Meet Me Halfway(54)

The moms who’d been watching him like he was the game rather than their actual children, gaped openly. I was torn between half of me completely understanding while the other, irrational half wanted to shove them down the bleachers.

Garrett straightened to his lumberjack, six-foot whatever height as I made my way toward him. His eyes trailed from my heels, up my pencil skirt, and lingered on my lilac sweater.

Either he was a secret fashion connoisseur with an eye for thrift shop finds, or he appreciated the half-inch of visible cleavage my scoop-neck sweater showed.

By the darkening of his eyes, I was pretty sure it was the latter. I pushed down the thrill the thought sent me. It wasn’t necessarily me he was ogling, I told myself. Garrett Rowe was simply a boob man. The idea he might enjoy someone else’s rankled, but I pushed that down too. All my idiotic thoughts could have a damn party down in the pit of my stomach.

“I come bearing gifts.”

His eyes dipped down once again, and the corner of his lips quirked up. For a moment, I swore he was about to make a dirty joke about what my gifts were, but he refrained. Instead, he sat back down, taking the cups from me and setting them on his other side out of the way.

“Hot chocolate and hot dogs?” He quirked an eyebrow, and I chuckled, ungracefully plopping my butt next to him.

“They were out of coffee, and you looked cold.” I unwrapped my foiled meal and looked out onto the field to try to pinpoint Jamie.

There was a beat of silence before he bumped my shoulder with his and said, “Thank you.”

I replied by reaching over to toast his wrapped hot dog with the tip of my own. Taking a giant bite of the rubbery, luke-warm food, I desperately wished I had some mustard and relish to drown it in.

I chewed, watching miniature humans chase after a ball. I had no idea what the rules were or who was winning. To be honest, I wasn’t into sports at all. Growing up, I’d only participated in the school dance team and my brother had been into cross country, so soccer was outside my bubble of knowledge.

“He’s done really well.”

“Hm?”

“Jamie. He’s played almost the entire game so far, and he’s done well. He’s a good team player, which I doubt is common at this age.”

I smiled around my food, pleased, but the feeling didn’t last long.

“Glad you were able to make Jamie’s first game, Madison. You almost missed it.”

The comment came from Tristan, the woman sitting in the center of the mom trio in front of us. I’d run into them a few times before, and they were no fans of mine.

They were the kind of people who enjoyed using their religion for attention and glamor but were the first to turn a blind eye and ignore everything they claimed to believe in when it was convenient for themselves.

Brushing off her passive-aggressive tone and letting it flow past me like I was a damn river stone, I glanced away from the field to answer her. “Thanks, Tristan, I’m glad I was able to make it too.”

I didn’t know Tristan’s exact age, but I knew she was about mid-thirties. She was pretty in a small-town-pageant-winner type of way. Wavy, volumized blond hair, blue eyes, and bright, extravagant makeup. She had a lean face with straight square teeth and was always dolled up in name-brand items, from her coat down to her shoes.

Batting her eyelashes at Garrett, she smiled up at him, “It’s nice to finally meet you. There for a while, we all thought you were imaginary.” She giggled, and I had a nasty urge to pour my drink on her head.

He lowered his eyes, giving her that flat, uninterested look I’d been the personal victim of before. “Should I know who you are?”

I coughed, choking on my half-chewed bite, and he immediately leaned over, handing me one of the hot chocolates while continuing to look down at Tristan. If stone-cold granite was a person, it’d be freaking Garrett Rowe.

She pulled back, blinking furiously in offense. “I run the PTO at your son’s school. I even designed the boys’ soccer uniforms this year.” She pursed her lips, like second-grade uniforms were the epitome of a life well-lived.

“Huh,” was all he said before dismissing her and looking back out at the field. No explanation, no denial, no “he’s not my kid.” Nothing. I stared up at him, baffled. I didn’t know of a single man who wouldn’t have corrected a beautiful woman about his parental status.

She frowned, or at least I think she did. It was hard to tell with her perfect, Botox face. “How long are you staying in town for?”

He took his time dragging his eyes from the field, making it very clear she was interrupting. “I live here.”

Her lips formed a perfect “oh” and her eyes darted to me, calculating. I sighed, setting my cup down and hardening my spine. I could fill an entire notebook with all the reasons I disliked this woman.

“Tristan, this is my neighbor, Garrett. Jamie invited him to the game.” Which is why we’re trying to watch it, you gossip whore, I silently added.

Her bell-chimed laugh hit my ears, banging all the way to my eardrums, and making me wince. The other two women—Carolyn and Lara, if I remembered correctly—laughed along with her like they all somehow knew the same joke. It instantly had alarm bells taking off, joining the still-ringing sound of her laugh.

“My apologies, Garrett. That makes so much more sense.”

I sucked my lips into my mouth, trying to let the comment pass. Same shit, different day. We’d only spoken a handful of times, but she always found a way to insult my single-parent status each time. Inhale, exhale. Her comments didn’t matter. She didn’t matter. I was a motherfucking river stone, and I was here for Jamie.