Page 175 of Just One More Thing

I look past her to the water. “I never stopped thinking about a return. You know that.”

“I do.”

“But you also know why I couldn’t.”

Hank gets up with a grunt, lumbers over, and leans against her. She scratches his chest automatically, then pats her thigh until he drops his heavy head into her lap.

“Your parents,” she says.

“I’ll never step on a field again and not think about them. Never look at the stands and not think about them.” I drag a hand over my jaw. “But football got me through her leaving the first time. Maybe it gets me through it again.”

Bethany keeps rubbing Hank’s chest. Doesn’t rush me. Doesn’t soften it. Just stays in it with me.

After a minute she says, “You know I’ll support you no matter what you do, Jake.”

I meet her eyes. “I accepted the offer this morning.”

She waits.

“This decision affects you. Do you want to come back to Tampa with me or stay in Blue Crab Bay?”

“I always told you I’d go where you needed me.”

“I know.”

“So what do you need?”

“I need it to be your choice. And I need to know the choice doesn’t make you miserable.”

She looks down at Hank, scratching the deep fold between his eyes. He groans like he’s at a spa. Then she looks back up at me.

“I’d go back into security for you. For you and only you. Everybody else can find somebody else. And it’ll have to beprivate, not the organization this time, because I won’t go back to the agency. My brothers can carry that family torch. I’m done proving things to people.”

“Is that a yes?”

“That is a yes.”

I exhale. “I’m leaving this afternoon.”

“I’ll need some time to bring Jason up to speed on Knuckle operations, but I can be there tomorrow night.”

“That works.”

We both sit there for a second, letting this soak in.

Then I hold out my fist.

She bumps it.

“Welcome back, Kevin.”

She flips me off. “Shut up, Whitney.”

That gets a laugh out of me. Not a big one but enough to remind me I still can.

By early afternoon, I’ve got one small duffel packed and Hank’s things spread across the couch. He sits in the middle of it all, supervising what goes in his bag.

“Hank, we’re not taking every bandana you own.”