Page 104 of Love What's Left
She pats my cheek. “Good boy.”
I go rock-hard in an instant and tug her against me to cover my reaction from view. “Sunshine, I’m going to be so good for you that you walk bowlegged the rest of the weekend.”
“Aunt Syddie, Uncle Gabriel, we’re going to play soccer. Are you coming?” Phee shouts across the lawn.
“Not like this, I’m not,” I mutter under my breath.
“Uncle Gabriel is going to sit this one out. I’m coming,” she calls over.
I press a kiss to her temple. “Take it easy out there.” She’s nowhere near back to 50 percent, let alone 100.
She places her drink on the table behind me. “My body won’t give me a choice. But think of the joy Phee and Rory will have if they kick my butt here today. They can lord it over me for years.”
“Go get ’em.” I pat her ass and position a cushioned patio chair in front of me.For modesty.
As she leaves the patio to join the children, I cup my hands around my mouth to project. “And taking the field today, two-time NCAA Division I National Champion striker, Sydney. Walsh. McRae.” I slow it down for the drama and drag her last name out on a yell that comes straight from my diaphragm.
She drops her chin with a grin and raises a fist in the air as she jogs toward the kids.
Janessa gives a whoop. Everyone on the patio erupts in a cheer.
I’m going to cry. Over my wife running across the lawn to play with the niblings. But she’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.
A hand squeezes my shoulder, and I turn. Frederick Granthy stands beside me, a look of concern on his face.
“Oh, hey! I didn’t know you were coming.” I clap him on the shoulder.
He nods.“I wasn’t sure if I’d make it. You never know when an emergency is going to roll in.”
I tilt my head to the side. “I thought you came out of retirement for Sydney. You were supposed to go back to your golf and well-earned life of leisure afterward.”
He laughs. “Soon. Josh took over the family practice, but he’s doing some volunteer work. Somebody has to hold down the fort. I’ll go back to my nine a.m. tee time when he comes home next week.”
To say it’s a change for him to mention Josh’s name in my presence is like calling the ocean “kinda big.” I can’t help but wonder if that means Josh has changed the way he speaks about me to his father. Or, maybe, Dr. Granthy is simply tired of reinforcing close to a decade of silence between Josh and me. “How is he?”
Dr. Granthy shakes his head and rubs a hand over his cropped steel-gray curls. “He’s well. If you want more information than that, you’ll have to ask him yourself.”
I clear my throat. “I didn’t intend to pry.”
“You didn’t. It’s good to see Sydney like this.”
Sydney dribbles the ball toward one of the nets someone dragged out of storage earlier. Rory guards it, and Phee attempts to steal. Phee almost makes it, but Sydney fakes to the left, then shoots the ball straight past Rory. Both kids groan loudly, then laugh and high-five her, and they start again with Sydney leaving an obviously deliberate hole in her defense, giving Phee the opportunity to jump on it. She does, her little face intent, as she races across the grass.
“Sydney will tire soon, but she’s healing.” I shake my head. “I can’t understand why she doesn’t remember you. I get that she’s still missing chunks of time after college, but you’re an odd thing to block in the present considering she’d only met you a couple of times during our marriage.”
“It’slikely she associates me with the trauma since I was her doctor in the immediate aftermath. I was the one who ordered the catheter to check for kidney damage, and . . . you remember how she reacted to that. If she’s doing well in other aspects, as she obviously is, I wouldn’t dwell on individual bits and pieces of memory. I can understand where it would be frustrating, but recovery takes a long time, and she’s doing impressively well.”
He places a hand into the pocket of his khakis, his pale blue polo shirt bright and pristine in the sunshine as he sips from a bottle of water and watches Sydney and the kids play.
I get caught up in the sight of that thick, wavy ponytail flying behind her. Her tan thighs, exposed by white shorts, flex as she moves. That ass.Holy fuck. That ass.Round and bitable. The smile on her face. The way she’s such a natural with the kids, challenging them without disheartening them. Building their excitement as she delivers a toned-down version of smack talk and takes it right back with a grin.
Two more plays, and she’s visibly flagging. When Sydney passes the ball back to the kids and heads my way, I grab her drink from the table behind me and pass it to her. “Look at you, all hot and sweaty andhot.” I waggle my eyebrows.
She gives a smiling eye roll, then turns her attention to Dr. Granthy. “Hello. I’m sorry, but if we’ve met, I don’t remember.”
“This is Dr. Granthy,” I say.
He holds out his hand. She stares at it for one. Two. Three seconds. Then she looks up into his eyes and returns his shake.
