Intercepted (New Hope #1)

CHAPTER TEN

"You're this upset over broccoli?" I lean forward, grab one of the now cold veggies from his plate, and pop it into my mouth. "Here, I'll help."

Blake sighs, pushing the plate closer to me. "I miss my dad."

"Ah, fuck," I whisper.

Blake doesn't even hound me for a dollar, which means he really is upset. David died when his son was two. I don't know how much of an affect that has on a kid so young.

I cross my arms on top of the island, balancing myself. "Do you remember him?"

He glares at me. "No, but that doesn't mean I'm not allowed to miss him."

Touché. I try a different tactic.

"You know, your dad and I were best friends in high school."

Blake's frown vanishes as his mouth pops open, astonished.

"It's true," I insist, grabbing another piece of broccoli. He does the same, chewing with renewed fervor. "We had a falling out when he... doesn't matter. We stopped being friends, but I missed him. I still do sometimes. He was a great guy."

He licks his lips, shifting eagerly in his seat. "Do you have any stories I haven't heard?"

None that are worth repeating to a seven-year-old.

"Hmm." I rack my brain, trying to come up with a tale that doesn't involve drinking at the oil fields or winning a game. "Okay, I got one."

Blake sets his chin in his hands, blue eyes glittering as he listens.

"Your dad and I were driving home from practice one night. It was during hell week, so we were exhausted. We grabbed a pizza from Fabrizio's, and I was backing my crappy pickup truck out of the parking lot when I ran into a dumpster."

I pause, remembering the look on David's face when the fiberglass cracked.

"The bumper was caved in, and the paintjob was horrific. I started panicking. You see, my grandpa drank way too much. He was a real piece of work, old Mr. Reeves. Used any excuse to give me a black eye."

I hold my fist in the air, and Blake zeroes in on it, concern lining his brow.

"Anyway, your dad told my grandpa that he was the one driving. He took the blame. Not only that, he started a fundraiser at Pemberton. He raised enough money to pay for the damages. He saved me from a beating."

Blake nods, a smile tugging at his lips. "My dad saved a lot of people."

He's talking about his father's profession as a police officer, but David's kindness extended farther than that. I'd been harboring resentment for so long, I'd nearly forgotten just how good of a person my best friend was. He didn't deserve to bleed out on the floor of a seedy gas station. He was shot for what amounted to $225 and a pack of cigs, which were the only things the perpetrator had on him when he was caught two hours later. David had just clocked out. He was on his way back to New Hope. He was on his way home.

He didn't abandon his kid. Not like me. Mallory may've told me to go to college, but it was my decision to stay as far away from her and the kids as possible. It hurt too much to see her with David, and I was too big of a coward to push my luck after his death. David is a better man than I will ever be.

Blake chews on his broccoli, contemplative. He opens his mouth to say something, then freezes.

"D-D-Dais," he stutters, the blood draining from his face.

Adrenaline pours into my nervous system, my heart jackhammering in my chest. "You okay, kid?"

Blake's hands rise to his throat, his mouth wide open to reveal miniscule green leaves from the broccoli on his tongue. Oh shit, he's choking. I scramble around the island, dragging him off the bar stool.

"Okay, okay," I mutter, reassuring myself. "It's all good. Everything's cool."

I speak incoherently, bending forward to place my fist at the bottom of Blake's sternum. I take a deep breath and lift him into the air, squeezing his tiny body between my balled hands and chest. He wheezes, but the broccoli is still lodged, blocking a majority of his windpipe.

"Fuck!" I roar, setting him on his feet.

Without thinking, I turn him toward me, pull back my arm, and punch him in the stomach. The soggy vegetable flies from his mouth, hitting me square in the cheek. It bounces onto the floor, where we both stare at it, our lungs heaving. 

"You saved me!" Blake pants, rubbing his throat. He dabs at the tears in his eyes, looking at me like I'm the son of God.

I place my hand on his shoulder, my legs weak at the thought of what could've happened if I didn't clear his trachea. "Did you think I'd let you die?"

Blake shakes his head. "Daisies."

"Huh?"

"Mom's favorite flower," Blake explains, wiping the snot from under his nose. "She likes daisies."

Just then, Aidan walks into the kitchen, stopping when he sees the look of terror on my face. He raises his brows, waiting for an explanation.

"From now on, this kid doesn't have to finish his broccoli," I state, raking a trembling hand through my hair, my adrenaline ebbing. "New house rule."

Aidan stares at the half-chewed spear of broccoli on the floor. "You'll have to tell Momma tomorrow."

"Why?" I ask, looking around the kitchen. "Where is she?"

Blake picks up the vegetable, placing it on his abandoned plate. "It's November nineteenth."

"And?"

Aidan leans against the counter, crossing his arms. "Five years ago today, David was shot. Momma spends the night at her studio."

Shit. How could I forget? David's father was the one who called me. I'd been in the middle of postgame interviews but paused when I saw his name light up my screen. Immediately, I knew something bad had happened. I rang Mallory at least a dozen times, but she never answered.

That's why she's been in a mood today. It has nothing to do with me. She's grieving her husband. But why would she isolate herself from family on a day like this?

"What's at the studio?" I ask, grabbing my car keys from the bowl on the island.

"Don't know." Aidan shrugs. "She stays there all night, though. There's an apartment over the first floor."

I pause. "Can you watch your brother?"

Aidan slaps Blake on the back, smirking. "Grace and I have been taking care of Blake on this night for the last three years."

"Cool, cool," I mutter, tapping my pockets to make sure I have everything.

I don't know what kind of emotional turmoil I'll be walking into. I'm expecting Mallory to be drunk or weeping—perhaps both—having harbored her sorrow only to expel it once a year in the privacy of her dance studio. David wouldn't want her to be alone. I don't want her to be alone.

"And, Dad?"

I turn around, still catching my breath from Blake's choking fit. "Yeah?"

Aidan smiles softly, a look of acceptance shining in his brown eyes. "Wild daisies grow in the backyard."