Page 40 of Guarding the Star

“You should. She'd love it.”

“She's pretty progressive, actually,” I say, smiling.

Iris closes her eyes again. Curls against my chest. Outside, the rain has started, and the wind throws drops against the window.

“Paula,” she says, half asleep.

“Yeah?”

“Didn't need the TV. Or a podcast. Just you,” she sighs.

Chapter 13

Iris

Today I show up to practice on time.

At ten sharp I'm on the field with my cleats laced tight and a pair of cold-weather gloves I don't actually need, but I wear them anyway because I like how they look.

Hades watches me from the sideline, smiles, and nods. Once.

For any other coach, that would be nothing. For Hades, that's an Olympic medal, a kiss on the forehead, and a hug all rolled into one.

Since I had the real talk with Paula and then we slept together, this is the third day in a row I've been on time. I guess habits form like this: one day after another, little by little, baby steps, no applause.

In the scrimmage at the end of practice, I score twice and flick a backheel pass to Tina that comes off so clean she screams. I like playing this way. Having fun. Letting soccer be soccer instead of just an excuse to work through whatever mess I've got going on off the field.

“Hades told me she's impressed with how focused I've been the last two weeks,” Tina murmurs, falling into step beside me.

I smile. Two weeks ago this girl was crying in a locker room after the worst chewing-out of the year, and now she's turning into an example for the rest of the team. I love it.

***

That night, Zoe and Tessa invite us over for dinner.

Well, I basically invite myself, because I need time with Wesley.

Paula checks the street several times before we go in. She plays it cool. Doesn't want to worry me, doesn't say a word. She doesn't have to. A few days ago, when I came to take care of Wes, my stalker photographed me at this very door. The photos are in an envelope Paula won't let me see. But if I let that guy take away dinners with my friends, he's won. And I won't give him that.

“Iwis!” the kid shrieks, latching onto my leg.

“Boss! You feeling better?”

“Betta. Look, come.”

He grabs my finger and drags me to the living room. Shows me a new drawing. It's a dragon. At least I think it is. A bunch of crooked lines in every color, none of them straight, but there's something that could be a head and something that could be fire. Or a flower. Who knows, but he says it's a dragon, and I believe him.

“Oh man, that's incredible, boss. Does it have a name?”

“Pola.”

“Pola?”

“Pola,” he repeats, pointing at Paula, who's sitting next to Tessa.

I look at Wesley. I look at Paula. I look at the dragon.

“The dragon's name is Pola,” I tell Zoe, who's drying her hands with a kitchen towel.