Chapter 34

For an entire hour, Harlow's dad, Shawn, plays one on one with me, while Harlow heads inside to watch some reality show she swears she can't miss. I go easy on him, dropping my defense to a minimum, and even though I can block 90% of his shots, I keep my feet rooted to the ground. "I'm done," he says, hands on his knees as he bends over at the waist. "I'm pretty sure I won, though."

I chuckle, an odd sound even to my own ears. "I wasn't keeping score."

"Good," he huffs out, moving over to my van. "I was, and I beat your scrawny ass."

I'm far from scrawny, but shit-talk is shit-talk, and I'm here for it. "You did good… for an old guy."

He laughs, back slumping against my van as he uses it to guide him down until his ass hits the ground.

I sit down beside him, far less dramatic.

For minutes, we sit in silence, occasionally sipping the water Harlow had brought out for us earlier.

"You know," he says, breaking the silence, "playing like this with you… it reminds me of my son. It's like you're giving me a piece of him back."

It shouldn't disappoint me the way it does—to hear those words coming from him—and while I sympathize with the man, I have to ask, "Is that why you invited me over?"

"No," he's quick to say.

I look down at my hands, at the redness of my palms from handling the basketball. "Do you think I need a father figure or something?"

"No," he repeats, then adds quickly, "Jace, I invited you as a thank you for being there for Harlow when I couldn't be. And I wanted to get to know you, because I see that you and my daughter are getting close, and I'd actually like to get to know who she's spending her time with… unlike in the past."

"Oh."

His heavy exhale fills my ears, fills my heart with regret. "Sorry," I murmur.

"Don't be," he assures. "You're a good kid, Jace. I knew it from the first time I knocked on your door. You didn't tell me to go kick rocks when I asked you to keep an eye on Harlow for me, and that shows me everything I need to know about who you are as a man." He pauses a breath, and I can feel the tension lift from my shoulders. "I'm glad she has you so close," he adds. "The past year hasn't been easy on her."

I clear the sudden knot in my throat. "Thank you, sir."

"Listen…" He shifts slightly, and I find myself doing the same, looking up and into the house that used to be mine. The lights are on, unlike my home, and curtains wide open for the world to see into. See out of. "I hope I'm not overstepping, but… I'm real sorry about what happened to your parents. No kid deserves what you've been through."

My heart falters a beat. Two. And I drop my gaze again. "Does Harlow know?"

"I haven't told her. Going by your reaction, I assume you haven't either?"

"No," I admit. "It's not exactly the easiest thing to bring up."

"Yeah, I get that," he mumbles. "But I'm barely home, and the information was offered to me before I even asked. It'll eventually get to her too. Maybe…" He inhales a huge breath, lets it out slowly. "Considering how close you're getting, maybe it's best it comes from you."

I let his words sink in, one after the other, and I know he's right. I just don't know how to get there. I've thought about it in the past—when, where, how to tell her—but I don't even know what I'd say.

"I'm going to head in," he says, groaning as he uses my shoulder to help him up. "This old man is tired."

I stand too, my heart heavy, weighed down by my thoughts and others' expectations. "Can you tell Harlow I said goodnight?"

He faces me. "You don't want to come in and do it yourself?"

I lower my head, shake it.

He grasps my shoulder, squeezes once. "All right, son."