Page 2 of Hometown Halftime

“Birthday boy!” he shouts, hauling me into a hug that almost cracks my spine. “Welcome home.”

Lee follows, carrying a six-pack. “Knox said you were moving in today. We figured you could use a break from unpacking.”

I huff out something close to a laugh. “You figured correctly.”

Darren releases me and kicks the closest box. “Jesus, you own more books than most of the girls I date. What woman has you buying half a bookstore?”

“There’s no woman, you know I’m single,” I mutter.

“Yeah,” he fires back. “We’ll have to work on that while you’re here.”

Lee nudges him. “Cut it out. He just got home.”

I sit on the arm of the couch. Darren hands me a beer and I open it, take a long pull and look around at the scattered boxes across the room.

“It’s been a day.”

Lee jumps up to sit on the kitchen island. “Has anyone heard from your dad?”

My throat feels tight. “Actually, I just got off the phone with him. He called to say happy birthday. And he was so casual about it. Like I didn’t just put my whole life on hold to come home and help our family.”

Darren scoffs. “Screw him.”

“Exactly. If I were you, I’d block him.” Lee nods. “But hey, you have good people in your corner. If you had to come home, at least we’re all here to help.”

“Happy birthday, man,” Darren says, flopping onto the couch. “We’re glad you’re back.”

I look around the duplex, forcing a smile. “Yeah, me too.”

Chapter one

Kinsey

It’s a Wednesday evening and my best friend’s husbands, Knox and Cam, have set up shop at the end of my bar and I know they’re up to no good.

They’ve been attempting to be nonchalant for the past thirty minutes. Knox keeps needlessly adjusting his baseball cap. Cam keeps tapping his finger on his Coke glass—Coke, not beer mind you—which is a dead giveaway that something’s up. And neither one of them has mentioned the actual reason they texted me this afternoon asking if I was working tonight. That text usually wouldn’t concern me, but it was the two smiley emojis that Knox included that made me suspicious.

Knox never uses emojis.

I pour a pitcher from the tap, take it to a table, and make my way back behind the bar.

“You two know this is a bar, right?” I drop fresh coasters in front of them, removing their condensation-soaked ones. “You know, a place that serves alcohol, not sugar water.”

Cam lifts his Coke in a toast. “I have two small children sleeping at home and a wife that told me to leave so she could read her book in peace.”

“And some of us,” Knox adds, “are just being a responsible adult.”

“Lame.” I lean on the edge of the bar. “Okay, out with it. You’ve been staring holes in the back of my head since you sat down. What’s the real reason you’re here tonight?”

Knox and Cam trade a look. Here we go.

“For the record,” Cam says, “Knox wanted to wait until you were off work.”

“And for the record,” I reply, grinning, “Knox has the patience of a toddler.”

“It’s not entirely my fault,” Knox says, hands lifted. “We gave you space, some time to think. We didn’t push the topic. I’m just hoping you might have an answer for us.”

“Uh-huh.” I cross my arms, a bar towel dangling from my fingertips. “You asked me two weeks ago if I’d consider coaching the girls’ rugby team. I said I’d think about it. Which I am, at the appropriate pace of a person who thinks you should be recruiting a professional—which I’m not. A brand-new team is a big responsibility.”