Unforgettable (Cloverleigh Farms #5)(10)

“Always.” Sylvia took my hand in hers and squeezed hard. “Now come on. We’ll all walk you to the mailbox.”





Three





Tyler





I tossed and turned all night.

I didn’t know if it was the thumping noise coming from the room next to me (seriously, the dude had some stamina), or thinking about April, or the terrifying thought that my sister had asked me to be responsible for her child should anything happen to her, but something was keeping me awake. Maybe it was just being back in this town.

Leaning toward the nightstand, I checked the time on my phone. Not even five a.m.

I flopped onto my back again. For a moment, I thought about jerking off, but before I even got my hand on my dick, April popped into my head, and it bothered me so much that I abandoned the project. It wasn’t that the memory of being with her wasn’t hot, because it was. And back before we’d had sex, I used to get myself off thinking about her all the time. But after everything that happened, fantasizing about April had just felt wrong. Disrespectful. Like I didn’t have the right.

Grabbing the remote from the nightstand, I turned the TV on and hunted for ESPN. Maybe some boring replay of a golf tournament would put me to sleep. Or some talking heads getting worked up about hockey playoffs. As long as it wasn’t that damn documentary, I’d watch it.

But of course, that’s exactly what was on.



WELL-KNOWN SPORTSCASTER: You know, his dad was a ball player. Put in ten years in the minors but never got called up. I interviewed him once, and he was so proud. And Shaw himself once told me how much it meant to him that his father always had time to play catch or talk baseball with him, even though he was a single dad and had to work two jobs to support the family.

(Cut to photo of fifteen-year-old me with my dad, his arm around my shoulders, a wide grin on his face.)



SPORTSCASTER VOICEOVER: They were close. It had to be hard on Shaw when his father died. I always wondered if that was what caused the problem, even though it happened several years earlier. I don’t know, I guess we were all just searching for any reason this guy lost his arm.



FORMER MINOR LEAGUE COACH: I thought maybe he had a blister. I hoped he did. A blister would heal. (A heavy sigh. A shake of his head.) But he didn’t. Poor bastard.



Angry, I switched the TV off, hurled the remote to the floor, and crossed my arms over my bare chest. If I heard one more person refer to me as that poor bastard, I was going to put my fucking fist through the wall.

I sat there scowling in the dark for a while, long enough for the thumping in the next room to start up again, as if to remind me that not only was I a washed-up has-been, I was a washed-up has-been who wasn’t having sex. Either way, more sleep was not happening.

Tossing the finger at the couple on the other side of the wall, I got out of bed. After throwing on some sweats, I yanked a ball cap onto my head, grabbed my wallet and keys, and stormed out of the room, letting the door slam shut behind me.





I did seven miles on the high school track. I dropped to the ground for push-ups, crunches, mountain climbers, planks. I ran the bleachers.

When I’d first arrived, it had been dark and cool, but now the sun was rising and the air had lost its chill—I was sweating hard, and it felt good to distract myself with physical exertion, to take out all my pent-up aggression on my muscles. But eventually my stomach started to growl, and I decided to call it quits. Maybe there was a diner open early, and I could sit unnoticed and grab some breakfast before cleaning up and heading out for that haircut my sister wanted me to get. Surely there was a barber somewhere in town who wouldn’t recognize me, right? I was jogging down from the stands, thinking maybe I’d have to drive a couple towns over, when I saw that I wasn’t alone.

A woman was power walking around the track. She wore black leggings and a white zip-up jacket, sunglasses and a ponytail. Her hair was long and reddish-brown, swinging from side to side as she moved. It reminded me of—

Wait a minute.

I stopped and stared as she looped around the near end of the track and started walking toward me—and that’s when I knew.

“April!” I shouted.

She looked up at me and stumbled a second later, going down hard on her hands and knees.

I jumped to the ground and sprinted toward her, reaching her side just as she was getting to her feet again.

“Hey,” I said, taking her by the elbow to help her up. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Just embarrassed.” She adjusted her sunglasses and looked up at me. “Tyler?”

I nodded, letting go of her arm.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m in town for Sadie’s wedding.” My heart was thumping uncomfortably hard in my chest—I’d yelled her name without being prepared to actually come face to face with her.

“Oh. Right.” She shook her head. “I knew that.”

I couldn’t read her expression. Christ, this was awkward.

“Well . . .” April fidgeted for a second or two, then surprised me by laughing. “This really is not how I thought this reunion would go.”

The sound of her laughter took me back to a different time. I relaxed slightly, widening my stance and folding my arms over my chest. I wished my shirt wasn’t so sweaty. “No?”