Page 20 of The Score We Never Settled

He still has family here. He knew after the comment he made about Layla being his first and how sweet she tasted that I’d come back to mark my claim.

I’m transparent as fuck when it comes to Layla. There is no doubt that, when it comes to her, I’m going to make it abundantly clear she belongs to no one other than me.

I have eight days of suspension, and he’s done for the whole season due to his newly broken arm. His next commentary willprobably be that he’s going to stay in Magnolia Ridge since he can’t play anymore, but the season’s not over yet.

His team—the Charleston Otters—will want him to support the team while they carry on with their World Series dreams.

And they’re just dreams.

Because I’ll be sure to send him and the rest of his teammates floating down the river in shambles by the end of the season.

The Charleston Otters.

The hell?

The MLB should’ve rejected that name because it sounds like a Little League T-ball team.

“It don’t matter,” Ben retorts, pulling out a wooden chair across from me. “He’ll think of a way.”

Probably.

“Just don’t be lettin’ my chickens out again, boy,” Tom says at my right, one of the farmers in town whom I may have done a few dozen things to in the past. “I ain’t chasin’ ’em around all week. And since ya got the money, now, I’ll make ya buy me new ones.”

I’d buy them for him now, if he wanted me to.

I think some of those chickens I let out got eaten up by coyotes, and he never did get them all back.

“Then don’t skip out on Halloween, Redding,” Henry retorts, tossing three white chips in the middle of the table. A whopping additional three dollars to the pot. “And he won’t get all into his feelings about not gettin’ his candy.”

Aw, shit.

Now, I remember why I did that.

Cheap ass.

Henry—AKA Dodger, is what we used to call him—ran with me to do half the things I’ve ever done in Magnolia Ridge.

We weren’t super close; I really wasn’t with anyone growing up, but he still tagged along. Probably to make sure I didn’t do something too extreme.

He’s always had this goodness about it, mixed with a little bit of restlessness as a kid, so I’m not surprised he stayed and serves Magnolia Ridge.

“These kids don’t trick-or-treat anymore. They’re too busy on their damn phones.”

“Your chickens are safe,” I reassure him. “No need to lose any sleep about it.”

“What about my niece?” Ben grills me, still not getting over how my presence here has mentally disrupted everything for him. “Are you gonna leave her alone, too?”

“Ben,” William Drake, the owner of the town’s Feed and Seed, drones. “We’re just tryin’ to play a game of poker here, alright? Interrogate the boy later when we’re not around to have to hear your gripin’.”

“Well, at least yourchickenswill be safe,” Ben shoots back. “Meanwhile, my niece is going to be harassed by this boy.”

Harassed?

Shit, if anyone showed up out of nowhere over the other, it was Layla. She would sneak off to my high school baseball games, show up at my house with baked goods, and randomly run into me at school when her classes were the opposite way.

Then, when I left Magnolia Ridge, Layla came to Tennessee when I was playing for the Tennessee Bootleggers, the Tornadoes’ Low-A team, and she just locked it in for me. I could never let her go; it didn’t matter what I thought I saw or what was going on, Layla Jean Melrose was mine.

And, don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. I loved it.