Page 22 of The Score We Never Settled

“I’llpay you forty bucks,” Ben quickly promises. “But the boy needs to go.”

The boy needs to go.

Any other time, he wouldn’t need to worry about me showing up and being here because, back in the day, I’d sneak into Layla’s room and hang out while he was out winning twenty bucks. He’s been doing Wednesday card nights for as long as I can remember.

Which means he’s not by Layla right now.

Rising from my chair, I hear Dodger sigh and mumble, “Sorry, man.”

“It’s not a problem. I’ll take a walk around town. See if there’s anyone I can find.”

AKA Layla.

And I really need to stop taunting this man like Adeline said, because it truly doesn’t do me any favors in his eyes. However, I’m not going to impress the man overnight.

Or ever, if I’m being totally honest with myself.

“Head out front,” Ben commands one more time. “And go find a bird to chase or something.”

Right.

I say my goodbyes to the men and get toward the front in the lobby, when Ben’s words hit me again.

Head out front.

Well, what happens if I head out back?

I’ve already shocked a few people today, getting widened looks and jaws almost dropping to the sidewalk. I haven’t been to Magnolia Ridge in a while. I may own a home, fully furnished and beautiful, but in the off-season, I don’t stray far from Tennessee. I practice and train. I busy myself with charities, endorsements, and things that would make Layla proud. My manager has me on a tight schedule—probably to keep me grounded and out of trouble—but, this time, it was imminent that I come back.

Magnolia Ridge is full of memories—good and bad. The good mostly comes from Layla. The bad came from a missing mother and a dad who couldn’t handle her death. Who couldn’t look me in the face without glaring at me like he wished I were dead instead of her.

Detouring, I take the hallway leading toward the back of the VFW hall to get out. The exit door opens then, exposing a short woman with an oversized white T-shirt tucked into jean shorts.

But it’s the long curly hair that gets my brain to register Layla immediately.

She uses her foot to keep the door open, balancing two pies and maneuvering herself so that she doesn’t drop one.

It’s a balancing act.

One I’ve seen her do plenty of times before.

Holding the door open for her from over her head, Layla steps inside, and instantly stops when she registers it’smeholding the thing open for her.

“Good evening, Mrs. Kerrigan,” I greet, my voice this deep and insatiable octave that has been burning a hole in my throat for years. “Can I help you with that?”

“Oh, for the love of God,” she grounds out, her nose wrinkled in sheer annoyance at my presence. “What areyoudoing here?”

“You’ve asked me that question already today.”

“And I’m gonna ask you agai—” Her hazel eyes suddenly bulge, and she looks toward the hallway I just came from. “Did Uncle Ben see you?”

“Yes.”

Her body immediately deflates, and she aims her displeasure right back at me. “You did it on purpose. You know he comes here every Wednesday.”

“Does he?” Her pupils narrow so sharply that I’m surprised she can still see me through them. “Oh, right. Card night.”

“And how did you manage to get into it? It’s a private card game.”