Page 59

FIFTY-NINE

Jethro

Since it’s a weekday, the restaurant isn’t too slammed. We get a table right away. I make sure to seat myself beside Clay. And as soon as the food is served, his hand lands on my knee under the table.

To a casual observer, our party of six wouldn’t look that interesting. But to me, this moment is a goddamn miracle. I can hardly believe I’m really here, dressed in Clay’s clothing, sipping coffee with his parents. Like a real couple would.

Part of me might always secretly believe that I don’t deserve him—that I’ve pulled off some kind of elaborate scam to call him mine. The miracle is that Clay feels the same way about me. His thumb strokes over my kneecap, and I know he’s happy I came along, even if it’s a little awkward.

I steal a glance at his handsome face, lit with enthusiasm as he and his sister bicker lightly over the definition of Eggs Benedict and whether bacon belongs in a Bloody Mary.

Clay’s mother turns to me. “And where are you from, Jethro? Where is your family?”

I chuckle. I mean, you’d just have to. “Grew up in Detroit, but my father and my nephew have been here in Colorado with me this season. I have temporary custody of my sister’s kid while she’s incarcerated.”

The poor woman’s face contorts into surprise and horror before she can stop herself. “That sounds traumatic. I’m sorry for your troubles.”

“It’s been a tough couple of years,” I agree. “But my sister seems to be pulling herself together.”

“And your nephew knows you’re there for him,” Clay says with a proud smile. “Great kid. Sharp, and with a willful personality like his uncle’s.”

I snort. “That’s very diplomatic. Thank you.”

“No, it’s important,” he says. “Grit makes the man. Ask any coach or employer.”

“It’s true,” his father says mildly, and I catch a flicker of disbelief on Clay’s face, like he’s not used to his father agreeing with him.

“Do you boys have plans for the summer?” his mother asks.

Boys . Like we’re a couple of college kids. I grin.

“We’re working on it,” Clay says. “Jethro has to go back to Michigan for a couple of months. But we’ll find some weekends to spend together. And I’m told he could be back in Colorado this fall.” He gives me a glance that’s full of hope.

“I have a lot to figure out,” I admit. “Thinking about going back to school. I didn’t get to finish my degree like Clay did.”

His father’s face lights up. “Where were you in college?”

“Madison.”

He gives an approving nod. “Go Badgers.”

“That was a lifetime ago,” I say wearily. “I wouldn’t go back there. I’m thinking of looking at Boulder.”

“Really?” Clay says with unguarded interest.

“They have a sports management program,” I mutter, because it’s hard for me to talk about this. It’s hard to share my big ideas when I don’t know yet what’s possible. “I’m just looking into it. Not sure what they’re looking for on an application.”

“ Please ,” Kaitlyn says, forking up pancakes. “They’d be lucky to have you.”

“Did you know we work with that program?” Clay asks.

“What? No.” I shake my head. “All I’ve done so far is read their website.”

“Yeah, we take five students a season. As interns.” He winks.

“Dude.” I snort. “I’m not going to be your intern .”

“Why not? You already know how I take my coffee.”

“But think of the scandal,” my sister says. “We can’t have a scandal.”

There’s laughter all around, but Clay’s is the loudest.

After brunch, we say goodbye to the rest of the Powers family. Clay gets a back-slapping hug from his dad that leaves him red-faced, and a lingering hug from his mom. “Don’t be a stranger,” she says to both of us.

So, yeah, that could have gone worse.

“Well,” Clay says, as we watch them drive out of the complex’s parking lot, “it feels like I had to win a championship to get my father’s respect. But I suppose he’s just mellowing.”

“I’m mellowing,” I point out. “It happens.”

He shakes his head. “It’s stupid that I care.”

“It isn’t.” I know this for a fact because I also spent years wondering why my family couldn’t just be normal.

“Thank you for coming out with us,” he says, turning to me. “That couldn’t have been easy.”

“I don’t do easy,” I remind him.

“Look, I’m going to Uber it into Denver to get my car,” he says.

“I could drive you.”

He shakes his head and lifts his chin toward the door of my building, where Toby is emerging. “I think you’re needed elsewhere.”

“Uncle Jethro! Where’ve you been? I gotta show you my new game.” He comes running towards us.

“Hey! I’m sorry. I had some things to do after the game.” I give Clay a sideways glance, and his blue eyes gleam with amusement.

Toby stops at my side. “Hiya, Coach. Thanks for making my hockey cards more valuable.”

“You’re very welcome. I can probably get you a signed jersey for your memorabilia collection. You could put it up on your wall or sell it on Ebay. Your call.”

“Hey, thanks!” he says brightly. Then he turns to me. “Come on! This game is the coolest.”

I reach out and ruffle his hair, and he doesn’t even squirm. “All right, I want to see this thing. And then we’re going to plan the rest of our summer together.”

“Cool.” He reaches out and grabs my hand.

Clay shoves his hands in his pockets and takes a step back. “All right. You two have a nice day. I’ll see you around.”

“Wait,” I say. “Not so fast.”

Clay pauses, his eyes darting from me to Toby as I free myself of Toby’s grip and take a step forward.

Then I just hug him in the June sunshine. Like other people do.

And he hugs me back, just like that.

“Call me later,” I say. “We’ll make some plans.”

“You can bet on it.”

I give him a quick kiss on the temple and step back. Toby is wide-eyed with curiosity as I give Clay a wave. “Later.”

“Later.” He gives me one more smile before he turns to go.