this point. “Thanks for not telling anybody how you got that shiner.”

It’s obvious Taylor has applied makeup around her eye, more than I’ve seen her wear to this point.

She’s mostly concealed the bruising, although the spot where the book made impact is still pink and now scabbed over.

I wonder if she’s going to put on makeup for Bryan Connor.

I shouldn’t care, but I like her better without it. Not that she cares about my opinion.

“It was an accident,” she reminds Rhett. “You’ve more than made up for it, although I’ll gladly take your help next Saturday.”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “I guess I can do it again.”

He sounds about as enthusiastic as he does when I ask him to take out the trash, but at least he doesn’t call her bruh.

“Were you on another run?” she asks as she eyes me up and down. Her gaze is decidedly less rapt than when she was looking at the baby.

“I skated with your brother’s team.”

Rhett slaps a palm against his forehead. “Duuude.” There's a lot of judgment in that one syllable.

“Don’t dude me yet. Coach Toby and I arranged for a few of the varsity players to come back this afternoon so he can see you on the ice.” Yeah, I had nothing to do with it, but I still want my due with the kid. “You’re going early so you can run some drills.”

“My brother loves drills,” Taylor says with a laugh. She glances over her shoulder at the middle-aged man waving to her from the back of the library. “My boss needs me.” She rolls her eyes. “Again.”

I want to say more. To thank her for making Rhett feel like he’s good at something besides hockey. As far as I can tell, the kid hasn’t had enough of that in his life. I know what it’s like to feel as though your identity is wrapped up in only one thing.

He grabs the sweatshirt I made him wear from a nearby chair but doesn’t put it on, even though the temperature outside is still hovering near freezing. I say nothing because…I have battles to pick, and this isn’t one.

“I’m parked around the corner,” I tell him as we walk down the front stairs.

“How was the donut?” His tone clearly communicates he’s hoping I choked on it .

“Gave me a stomach ache, but I’m willing to try something else if you’re hungry.”

He perks up at this news.

“Taylor said the bakery makes apple fritters every Saturday and they usually don’t sell out until lunch.

” The words are mumbled, but I hear something in his voice—a spark of interest that makes my chest tighten.

I haven’t been able to convince him to leave the apartment for anything other than school since we arrived.

“Bruh, I love an apple fritter. Let’s check it out.”

“Really?” He glances up at me from beneath his long lashes. He has my sister’s eyes, the color of thick caramel.

I hate that he’s nervous about asking to make a stop at the local bakery. I hate that my sister, who loves any kind of pastry, might have said no because the extra expense was too much for her.

“Hey, as far as I’m concerned it’s fuel for this afternoon. I think you’ll have fun on the ice.”

He doesn’t argue. “I always have fun on the ice.”

There’s at least one thing we agree on, I think, and we head toward the center of town.