When he returns, he closes the door quietly, and slips into my bed, tugging me into himself. He lets out a sigh. “Clara June,” he says, his voice a ripple in the quiet night. “I’m not going anywhere, not unless you ask me to go. Okay? I’m here for you, I’m here for those boys, indefinitely. I’m falling for you, and them, and I am not the kind of man who turns his back on the people he loves. Not ever.”
Dean kisses my head, and we fall asleep, and morning comes seemingly in an instant.
Archie bursts in, climbing on top of Dean, taking his face in his palms.
“Coach Dean, hey, are you still sleepin’ Coach Dean?” he whispers, his little lips way too close to Dean’s face.
“Archie–” I start, but Dean yawns, wrapping his arms around Archie in a long morning hug. Archie hugs him back.
“I’m up. What’s going on Arch? You sleep good last night?”
Archie nods. “Our tree has a new peach but I can’t reach it and Rawley’s gruntin’ in his room and Tanner’s a grouch.” He licks his lips, likely already dreaming of the juicy peach he’s going to eat. “I need your help.”
Dean nods, turns and kisses me, and gets out of bed. “Let’s go get our peach.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
DEAN
It’sa normal Tuesday when Atticus Winters calls me in the middle of 3rd period freshman history. He doesn’t ever call me, because he and I are not phone call friends. We’respend three hours catching up in the middle of the grocery store aisle when we randomly spot one another after several years of no contacttype of guys.
That’s exactly why I tell my class to give me a moment, and step outside to answer.
“Yo, Deano,” Atticus greets, the noisy shop clunking and clanging in the background.
“Hey, Atti, what’s up?” A student walks by and I tip my phone to my chest, covering the receiver. “You got a hall pass?”
He lifts a tiny laminated hall pass from beneath his sweatshirt and I give him the nod.
“Listen, one of the kids that got accepted into the apprenticeship program… he called me the other day, said he wanted to update his original application. I told him he’s in and doesn’t need to, but he insisted. Said he wanted to change his primary contact and emergency contact.”
I scratch the back of my head, and at the same time, a breeze sweeps the corridor, the two forces knocking my hat off. I chase it, and snatch it up, my eyes catching on black marker beneath the band. I tug it down and find MAMA + DEAN scribbled inside, and when the band is flipped the right way, it’s unnoticeable. And based on the writing, I’d say Archie wrote that.
There’s a lump in my throat. “Sorry, my hat flew off,” I tell Atti, still staring at the marker, my eyes blurring with heat. “Go on about the contact change.”
“Rawley Colt,” Atticus says. “You know him?”
I haven’t put my hat back on when I reply. “My girlfriend’s oldest son. He’s a good kid. Reminds me of you a little, to be honest.”
“Heartwarming,” Atti deadpans, not because he’s a jerk but because he’s Atti and that’s how he rolls. “Anyway, he called and took some woman named Jackie off, and swapped it for your old lady. Clara June’s her name?”
“Yeah,” I confirm. Clara June told me about this, howRawley was afraid of her reaction, so he’d put her best friend’s name down as a contact, and how he’d fully intended on telling her before anything happened… but he didn’t get around to it. “That’s her. And yeah, she’s the right contact.”
Atticus grunts. “I’d assume so. The kid listed you as an emergency contact. You cool with that?”
I know when Rawley filled out that form, he didn’t have monumental emotional strides in mind when putting me down as his emergency contact. Hell, it probably just made sense. If someone can’t get a hold of my mom, call her boyfriend.
Simple. Not deep. No big emotional moves. Just a kid putting a guy down in case his fingers get eaten by a motor or something.
Still. Being loved and respected by a kid is something I experience in my job all the time. It’s special. It means a lot to me. It especially means a lot when it comes from the Colt boys.
“You there?” Atticus barks.
“Yeah,” I say, still staring at the ink in my hat, thinking about the way Clara June’s boys have accepted me and shown me just how much they love their mom—by welcoming who she cares about with open arms. It’s mature, and more than I can say for a lot of teens I know. “And yeah, that’s fine. Of course that’s fine.”
Atticus makes a noise. “Don’t get choked up over an emergency contact, man.”
