Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

Lila

Of all the bad ideas I've had throughout my life, agreeing to come to the park with my ex and his shiny new toy ranks at the top. I was good. I had cleansed Drake from my soul years ago and laid that body to rest. Now, I can't so much as look at Drake without sinking into a deep, spiraling memory abyss. Seeing him with another woman is hard enough, but witnessing them interact with my son? That is unfathomable.

A bead of sweat rolls down my back as I lean against the picnic table and watch Drake attempt to toss a Frisbee with Jake. I say attempt because Miranda keeps being a ball hog. Ball or disc? Is a disc hog a thing? Either way, every time Jake misses, she swoops in and scoops it up, much to Jake's dismay. The poor kid has returned the Frisbee only a handful of times. His little hands clench at his sides, but he has said nothing to her yet.

Drake wears that same low-key scowl that says he's irritated but is trying hard to maintain his calm. If Miranda intends to show how good she is with kids, she's going about it all wrong.

Speaking of good, a piece of me died when Drake's muscular frame moved with the effortless grace of an athlete when he walked into the apartment. He's wearing black athletic joggers with a tight-fitting t-shirt that shows off his broad shoulders and toned arms. It took everything in me to keep from absorbing the rush working through my body every time I looked at him.

Like now.

So much for burying that ghost. The damn thing resurrected and wrapped itself around me like a weighted blanket.

It'd be easier to keep hating him if he wasn't so good-looking.

Miranda scoops the Frisbee right before Jake gets there. I bite my tongue to keep from mouthing off. My gaze strays and meets dark brown ones. My body heats with that familiar warmth. This is so bad. I can't have thoughts about my roommate's boyfriend.

"Miranda, I want to throw it," Jake yells, breaking our connection.

"You need to catch it, then."

"You're always hovering. I don't get a chance."

"What's going on?" Drake asks, irritation dripping in every syllable.

Miranda's eyes narrow as she shoots me a glare. My lips form a tight line. She has no one to blame but herself. I wouldn't be here if she weren't trying to use my child as a prop. This is on her.

"Miranda won't play nice. She keeps stealing my turn."

"That's not true. You just need to be better," she says with a huff—an actual huff. Like, who's the seven-year-old here?

"He's seven, Miranda. He's still training." Drake jogs over to Jake, who stands with his hands balled into tiny fists. He whispers a few words to him, and whatever he says makes Jake laugh. They fist bump before Drake puts distance between them. "Stand off to the side, Miranda. I want to work some more with Jake, one-on-one."

She stomps over to the side and crosses her arms over her chest. Her bottom lip juts out, but Drake doesn't pay her any attention.

His focus is on Jake, leaving me mesmerized as a smile plays on his lips. It's the same one that knocked me sideways ever since we were kids. His throws are effortless as he pivots on the ball of his foot, muscles flexing under the fabric of his T-shirt.

And I stand there, taking it all in, wanting to resist yet wanting to embrace every second. This was my dream many years ago—Drake in his element, playing with my son. Except it was supposed to be with our son, without this resentment, the other woman, and the remnants of a heartbreak.

I never thought about us getting back together. It wasn't a possibility, so I didn't want to torture myself. But that doesn't mean I ever forgot what we had. Drake had issues. He may have been reckless throughout school, but he was the most attentive boyfriend. Drake was my entire world. Right until he wasn't.

I reach for my necklace and worry the pendant with my fingers as my thoughts trail back to the day he gave it to me.

"Drake. You're going to get caught again. I don't think Principal Jenkins will be so lenient this time."

"It's fine." He grabbed my hand and led me through the outside door to the school pool house.

"I don't want to spend Valentine's Day in jail."

"You're being dramatic." He laughed. "Besides, I have permission."

I let out a nervous laugh. "By whom?"

"The janitor."

"Seriously?" I didn't believe him, not in the least. "And what did he actually say?"

He stopped walking and faced me, the corners of his mouth lifting to that sexy grin that made my heart race. "He didn't want any horsing around."

"And what do you call this?"

"Keeping an eye on it."

"So you're the guardsmen?"

He pulled me closer and kissed the tip of my nose. "I do like to watch you."

Tingles ignited my body as the reminiscence of what we did the other night flashed in my mind. My cheeks heated.

"God, you're cute." He nudged his head toward the pool. "Come on."

I didn't know why I protested because that guy could talk me into walking off a cliff for him. We swam that night in the darkness, and it became one of my favorite memories. But afterward, when we sat on the towel, and he handed me a wrapped box, that sentiment took the prize.

"Thank you for always being there for me."

I studied his face, noticing the sincerity in his expression. He had skipped so much school and was on the verge of driving his grade point average to the ground, thus ruining his chance at a baseball scholarship. He was on a self-destructive path until I stepped in without making it obvious. Date nights turned into study sessions. My spare time was spent keeping him away from Roy and his shenanigans.

But how he stared at me, as if I made his entire world, made it worth it.

"I'm going off to college, and I would've blown my chance if it hadn't been for you."

"Drake, I ? —"

"Shh, let me finish." He swallowed hard, barely able to speak. "This has been the worst year of my life. I've blown off a lot of things. I would've lost my scholarship if you hadn't kept me on course."

My chest clenched. "I'll always be here for you. You know that."

"You're my someone to go the distance with. My forever girl." He pushed the box closer. "Open it."

My fingers worked the wrapping off, and I lifted the top of the box. Lying in a bed of white satin was a silver chain with a heart pendant. I grabbed it, tears stinging my eyes. "It's beautiful."

"Read the back."

I blinked away the tears and turned the pendant over. "To my Forever Girl."

A sound between a gasp and a whimper escaped as I drew Drake in for a hug. "I love it."

I raised my hair so he could place it on me.

"I don't know what the future has for us, but I love you, Lila Hayes. You're it for me."

I blink away the thought. No, I never thought we'd get back together. I gave up the dream of us and assumed our paths would never cross again. But having a front seat to him and Miranda's budding relationship was never on my radar. I'm not sure how much of this I can take.

"Your turn." Drake holds the Frisbee out to me, eyebrows raised in challenge.

A laugh escapes as I shake my head. "You've seen my throw."

"Come on," he coaxes, stepping closer. "I'll teach you."

"Yeah, Mama Lila. Join us." It must not have taken Jake long to get the hang of it and Miranda long to join them. Either that, or I've been lost in my thoughts for too long.

"Yeah, Mama Lila." Drake extends the Frisbee to me, that smirk in place. "Join us."

My heart skips as I take the Frisbee from him, our fingers brushing. The touch is electric, lingering like the afterimage of a camera flash. I position my hand as he showed me once, years ago, and give it a shot. The damn thing wobbles in the air before plummeting to the ground.

Jake laughs. Drake chuckles. Miranda huffs.

"Almost," Drake says, his voice a low rumble. I catch the glint of amusement in his eyes, which stirs memories that need to stay suppressed.

"Let me show you." He comes up behind me, reaching around to adjust my grip. I'm hyper-aware of his body so close to mine, the heat emanating from his chest, the scent of him—clean sweat mixed with grass.

"Like this." He guides my hand, and we send the Frisbee sailing in a perfect arc. My pulse races, not from the throw, but from the brush of his lips against my ear as he whispers, "Nice job."

My gaze meets his, and the thanks I would mutter dies on my lips—pools of brown as dark as the deepest night stare back. The pounding in my chest quickens. Birds grow silent. I see a flicker of something more than amusement in his eyes. For a fleeting moment, I think it's longing. There's a tension between us, thick and alive, like the static before a storm. His breath fans my face, and I find myself leaning closer, caught in his gravitational pull.

"It looks like Lila has the hang of it. Can we get back to playing?" Miranda's voice shatters the moment.

Drake seems to shake out of his haze and steps back. "Let's go. You ready, Jake?"

We fall into an easy rhythm, laughter bubbling between us as we chase the Frisbee. Admittedly, I'm not as bad as I remember. With each throw, the awkwardness from earlier fades. Miranda seems to settle into a pattern without stealing the spotlight. Maybe she learned. We keep the Frisbee toss going until Jake says he's tired.

"Mom, I'm thirsty."

"I have to use the restroom." Miranda charges Drake and gives him a seductive smile. "I'll be right back."

Drake's expression is impassive as we head to the picnic table. I can't tell if he's annoyed by her or trying to contain himself around Jake. The thought of them together burns. I need to learn to get through this.

"Remember that summer?" Drake's voice pulls me from my thoughts, the smirk I loved so much firmly in place. "The one where you convinced me to steal second base during that championship game?"

I laugh before I can help it. Those were simpler days when I used to attend his baseball games. We had a slew of hand signals I'd flash throughout the night. In this particular play, I thought he'd have a chance. It turned out I was wrong. "You were so mad at me when you got tagged out."

He chuckles. "Mad? No, Lila. That was the moment I knew you were trouble."

"Good trouble," I correct him, and the easy banter feels like slipping into an old, favorite pair of jeans—comfortable, familiar.

"Best kind." He winks, sending a familiar shiver down my spine, one I try to ignore. "Jake has some of that same spirit, you know."

"Does he now?" I watch Jake race around, tiny legs pumping with determination. "Looks like the apple didn't fall far from the tree."

"Maybe not," Drake agrees, watching Jake with a softness in his eyes that I've never seen before. It's disarming, making the past feel distant and the pain not so sharp. But the only resemblance Jake has from me is learned.

"I'm surprised you brought a Frisbee instead of a baseball."

"I didn't want to be too preposterous," he shrugs. "I wasn't sure what he liked."

Sadness envelopes me. I've been so wrapped up in working and hating everything sports I never thought about asking Jake if he'd be interested. "I honestly don't know. The way he took to throwing a Frisbee, I'd say he'd be down."

"I'll have to teach him someday."

Our gazes meet once again. Before I can answer, Miranda returns and wedges herself between Drake's legs.

"Did I ever tell you guys about when I caught a home run ball at one of Drake's games?" Miranda flips her dark hair over one shoulder. She leans in closer, her perfume a mix of ambition and jasmine. "It was like fate wanted me to have that ball."

"Really?" Drake raises an eyebrow, and I catch the amused twinkle in his eye. "That's quite the coincidence."

"Totally," she presses on, oblivious to his bemusement. "And then I got to meet all the players in the VIP area. It was so fabulous, except you didn't show up."

"Sounds like quite the night." He nods, but his attention drifts back to Jake, who's now chasing a butterfly with the joy only a child can muster.

"Unforgettable," she says, but her word hangs, trying to snag his interest. And now I know what she meant when she showed me the baseball earlier.

Fate.

Isn't that what she said? They were fated.

Funny how I had thought that once, too.