Out of Bounds (10 page)

“I spent Christmas in the police station when I was five,” he said. “That one was certainly a highlight.”

He didn’t know why he blurted that out, but when she suddenly laughed, putting down the king she’d been wrapping to cover her mouth, he was glad he did.

“What happened?”

And then he had to tell her.

Of course he had to tell her. He’d set himself up and there was no way out. He must have subconsciously done it on purpose. He never told these stories, but for some reason, he wanted to tell Posy.

“My brother is ten years older than me. When our parents died, we got split up in foster care. I was...” He never knew how to explain what he’d been like back then. He had nightmares every once in a while in which he was running through a house opening doors and looking for Deacon. That was probably how he’d felt when he was little, but he didn’t remember. Not really. “A handful. Wild, I guess. I ran away a lot, looking for Deacon mostly.”

He pushed the figure he’d wrapped down into the box. She’d stopped working, but he kept going, not wanting to give the story more importance than it deserved.

“Anyway, I ran away on Christmas and after they found me, Deacon and I spent the day at the police station. The cops bought us dinner out of the vending machine.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you spend the day at the police station? Didn’t your foster parents come to get you?”

“Social services was waiting for an emergency placement so they could move me. That particular foster mother had had enough, I guess.” He tried to make it a joke, but when he made the mistake of glancing at Posy, she had one hand over her mouth.

“She’d had enough of you on Christmas?”

“Maybe she thought I started it,” he said. “I did run away.”

“Don’t,” Posy said. “You don’t have to make it funny.”

He made himself stop talking, but if he couldn’t make the moment funny, couldn’t brush it aside, then what was left? Him and Posy and this connection between them. She must have felt it, too.

She put her hands on his shoulders and stretched up to kiss him. “I don’t need you to make it funny,” she whispered against his lips, her kiss hesitant, but sweet.

He savored her lips on his. He’d been wanting to kiss her, wanting to touch her. He rested his hands on her hips lightly, because she seemed to be unsure.

He deepened the kiss and she leaned into him. He pulled back, resting his forehead on hers. This was nothing like their first encounter on the basketball court. He was vulnerable now in a different way, letting her see not just under his surface, but all the way to the core where he still carried some of the kid who’d been tossed out so many times.

He wanted her to understand where he was coming from so she’d know why he had to care about the details of the fundraiser. It wasn’t about her mom. It was about him and Deacon.

“That’s why the foundation matters more than anything to me, Posy. Why I can’t let Deacon down.” He paused. He wanted to say this so she’d understand. “He was the only person who cared about me. He did everything he knew...more than you’d believe a kid could...to get me out of foster care. When he signed his NBA contract, I was eight and he took me to live with him. We never had Christmas like this.” He gestured around the store. “He was eighteen years old and trying to do a man’s job and raise me at the same time. So our life wasn’t what you’d see on a postcard for a place like Kirkland. But he saved me. He wants me to do this job for him now and I can’t let him down.”

Mary was the last figure left in the manger. He picked the piece up and wrapped it carefully.

Posy watched him until the figure was settled in the box. “I get it. I do.”

* * *

I
N
SOME
WAYS
they were so much alike. Both of them were making choices based on the things someone they loved needed from them.

But she was getting out. Once she closed the store and sold her mom’s house, she wasn’t going to pick up the pieces for Trish anymore.

Seeing Wes’s face when he talked about his brother showed her that if Deacon wanted something or needed something, Wes was going to be there for him. Always.

That might be right for them, but it wasn’t right for her, not anymore.

“What about when you’re finished with this contract for Deacon? Do you have plans?”

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

“You deserve plans of your own.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” he asked. “Selling your mom’s store and helping her downsize? Is that for her or for you?”

“It’s for both of us, I guess,” Posy said. “She’s not like your brother, Wes. I can’t expect you to understand how I feel.”

She tucked the flaps of the box in and closed it. “I hope your sister-in-law likes this,” she said. “I’ll dig out the certificate that goes with it and get it to you. They’re all one of a kind. It’s a nice gift. You’re a very nice guy.”

She said it as if it was goodbye. She didn’t want to say goodbye, so why had she? Because she needed to learn to stand on her own, to stand up for herself and to keep her mom out of her life. If she got involved with Wes, she’d just be trading one overly dependent family dynamic for another. Until Wes grew up enough to have his own life, he was going to be jumping to do what his brother wanted. How would she have the strength to hold firm against her mom’s needs if she was with someone who put family above everything else? She couldn’t do it. No matter how he made her feel.

They walked back through the store together. When she came to the garland he’d tangled with, she gave it a sharp yank. The whole thing came down, knocking a row of miniature Christmas trees off the shelf.

He turned back to help her pick them up, but she stepped over them. “Just leave it. I have to come in and start clearing things out next week.”

He held the box as she locked the door and then the two of them stood awkwardly on the sidewalk under a streetlight.

“I don’t think I’m going to come to the event tomorrow, Wes. I have a lot of projects to complete and you’re going to be busy with your family.”

“Posy, please come. I want Deacon and my sister-in-law to meet you,” he said. “I want to spend more time with you.”

She made the mistake of looking at him. His eyes were shining in the dark. She remembered the way he’d looked when they’d played basketball the other day—how free and fierce he’d been then and how much she’d loved meeting him step for step. Maybe that guy was in there somewhere, under the obligations he felt toward his brother and all the other baggage.

She decided it was worth the chance.

“Okay.”

He shifted the box to the side and kissed her again. She closed her eyes. His kisses were firm and gentle, with an undercurrent of longing that made her want to take more from him. She leaned against him for a second, brushing the tips of her breasts against the hard muscle of his chest and letting one thigh slide between his.

The box poked her in the side and she remembered where they were—smack in the middle of Main Street, outside the store. She pulled back.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she promised.

When she walked back toward her car, she saw Chloe walking up the other side of the street with her sister, Felicity. They didn’t wave, but Chloe definitely saw her, because she made eye contact and smiled.

Had she seen the kiss?

What did that smile mean?

CHAPTER NINE

O
N
S
UNDAY
, W
ES
GOT
TO
the Kirkland Community Center where they were hosting Equipment Day more than an hour before his brother’s bus with the kids from Milton was supposed to arrive. He had the schedule planned in fifteen-minute intervals and had triple-checked everything from the lists of kids who’d been preregistered either through the Kirkland center or through a human services agency in the county. The refreshments had been delivered and were being organized in the tent outside by the group of volunteers Ryan and Jay had rounded up.

He was impatient now for Deacon to get here so he could get the day rolling. He wondered if Posy was going to show. She’d like Deacon and Julia. He hoped she was coming.

Last night had been odd. He was definitely attracted to her. He liked the way she met him head-on and asked him questions that made him think. And feel.

He’d also been uncomfortable with the way she was disposing of her mom’s belongings and seemed adamant that she was going to check out of the woman’s life. But then he didn’t know them very well. He wanted to believe Posy was better than that. He wanted to believe she was someone who’d stay true to the people in her life. That mattered.

A truck was just pulling away, leaving a stack of root-beer kegs on the lawn. Wes practically jumped at the chance to wrestle the kegs around to the back of the refreshment tent where bags of ice were lined up to keep them cold throughout the day.

The Milton bus still hadn’t arrived when he was finished with the kegs. He made one last circuit of the field, checking the setup for the foul-shooting contest and the soccer-kick net. Jay had a buddy who worked at the university, and the athletics department had lent them a batting cage and radar gun they could use to clock pitching speeds.

While he was making a loop around the parking lot to check on the signs they’d put up, Posy’s Jeep pulled in. He jogged over to her. Music was pumping from the speakers and Posy was flipping her head up and down, dancing in her seat to the last notes. She stopped dancing when she saw him, but didn’t turn the radio off until the song ended.

“Kelly Clarkson, huh?”

“That’s right.” Her skin was the perfect golden-brown other women spent money on in tanning booths. Her cheeks were pink and he wondered if the blush was caused by embarrassment because he’d caught her dancing or just from the exercise.

When they’d played basketball, her skin had been flushed that day, too.

Today she had on a slim-cut T-shirt and a pair of navy track pants. His ex, Fabi, had always told him she would never be caught dead in public in sweatpants, but Wes thought Posy looked good.

“You’re going to like my brother,” he said.

Posy crossed her arms. “I’m kind of uncomfortable being part of the ceremony. My mom did all the work for this. Maybe it would be better if you just made your announcement and left me out of it.”

He laughed. “No way. The crowd is going to want to thank you personally.” She ducked her head, looking away from him.

He’d gotten an email from Chloe last night. It was cheerful and included quite a few exclamation points, but she mentioned that she was going to pop into the bank on Monday just to be sure everything with the fundraiser account was taken care of.

It had planted another seed of doubt about Posy’s mom. Knowing that was probably exactly what Chloe wanted didn’t make it any easier to ignore his suspicions.

Growing up the way he did, bounced from home to home, with adults constantly making decisions about him, he’d been on edge almost all the time. Unfortunately for him and his foster parents, his anxiety and fear had manifested as aggressive, irresponsible acting out. Now Wes made a conscious effort to avoid people and situations he couldn’t be sure of. “Listen,” he said to Posy, “I’m sorry if I was badgering you about the money. It’s just something I needed to check off my list. We’re all set now, right?”

“Absolutely,” she replied. “Nothing to worry about.”

A loud horn sounded from the street and he turned to see the Milton bus pulling in.

“All right. Time to get this day started. Let’s go meet Deacon and Julia.”

“I’m really not sure I should stay.”

“Why not? Posy, you have to be here.” He pointed toward the field behind the center. “How else am I going to be able to beat you at the free-throw contest?”

* * *

O
F
COURSE
HE
MENTIONED
basketball.

And they’d kissed last night. Twice.

She’d thought about their basketball game quite a bit last night in bed.

“Come on, Posy,” he said. “You don’t want my brother to think Jay is my only Kirkland friend, do you?”

“Fine,” she said.

“Can you do me a favor?” he asked. “I meant to grab a folder from my desk and I forgot. It’s right on top and it’s labeled Volunteers. You remember where my office is, right?”

She nodded.

He jogged away across the parking lot and she gave herself a second to admire the back view of Wes Fallon. His black golf shirt was tugged tight across his shoulders, and his legs in dark jeans were very long. In college, she’d dated a guy from the wrestling team. He’d been rock-hard, solid muscle from his scalp to his feet. If she’d been a sculptor, she could have used him for inspiration for a piece called
War
or
Power.
Sculpting solid rock was one thing, sleeping with it was something entirely different and she hadn’t liked it much. His proportions had been all wrong and his neck was as thick as one of her thighs.

She much preferred Wes’s athletic grace. He wasn’t weak and he certainly wasn’t soft, but she imagined in bed his chest would be the perfect place to rest her head and his arms around her would feel strong, but not confining.

Some kids were playing knee hockey in the lobby of the building, scrambling on all fours, clutching the short sticks one-handed. She slid along the edge of the game and found Wes’s office door open.

He’d decorated somewhat, she noticed. A picture of him with an older guy and smiling woman sat on the desk. His brother and sister-in-law no doubt. There was another photo of Wes in a basketball uniform with his arm around the same older guy—it had to be Deacon. Wes looked young, maybe it was from college. His hair was so long, she was surprised to see how different he looked with the edges softening the lines of his face.

She saw the folder on top of a stack of forms in the middle of his desk. She turned to leave, but couldn’t quite make herself go out the door.

She’d paid the money back. But she worried anyway. Chloe’s smile had been on her mind. Seeing how excited he was about this center and bringing his brother’s work to Kirkland made her realize that she really didn’t have any business being with him. Every step he took to solidify the relationship with his foundation and Kirkland would be undone if Chloe found out her mom stole the money.

She wished she were a different person or that her relationship with her mom had been different. With a last look around, she closed the office door and went back outside.

* * *

I
N
THE
PARKING
LOT
a mass of middle school and high school–age kids were clustered around Wes and a few other adults. One she knew was his brother, and the woman standing between them must be his sister-in-law. The other two guys were younger and looked like brothers.

“Posy!” Wes called. He waved her over. “This is my brother, Deacon, and his wife, Julia. Posy Jones—the daughter of our fundraising champion. And these guys are Trey and Shawn Baez. They’re finishing up high school in Milton—Trey’s graduating this year—and they coach the peewee basketball team at the Fallon center.”

She shook hands all around. Deacon wasn’t as tall as Wes and his hair was lighter, dark blond as opposed to Wes’s black, but their matching deep blue eyes marked them as brothers. Julia, who looked a little older than Deacon, reached to shake hands as she said, “Wes told us you welcomed him to town. Thanks for everything you’re doing.”

Deacon shook her hand, as well. “We owe your mom a huge thank-you.”

Posy just nodded.

Wes flung an arm around Trey’s shoulders. “Trey and Shawn inspired the Fallon centers.” He turned over the name tag the younger man was wearing on a lanyard around his neck and pointed to the Fallon center logo, a silhouette of a young boy on a man’s shoulder’s shooting a basket. “That’s Shawn right there.”

Shawn smirked. “They picked me because I’m the good-looking one.”

“They picked you because I was grounded the day the guy came to take the pictures,” Trey said. “Your buzz is growing out, Wes. Want me to shave it again?”

Wes rubbed the back of his head. “No, sir. It can’t grow back fast enough for me.”

Deacon said, “You used to beg me to let you buzz your hair when you were little.”

“And then I grew up and realized how awful you looked when you buzzed yours.”

Shawn whistled, a sharp sound that caught the attention of two boys who were horsing around near the curb. “Knock it off!” he called. “We better get them moving before they’re run over.”

Trey and Shawn helped to sort the Milton kids into groups to unload the equipment from the back of the van behind the bus. Julia and Deacon headed off to find Jay to discuss plans with him. She and Wes were left standing next to the bus.

“That’s a neat story about Shawn and the logo.”

“Yeah. Deacon and I coached the girls basketball team in Milton about ten years ago. Those guys hung around every day because their sister was on the team and there was no one at home to watch them.”

“You and your brother went back to Milton?”

He lifted his chin and then sighed. “It’s a long story and we have to get this day started.”

She looked out toward the back of the center where colorful flags fluttered on the refreshment tent and the shrill voices of excited kids were blending with the music just starting to pump through the outdoor sound system. She’d been at events like this every weekend of her childhood.

Wes was looking forward to it and all she could think about was how many times she was going to have to fudge the truth about her mom and the donations. She reminded herself this was the last time.

She followed Wes as he waded into the day, but then as she watched him interact with the kids and adults, volunteers and attendees, she realized he was coming at this from a different place than she’d expected. When her mom volunteered, she made sure everyone around her knew how hard she was working and how hectic her life was. She was a martyr to her volunteer commitments and she wanted people to know it.

Wes threw all his energy into this day, but not because he wanted to be noticed. He wanted the event to be a success. He spent more time watching his brother than anything else.

The stations where the young athletes were competing to earn their equipment bags had been carefully planned to spark wide interest. Wes and Posy worked their way through the stops, making sure to test each of the choices.

She thought he was joking when he said the first thing he wanted to test was the cotton-candy machine, but she went along with him and then watched as he ate a huge swirl of blue fluff. When he was finished, they headed for the soccer-kick station.

The kids needed to move through at least five of the stations and get a stamp on their card before they could earn an equipment bag. They didn’t need to win the games at the stations, just take a turn, but when they got to the soccer-kick station, a small girl with two missing front teeth was practically in tears. She wanted to score on the goalie before she got the stamp on her card, but all her shots had been blocked.

The kids behind her in line were starting to get impatient and one of them called out that she should give it up and let someone else have a turn. Posy knew exactly how the girl felt. She didn’t like to be handed things she hadn’t earned and participation wasn’t a high enough bar. The girl had blond hair pulled back in a ponytail and her fists were clamped tight around the hem of her T-shirt.

“My turn isn’t over until I score,” she insisted to the bigger boy who was running the station.

“You get three kicks, Mary, and that’s it.”

“I want to score.”

Two boys standing in line rolled their eyes and Mary saw them. She gave her ponytail a flick and stood her ground. Wes stepped between the two of them. “Mary, there’s a line behind you waiting for a turn.”

“But I want to score.”

“Who wouldn’t?” he said.

Posy broke in, “I’ll take a turn in goal. If you don’t make it on this kick, then you have to let the other kids have a turn.”

“You’re going to let it go in on purpose,” she said.

“Let it in on purpose?” she said, her eyes wide. “I will do no such thing.”

She walked over and switched places with the boy who’d been guarding the net. She got into a goalie stance, bent knees, weight on the balls of her feet, arms spread wide. “Go!”

Mary took a running start and gave the ball a big boot. It sailed toward the goal, straight and true.

Posy counted off three breaths before she dived for the ball, which dropped behind her as she landed on her knees in the grass. Mary tilted her head, not sure if she was being babied.

“You were late,” Wes said to Posy. He took the girl’s card and stamped it, saying, “Good kick.”

She seemed satisfied with his matter-of-fact assessment because she stuck her tongue out at the boys behind her before she ran off. Posy rubbed at a stain on her knee as she came out of the goal.

Walking toward the basketball court with Wes, she said, “Sorry for butting in. She was being a brat.”

“It didn’t matter if she got the goal. She could have gotten her card stamped anyway.”

She didn’t have an answer for that. Didn’t feel like telling him she’d seen herself in a bratty kid who wanted to win more than she wanted to be liked.

“Did you let it in on purpose?”