Page 98 of The Score We Never Settled

“I guess it depends on your definition of a couple,” he replies flatly. “Few people wanted to get together and hang out, see you, you know, because you’re famous and all.”

I’m at his home, in the middle of twenty acres, where a full-blown get-together is in full swing because his barn is lit up in white lights with a country song blaring from it.

I notice a lot of the people present. I went to school with almost all of them. And, I’m not going to lie, it’s refreshing not to have a bunch of middle-aged women wanting to corner me to get answers about Layla Jean and me.

“Beers are in every cooler,” Tucker tells me. “There’s food. Just enjoy, man. It’s nice to see you.”

He begins to walk away, but I grab him by his shirt. “Did Cruz Weston leave town today?”

“This mornin’, I hear. You gonna have a problem?”

“Threatened my agent about revealin’ my marriage to Layla Jean to the public. I’m trying to prevent that from happenin’.”

“If that does happen, we have ways to keep the press out.”

I lift a brow. “How?”

“Well, we have our own celebrity in town who loves baseball and has a knack for annoying folks.” I make a face because I have no idea who he’s talking about. “Micah Wolfe.”

“Micah?”

Micah.

Micah.

Micah.

My head flies forward as a hand cracks along the back of it, and I immediately glance over my shoulder to see who the fuck just did that.

And it resonates.

Micah Wolfe.

He’s gotten me out of so many jams in this town as a kid; I don’t know if I should be slightly frightened that he remembers me or relieved that he has power in this town.

“Was hopin’ I was gonna see you tonight,” he hedges, holding a beer in his hand as he casually looks at me like he didn’t openly just hit me. “I need you to stop by the Marshhogs and motivate my kids.”

Kids?

But, instead, I blurt out while my palm runs along the spot he plummeted, “What the fuck is a marshhog?”

“My little league team.” He extends a hand. “It’s good to see you, Kerrigan.”

Reluctantly, I take his hand and shake it because the smack to the head jostled some annoyance and, fuck me, decorum. “Still doesn’t answer the question.”

He shrugs dismissively. “I dunno, town voted. That’s what it is.”

Okay…

“Kerrigan over here might be runnin’ into a media frenzy,” Tucker informs him without hesitation. “Personally, I don’t want a bunch of city assholes here, so ideas?”

“I’m sure I can come up with a few.” Micah looks back at me. “When?”

“Not sure. Waitin’ to see if Cruz decides to fuck around and find out.”

He lets out an exaggerated scoff. “Why didn’t you go for the legs? Breakin’ his arm means he can still walk around.”

“Was in the moment,” I deadpan.