Just not as much as Aaron Thompson, the opposing team’s player who’d sacked Jase before running the ball downfield. Jase brushed away Noah’s outstretched hand and stood, rubbing his aching ribs as he did. “I thought this was flag football,” he muttered as he turned to watch Aaron do an elaborate victory dance in the end zone.
“Looks like Thompson forgot,” Noah said, pulling off his own flag belt, then Jase’s as they walked toward the sidelines.
“We’ll get ’em next time.” Liam Donovan, another teammate and good friend, gave Jase’s shoulder a friendly shove. “If our quarterback can stay on his feet.”
“This is a preseason game anyway,” Logan Travers added. “Doesn’t count.”
“It counts that we whipped your butts,” Aaron yelled, sprinting back up the field. He launched the game ball at Jase’s head before Logan stepped forward and caught it.
“Back off, Thompson,” Logan said softly, but it was hard to miss the steel in his tone. Logan was as tall as Jase’s own six feet three inches but had the muscled build befitting the construction work he did. Jase was in shape, he ran and rock climbed in his free time. He also spent hours in front of his computer and in the courtroom for his law practice, so he couldn’t compete with Logan’s bulk.
He also wasn’t much for physical intimidation. Not that Aaron would be intimidated by Jase. The Thompson family held a long-standing grudge against the Crenshaws, and hotheaded Aaron hadn’t missed a chance to poke at him since they’d been in high school. Aaron’s father, Charles, had been the town’s sheriff back when Jase’s dad was doing most of his hell raising and had made it clear he was waiting for Jase to carry on his family’s reputation in Crimson.
Jase took a good measure of both pride and comfort in living in his hometown, but there were times he wished for some anonymity. They weren’t kids anymore, and Jase had long ago given up his identity as the studious band geek who’d let bullies push him around to keep the peace.
He stepped forward, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked down his nose at the brutish deputy. “Talk is cheap, Aaron,” he said. “And so are your potshots at me. We’ll see you back on the field next month.”
“Can’t wait,” Aaron said with a smirk Jase wanted to smack right off his face.
The feeling only intensified when Aaron jogged over to talk to Emily, who was standing with Katie and the other team wives and girlfriends on the sidelines.
“Let it go.” Noah hung back as their friends approached the group of women. “She wouldn’t give him the time of day in high school, and now is no different.”
“Nice,” Jase mumbled under his breath. “Aaron and I actually have something in common.”
Noah laughed. “Katie’s asked Emily to be the maid of honor. You’ll have plenty of excuses to moon over her in the next few weeks.”
Jase stiffened. “I don’t moon.”
“You keep telling yourself that,” Noah said as he gave him a shove. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Emily has her hands too full with Davey and starting over even if she wanted a man.” He gave Jase a pointed, big-brother look. “Which she doesn’t.”
“I’m no threat,” Jase said, holding up his hands. “Nothing has changed from when we were twelve. Your sister can’t stand me.”
“I get that but you’ll both have to make an effort for the wedding. Katie doesn’t need any extra stress right now.”
“Got it,” Jase agreed and glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to check in at the office before I head home.”
“How’s the campaign going?”
“Not much to report. It seems anticlimactic to run for mayor unopposed. Not much work to do except getting out the vote.”
“You’re more qualified for the position than anyone else in Crimson,” Noah told him, “although I’m still not sure why city council and all the other volunteer work you do isn’t enough?”
“I love this town, and I think I can help it move forward.”
Noah smiled. “Emily calls you Saint Jase.”
Jase felt his jaw tighten. “How flattering.”
“She might have a point. What are your plans for the weekend? Katie and I are going out to Mom’s place for a barbecue tomorrow night. Want to join us?”
Jase rarely had plans for the weekend. Juggling both his law practice and taking care of his dad left little free time. But Emily would be there and while the rational part of him knew he shouldn’t go out of his way to see her, the rest of him didn’t seem to care. If he could get his father settled early tomorrow...
“Sounds good. What can I bring?”
“Really?” Noah’s brows lifted. “You’re venturing out on a Saturday night? Big time. We’ve got it covered. Come out around six.”
“See you tomorrow,” he said and headed over to his gym bag at the far side of the stands. He stripped off his sweaty T-shirt and pulled a clean one from the bag. As he straightened, Emily walked around the side of the metal bleachers, eyes glued to her cell phone screen as her thumbs tapped away. He didn’t have time to voice a warning before she bumped into him.
As the tip of her nose brushed his bare chest, she yelped and stumbled back. The inadvertent touch lasted seconds but it reverberated through every inch of his body.
His heart lurched as he breathed her in—a mix of expensive perfume and citrus-scented shampoo. Delicate and tangy, the perfect combination for Emily. Noah had accused him of mooning but what he felt was more. He wanted her with an intensity that shook him to his core after all these years.
He’d thought he had his feelings for Emily under control, but this was emotional chaos. He was smart enough to understand it was dangerous as hell to the plans he had for his future. At this moment he’d give up every last thing to pull her close.
Instead he ignored the instinct to reach for her. When she was steady on her feet, he stepped away, clenching his T-shirt in his fists so hard his fingers went numb. “Looks like texting and walking might be as ill-advised as texting and driving.”
“Thanks for the tip,” she snapped, tucking her phone into the purse slung over her shoulder. Was it his imagination or was she flushed? Her breathing seemed as irregular as his felt. Then her pale blue eyes met his, cool and impassive. Of course he’d imagined Emily having any reaction to him beyond distaste. “My mom sent a photo of Davey.”
“Building something?” he guessed.
“How do you know?”
“I was at the hospital the day of your mom’s surgery. I made Lego sets with him while everyone was in the waiting room.”
She gave the barest nod. Emily’s mother, Meg, had been diagnosed with a meningioma, a type of brain tumor, at the beginning of the summer, prompting both Emily and Noah to return to Crimson to care for her. Luckily, the tumor had been benign and Meg was back to her normal, energetic self.
The Crawford family had already endured enough with the death of Emily and Noah’s father over a decade ago. Having been raised by a single dad who was drunk more often than he was sober, Jase had spent many afternoons, weekends and dinners with the Crawfords. Meg was the mother he wished he’d had. Hell, he would have settled for an aunt or family friend who had a quarter of her loving nature.
But she’d been it, and lucky for Jase, Noah had been happy to share his mom and her affection. With neither of her kids living in town until recently and Meg never remarrying, Jase had become the stand-in when she had a leaky faucet that needed fixing or simply wanted company out at the family farm. He’d taken the news of her illness almost as hard as her real son.
“I remember,” she whispered, not meeting his gaze.
“Every time I’ve been out to the farm this summer, Davey was building something. Your boy loves his Lego sets. He’s—”
“Don’t say obsessed,” she interrupted, eyes flashing.
“I wa
s going to say he has a great future as an engineer.”
“Oh, right.” She crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze dropping to the ground.
“I know five is young to commit to a profession,” he added with a smile, “but Davey is pretty amazing.” Something in her posture, a vulnerability he wouldn’t normally associate with Emily made him add, “You’re doing a great job with him.”
Her rosy lips pressed together as a shudder passed through her. He’d meant the compliment and couldn’t understand her reaction to his words. But she’d been different since her return to Crimson—fragile in a way she never was when they were younger.
“Emily.” He touched a finger to the delicate bone of her wrist, the lightest touch but her gaze slammed into his. The emotion swirling through her eyes made him suck in a breath. “I mean it,” he said, shifting so his body blocked her from view of the group of people still standing a few feet away on the sidelines. “You’re a good mom.”
She stared at him a moment longer, as if searching for the truth in his words. “Thanks,” she whispered finally and blinked, breaking the connection between them. He should step away again, give her space to collect herself, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.
She did instead, backing up a few steps and tucking a lock of her thick, pale blond hair behind one ear. Her gaze dropped from his, roamed his body in a way that made him warm all over again. Finally she looked past him to their friends. “Katie told me you’re the best man.”
He nodded.
“I’ve got some ideas for the wedding weekend. I want it to be special for both of them.”
“Let me know what you need from me. Happy to help in any way.”
“I will.” She straightened her shoulders and when she looked at him again, it was pure Emily. A mix of condescension and ice. “A good place to start would be putting on some clothes,” she said, pointing to the shirt still balled in his fist. “No one needs a prolonged view of your bony bod.”
It was meant as an insult and a reminder of their history. She’d nicknamed him Bones when he’d grown almost a foot the year of seventh grade. No matter what he’d eaten, he couldn’t keep up with his height and had been a beanpole, all awkward adolescent arms and legs. From what he remembered, Emily hadn’t experienced one ungainly moment in all of her teenage years. She’d always been perfect.
And out of his league.
He pulled the shirt over his head and grabbed his gym bag. “I’ll remember that,” he told her and walked past her off the field.
Chapter Two
Emily lifted the lip gloss to her mouth just as the doorbell to her mother’s house rang Saturday night. She dropped the tube onto the dresser, chiding herself for making an effort with her appearance before a casual family dinner. Particularly silly when the guest was Jase Crenshaw, who meant nothing to her. Who probably didn’t want to be in the same room with her.
Not when she’d been so rude to him after the football game with her reference to his body. He had to know the insult was absurd. He might have been a tall skinny teen but now he’d grown into his body in a way that made her feel weak in the knees.
That weakness accounted for her criticism. Emily had spent the last year of her marriage feeling fragile and unsettled. Jase made her feel flustered in a different way, but she couldn’t allow herself be affected by any man when she was working so hard to be strong.
Of course she’d known Jase liked her when they were younger, but she hadn’t been interested in her brother’s best friend or anyone from small-town Crimson. Emily’d had her sights set on bigger things, like getting out of Colorado. Henry Whitaker and his powerful family had provided the perfect escape at the time.
Sometimes she wished she could ignore the changes in herself. She glanced at the mirror again. The basics were the same—blond hair flowing past her shoulders, blue eyes and symmetrical features. People would still look at her and see a beautiful woman, but she wondered if anyone saw beyond the surface.
Did they notice the shadows under her eyes, the result of months of restless nights when she woke and tiptoed to Davey’s doorway to watch him sleeping? Could they tell she couldn’t stop the corners of her lips from perpetually pulling down, as if the worry over her son was an actual weight tugging at their edges?
No. People saw what they wanted, like she’d wanted to see her ex-husband as the white knight that would sweep her off to the charmed life she craved. Only now did she realize perfection was a dangerous illusion.
She heard Jase’s laughter drift upstairs and felt herself swaying toward the open door of the bedroom that had been hers since childhood. Her mom had taken the canopy off the four-poster bed and stripped the posters from the walls, but a fresh coat of paint and new linens couldn’t change reality.
Emily was a twenty-eight year old woman reduced to crawling back to the financial and emotional safety of her mother’s home. She dipped her head, her gaze catching on a tiny patch of pink nail polish staining the corner of the dresser. It must have been there for at least ten years, back when a bright coat of polish could lift her spirits. She’d had so many dreams growing up, but now all she wanted was to make things right for her son.
“Em, dinner is almost ready,” her mom called from the bottom of the stairs.
“Be right there,” she answered. She scraped her thumbnail against the polish, watching as it flaked and fell to the floor. Something about peeling a bit of her girlhood from the dresser made her breathe easier and she turned for the door. She took a step, then whirled back and picked up the lip gloss, dabbing a little on the center of her mouth and pressing her lips together. Maybe she couldn’t erase the shadows under her eyes, but Emily wasn’t totally defeated yet.
Before heading through the back of the house to the patio where Noah was grilling burgers, she turned at the bottom of the stairs toward her father’s old study. Since she and Davey had returned, her mom had converted the wood-paneled room to building block headquarters. It had been strange, even ten years after her father’s death, to see his beloved history books removed from the shelves to make room for the intricate building sets her son spent hours creating. Her mother had taken the change easier than Emily, having had years alone in the house to come to terms with her husband’s death. That sense of peace still eluded Emily, but she liked to think her warmhearted, gregarious father would be happy that his office was now a safe place for Davey.
Tonight Davey wasn’t alone on the thick Oriental rug in front of the desk. Jase sat on the floor next to her son, long legs sprawled in front of him. He looked younger than normal, carefree without the burden of taking care of the town weighing down his shoulders. Both of their heads were bent to study something Jase held, and Emily’s breath caught as she noticed her son’s hand resting on Jase’s leg, their arms brushing as Davey leaned forward to hand Jase another Lego piece.
She must have made a sound because Jase glanced up, an almost apologetic smile flashing across his face. “You found us,” he said and handed Davey the pieces before standing. Davey didn’t look at her but turned toward his current model, carefully adding the new section to it.
“Dinner’s ready,” she said, swallowing to hide the emotion that threatened to spill over into her voice.
Jase had known her too long to be fooled. “Hope it’s okay I’m in here with him.” He gestured to the bookshelves that held neat rows of building sets. “He’s got an impressive collection.”
“He touched you,” she whispered, taking a step back into the hall. Not that it mattered. Her son wasn’t listening. When Davey was focused on finishing one of his creations, the house could fall down around him and he wouldn’t notice.
“Is that bad?” Jase’s thick brows drew down, and he ran a hand through his hair, as if it would help him understand her words. His dark hair was in need of a cut and his fingers tousled it, making her want
to brush it off his forehead the way she did for Davey as he slept.
“It’s not...it’s remarkable. He was diagnosed with Asperger’s this summer. It was early for a formal diagnosis, but I’d known something was different with him for a while.” Emily couldn’t help herself from reaching out to comb her fingers through the soft strands around Jase’s temples. It was something to distract herself from the fresh pain she felt when talking about Davey. “Building Lego sets relaxes him. He doesn’t like to be touched and will only tolerate a hug from me sometimes. To see him touching you so casually, as if it were normal...”
Jase lifted his hand and took hold of hers, pulling it away from his head but not letting go. He cradled it in his palm, tracing his thumb along the tips of her fingers. She felt the subtle pressure reverberate through her body. Davey wasn’t the only one uncomfortable being touched.
Since her son’s symptoms had first started and her ex-husband’s extreme reaction to them had launched the destruction of their family, Emily felt like she was made of glass.
Now as she watched Jase’s tanned fingers gently squeeze hers, she wanted more. She wanted to step into this tall, strong, good man who could break through her son’s walls without even realizing it and find some comfort for herself.
“I’m glad for it,” he said softly, bringing her back to the present moment. “What about his dad?”
She snatched away her hand, closed her fist tight enough that her nails dug small half-moons into her palm. “My ex-husband wanted a son who could bond with him tossing a ball or sailing. The Whitakers are a competitive family, and even the grandkids are expected to demonstrate their athletic prowess. It’s a point of pride and bragging rights for Henry and his brothers—whose kid can hit a ball off the tee the farthest or catch a long pass, even if it’s with a Nerf football.”
Jase glanced back at her son. “Davey’s five, right? It seems a little young to be concerned whether or not he’s athletic.”
“That didn’t matter to my in-laws, and it drove Henry crazy. He couldn’t understand it. As Davey’s symptoms became more pronounced, his father pushed him harder to be the right kind of boy.”
Always the Best Man Page 2
