Page 13 of Off the Mark
Yeah. I know, I wanted to say.And that’s why we were always running out of money when I was growing up.
Malcolm Maddox had done the best he could after my mom fucked off with a guy she met at the post office, leaving him a single dad struggling to parent me while earning money from the only thing he felt he knew how to do.
He wasn’t a perfect dad—far from it—but it hadn’t ever stopped me from loving him fiercely. Even now, behind him, I could see the pictures he had framed of us up on the old seventies-paneling walls. Him, beaming proudly at whatever I was doing on a bike. Pictures of my wins at the X Games, the magazine covers and in-depth interviews placed carefully next to slightly faded versions from his career.
I wouldn’t trade my unconventional childhood for the world. But I was fifteen when he had his final accident. With no mom at home and no extra help, most of the household responsibility landed on my shoulders.
All of it was made worse every time my dad lost an opportunity because of the same obstinance I’d inherited.
“They sure do think that way,” I finally said, “but I’ve got a solid plan to patch things up with them, and Dempsey’s ready to kick some major ass on my behalf. I need the money,weneed the money, and we’ve got three months to do it.” I gave my dad a cheesy wink. “That number one spot at the championship race is all mine.”
Though even ifallof that happened—perfectly—I’d be paying off what my dad owed plus my own bills by the skin of my teeth.
“Of course the championship race is yours. Who else’s would it be?” he said, sounding more cheerful than a few minutes ago. “I saw you take that fall yesterday on TV. You didn’t smack your head or anything?”
“Nah.” I waved it off. “Dempsey gave me an ice pack and some meds, and I was fine.”
“It’s like the older I get the more I worry. But it’s only because I love you so much, honey,” he said. “You’re gonna do big things the next couple weeks. I can feel it.”
I swallowed past the giant lump in my throat. “I can feel it too. And really, I don’t want you and Penny to worry because I’ve got it figured out. Which means, I’ve got places to be and people to see. Call you tomorrow?”
“I’d like that. Love you, Charlie.”
“Love you too,” I said, before ending the call. I tipped my head back against the brick and covertly wiped my eyes. Then I took a big, fortifying breath and began walking toward the flirty former pitcher I was going to ask to be my…what…pretend boyfriend?
I stopped dead, doubt creeping through my veins.
It would be a ridiculous, utterly absurd request of abestfriend. But a friend I hadn’t seen in four years? Rowan’s kindness aside, it felt extra shitty to show up asking for a personal favor this huge with nothing I could offer him in return.
“Nope. No way. This is way too weird,” I muttered and spun back toward my truck. Thought about my dad’s heartbroken expression. That red eviction notice I kept seeing even in my nightmares.
Our home in the woods, the only home he and I had ever known, surrounded by fields full of dirt bike tracks we’d carved ourselves.
I was about to be floundering around again, sponsorless and broke, and my dad would be the one to pay the price.
I re-spun, rolled my shoulders back, and walked so forcefully the ends of my ponytail bounced across my shoulder blades. Up ahead, there was a tiny patch of grass and a medium-sized tree. A low, white sign readThe South Philadelphia Recreational Center. I could hear the sounds of a basketball game, kids playing, cars driving past with music blaring.
Despite the riot of negative emotions churning through my body, my lips were already curving up. On the nights at Jolene’s when Rowan stayed late, stacking bar stools and helping me close up, his love for this city had been tangible.
It was probably one of the reasons I’d been soflushedsince I’d first spotted the Philly skyline from the highway. My brain held too many confusing memories of watching Rowan wipe down the bar for me after a shift, talking about his old neighborhood with a bashful sincerity that belied his playboy antics.
I reached the very edge of the grass and halted, mid-step. A strange sensation fluttered in my belly at the sight in front of me. Rowan O’Callaghan was sitting on the highest branch of a tree—one long leg hooked on the branch below, his muscled arms braced against the trunk.
And in his large palm sat the smallest kitten I had ever seen.
“Do you have a good hold on her? And don’tscareher, Rowan,” called up an older man with a cigarette dangling from his mouth.
Rowan raised his palm and stared into the face of the orange fuzz making tiny, chirpymeows. “Nah, I won’t drop her, Eddie. I think she likes me.”
“How can ya tell?”
Rowan sent a lazy grin to the man below. “Because everyone likes me, including kittens.”
The older man barked a laugh while I stayed out of view, leaning against the front of someone’s house. All the better for me to see Rowan for the first time in four years. I was twenty-four when we met, and he was only twenty-two, and he’d filled out a little since then. Had lost some of the boyishness from his handsome face. His brown eyes crinkled slightly at the sides now and his hair was a tad longer.
But it was still thick and dark red. His smile still the charming, lopsided one he employed when he was trying to make me laugh.
And Rowan still had the strong, broad body of a baseball player. He easily climbed down from the tree, using just one arm. I watched his thick fingers wrap around the branches, the shifting muscles of his large shoulders as he gracefully dropped to the ground.
