Chapter Five

Cole stared as the words that had spilled from his mouth hung suspended between them. It was almost comical how round Jane’s eyes went in her face. Bloody hell. Where the fuck had that come from?

“What?” she asked with an incredulous kind of half laugh.

Maybe it was the note of disbelief in that laugh, but the idea was firming up into a certainty in Cole’s head. “Sure. Why not?” All he was doing was sitting on his arse, contemplating his navel, and feeling sorry for himself. Maybe if he was fully occupied, he wouldn’t have time to dwell on the fact he wasn’t ever going to be part of a team again. “I watched him all afternoon, and, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly busy.”

“But…” She was staring at him now like he’d grown a horn on his head. “That was an afternoon. Not however long it might be till Tad gets his ass back here, which, knowing him, could be a couple of weeks.”

“I don’t have anywhere to be.” He was in the running for a TV commentary job - following in the footsteps of many a pro-baller after their career had tanked – but he’d not heard anything yet, despite checking in regularly with his agent.

She shook her head. “What in the hell do you know about looking after a four-year-old?”

“Well…I don’t have a degree in childcare or anything, but I’m pretty sure I can figure out how to keep him fed, happy, and alive until the end of the day.”

She gave a brief snort. And then, just because the universe liked to tempt him, she said around the lip of her bottle, “That’s comforting.”

Ignoring that particularly weird form of temptation, Cole plunged on. “All I’m saying is Finn and I can hang out together during the day. That should free you up to do your work and get the job completed on time without having to work all hours of the night.”

It really bugged Cole that Jane was working her arse off every night hunched over floor tiles so she could give Finn all her time during the day and still get the job done. She was a single mother with a small child—surely she was exhausted enough? His mother had been constantly tired from his boundless energy and no one with whom to share the load.

“So…what? You’re going to watch copious amounts of sports, drink beer, and hop him up on juice and Pop-Tarts?”

“Of course not.” Not all the time, anyway.

“Kids need to be active, Cole.” Her lips formed a disapproving little moue again. “Especially someone like Finn. He needs exercise. He needs to be stimulated.”

“Of course.” He nodded enthusiastically. “Exercise, check. Stimulated, check.”

“How do you plan on doing that?”

“We’ll go on walks every day. I need to do that for my hip, anyway.” She glanced at his hip, and Cole swore he could feel a surge of warmth to the damaged joint, easing the almost-constant ache. “We can go to the park,” he continued. “And we’ll take his bug catcher and catch crickets for Carl. And I think there’s a library somewhere, too.”

“Uh-huh.” She folded her arms, her beer bottle clasped firmly in one hand. “And how do you walk with a child?”

Cole frowned. Was this some kind of trick question? “One foot…in front of…the other?”

She gave an annoyed little shake of her head, her ponytail swishing against her nape. He wondered what she’d do if he leaned in and pressed a kiss right there, but then he realized she was talking and he’d better not miss a word. She was all schoolmistress again, and he already knew she didn’t suffer fools gladly.

“You walk on the outside so you’re closest to the traffic.”

Okay, that made sense. “Fine, I’ll walk on the outside.”

“And he needs to hold your hand. He won’t want you to, because he’ll insist he’s a big boy, but he has more energy than sense sometimes and forgets frequently that he has to stay close, because he has the memory of a goldfish, and he’ll just take off on you without giving any thought to the consequences.”

“I’ll hold his hand.”

“And don’t let him lick the paint on the fence railings.”

Cole blinked. “He licks paint?” What the fuck? “Why does he lick paint?”

“I don’t know.” She bugged her eyes at him. “He’s a boy; you tell me. Because it’s there?” She sighed. “I think because so much of it is peeling off everywhere and it looks like snowflakes.”

“Okay.” Cole held up his hands in surrender. “I’ll keep him away from the railings.”

“I know that makes me sound like some pathetic helicopter mom, but I have no idea how old it is.” Her voice softened, and her cheeks looked a little pink as she justified her strange request. “There could be lead in it.”

“Okay, okay.” He nodded. That made sense. “No paint licking. I promise.”

She also nodded, her arms dropping out of their fold as she took another mouthful of her drink. “And what else would you do?” she prompted as she rested the beer against her knee. “How does a thirty-two-year old ex–rugby professional with no children keep a four-year-old entertained without the use of television and junk food?”

Cole probably shouldn’t be flattered that she knew stuff about him he hadn’t divulged, but he was. He sat back a little, smiling at her. “You googled me?”

“You’re living under the same roof as my son. Of course I googled you.”

If that was meant to deflate his ego, it didn’t. She’d googled him. He grinned bigger, and she rolled her eyes. “Well?” she prompted.

Oh yes…entertainment. Stimulation. “I don’t know. But I have the whole damn internet in my pocket.” He pulled out his phone and waved it around a bit. “I’m sure I’ll figure it out.” She regarded his phone disparagingly. “Look, Jane… I’m just trying to help here.”

“Why? Why would you offer to do this? We’ve known each other for less than a week, and you’re volunteering to be the manny.”

Manny? He grimaced at the term—they’d have to work on a new word for it, but that was secondary right now. “Because…Finn’s a good kid, and I’m not doing anything, and because…my mum did everything solo, too, and she’d have killed for a bit of help.”

“Your parents were divorced?”

“Officially, no. My dad was around. Every now and then. But not particularly helpful when he did deign to grace us with his presence. So I…understand a little of what you’re going through, that’s all.”

She regarded him for long moments. “Well…thank you. But still…looking after someone else’s kid is a big ask. I have friends I wouldn’t ask. I couldn’t ask it of you.”

“You didn’t ask. I offered.”

“Cole.” She sighed, exasperation in her voice, but also, if he wasn’t very much mistaken, a tiny note of possibility. A whiff of temptation.

Jumping on the slight weakening he’d detected, Cole put forward a compromise. “Okay, how about this? A trial.”

He had no idea why he was trying so damn hard to convince this woman he could do this, but it was suddenly imperative he did. And not just for her. Maybe having to look after someone else’s needs all day would take his mind off his own sorry state.

“Give me a day to prove I can do it. See how I do tomorrow, and then we can reassess tomorrow night. Hell, we can have an ongoing review process, if you like. This time every night, out here on the stairs, over a beer.” He angled his beer bottle in her direction. “What do you say?”

She searched his face earnestly for long moments. “Are you sure?”

There was definite weakening now. “Positive.” He nudged his bottle closer. “What do you say? Cheers to a regular review process?”

Cole saw the exact moment she let all her objections slide away. Her shoulders relaxed, her face smoothed out, and a slight smile touched her mouth, making her lips even harder to ignore. She angled her beer towards him and clinked the neck of her bottle against the neck of his. “Cheers to a trial. And a regular review process.”

He laughed. Even in her capitulation, she wanted to wear the pants. Not an image he needed right now. “Yes, ma’am.”

It was fascinating to watch the way her eyes went all round as he ma’amed her, and he smiled a little as she looked away awkwardly, turning her gaze to the ever-darkening yard as she took a deep swallow of her beer. It took several beats before she glanced at him again, her expression perfectly neutral.

“Thank you. I really—”

Swooping in quickly, Cole kissed her, cutting off that A-word he knew was coming before it even got off the starting block. It hadn’t been his most well-thought-through plan, but he couldn’t bear hearing how much she appreciated him again.

Sure, he’d been thinking about kissing her a lot lately. But not like this. Not as a…deterrent. Although the slight, garbled “Oh” sound she’d made when their lips met stirred his blood.

Neither of them moved. Not their mouths or anything else, for that matter. They just stayed like that, two humans joined at the lips while insects trilled and Betty barked somewhere over the fence and night fell. Her lips were cool, and she tasted like beer, and, for someone who was so still he was barely breathing, Cole’s heart cartwheeled behind his ribcage.

Stop kissing her. Stop kissing her. Stop kissing her, dickhead.

Finally, the frantic signals from his brain made their way to his muscles, and Cole reluctantly dragged himself out of the kiss, pulling back to his side of the divide, wondering for a confused second why their lips were still joined, only to realize she was following his retreat with her own advance, clearly reluctant to let his mouth go.

And that stirred his dick.

She, too, broke away, however, and then they were staring at each other, close enough to go back for more but neither making a move as they breathed heavily into the night air. If anything, Cole’s pulse had become louder.

“What was that for?” she asked, straightening up, increasing the distance between them.

Cole almost laughed at the slight tone of accusation in her voice. She was the one who’d chased his mouth across the space between them, apparently reluctant to stop. “I couldn’t stand to hear you say the word appreciate one more time.”

“How did you know I was going to say that?”

Cole quirked his eyebrow. “I’m developing a bit of ESP where you’re concerned.”

He braced himself for her to deny it, but she didn’t. Maybe she knew the sudden bloom of color on her cheeks had given her away. “So you…kissed me?”

“Yeah…I’m sorry about that.” He looked away, staring blindly into the darkening recesses beneath the oak tree as he shoved a hand through his hair. “It was the fastest thing I could think of to stop you.”

Probably because kissing her had been on his mind waaaay too much.

She didn’t look like she believed him, but she obviously decided not to take a deep dive into his motivations. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I know.” Not least because now he wanted to do it again. He’d gotten the tiniest taste, and already he wanted more. Who needed Vicodin when there was kissing?

“Don’t do it again.”

Cole nodded. “I won’t.” Even if it killed him, he wouldn’t. There was no chance of this being a thing. That wouldn’t necessarily bother him when kissing a woman. He’d kissed a lot of women where being a thing wasn’t on either party’s agenda. But he already knew this woman was different. He could still hear that little oh whispering in his blood.

So, absolutely no kissing allowed.

“I’ve got to get back to work,” she announced before draining her beer in a couple of long swallows and standing. Cole stayed where he was wondering, if someone handed him a rewind device right now, if he’d go back and undo that moment.

Not kiss Jane.

He wasn’t entirely sure he would. Hell, he’d apologized only moments ago, and he wasn’t entirely sure he was sorry. She started down the stairs, and Cole frowned. The red sitting room was behind them. “Where are you going?”

“Just grabbing the kitchen stuff off the grass.”

“I can get it.”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “I’m up, and it’s dark out there.” Her gaze swept over his hip and rested briefly on his cane propped on the steps beside him before she returned her gaze to his face. She shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

A sudden spike of irritation at both his limitations and her judgment of them had him growling. He could pick up some damn things off the grass. “I said leave it.”

“I don’t m—”

“I’ll get it.” He had a limp. He wasn’t blind.

She looked like she was going to argue but stopped herself at the last second. “Fine.”

Turning around, she headed up the stairs to the house. Her foot paused on the second-to-last step, and she opened her mouth as she glanced down at him. Cole had a bad feeling she was about to tell him to be careful, but his face must’ve looked even more darkly forbidding than it felt, and her mouth closed as she continued on her way, giving him a wide berth.

“See you in the morning,” she said instead.

And then she was gone, leaving nothing but the lingering scent of her in the night air and the taste of her on his tongue.

Morning? Yeah, right.

Cole had no doubt he’d be seeing her before then, because, for damn sure, Jane Spencer and that kiss and the little oh and the way she’d followed his retreat—chased his mouth for more—were going to star in his dreams tonight.

…

Jane worked until ten, when she could barely keep her eyes open any longer.

Up until now, she’d have just pushed through, but the prospect of having all day tomorrow to work on the floor was a tantalizing one, and she called it quits. Hell, she was so tired she didn’t even have a shower, just stripped down to her underwear, pulled on her tank top, and collapsed on the bed to the sound of Finn’s snoring. Then proceeded to lay awake for the next two hours thinking about Cole. Thinking about his offer to mind Finn. Thinking about his determination to prove he was capable.

Thinking about…that kiss.

She squeezed her eyes shut as it played in her mind over and over again. As the way she’d chased his lips, clinging to them even as he’d tried to withdraw, played over and over in her head. God…what had she been thinking?

Of course, the answer to that was she hadn’t been thinking. She’d only been feeling. A lot. Everywhere. The first thing had been shock. The kiss had come out of the blue, and she’d been too stunned to move or react. To push him away or to pull back. She’d just…frozen as the warm, male aroma of him had filled her nostrils and brushed against her skin.

Her nipples had gone hard. She remembered that. Remembered the tight pucker of them and how they’d scraped against the fabric of her bra in the most wonderful friction. It had felt…delicious. And then her synapses had started to function as sensation spread farther and farther, like ripples in a pond, and a heady rush of pure sexual delight swamped her body.

It had been a long time since she’d been kissed. There had been no time or inclination since Tad had walked away. A single mother building her own business had more pressing things to prioritize. And honestly? She hadn’t missed it.

Not kissing or sex or intimacy. Not even male company. Someone to wake her at five in the morning with an urgent swelling problem, someone to deliberately leer at her as she was getting dressed, someone to send her completely inappropriate NSFW texts about what he wanted to do with her when they were alone.

The truth was she’d been far too tired for sexual acrobatics.

And then Cole Hauser had kissed her, and she’d felt so very not tired. She’d felt very, very awake. Her head had been screaming at her to push him away, slap his face, show him how dangerous a pair of needle-nose pliers could be to his jugular, but there’d been a cataclysmic brain/body disconnect.

Her body had been on a roller coaster. Her heart had somersaulted, and her stomach had looped the loop, and she hadn’t wanted to stop and get off. And when he’d started to withdraw, she’d clung to him as long as she could because she was more alive than she’d been in such a long, long time. Hell, had she ever been this alive?

But, damn it, she’d had to stop. They didn’t know each other. Cole was a guest in this house and this town, as was she. And in a few weeks, she’d be back in California, and he’d be in Australia, or god knew where, and her life and her business and family were all here, and single mothers didn’t get the luxury of casual relationships.

Christ, daydreaming about a kiss that hadn’t been much more than a peck on the mouth was ludicrous. She’d be carving their initials into a tree next. Or pulling petals off flowers, muttering, he loves me, he loves me not.

Grabbing the spare pillow, Jane stuffed it over her face and let out a long, silent scream. It didn’t help. Removing the pillow, she sucked in deep, calming breaths and ordered herself to go to sleep.

Get your shit together, Jane Spencer.

Do not think about Cole. Do not wonder how well the man could French kiss. Do not collect two hundred dollars.

Do not fantasize about what he might look like naked.

Of course, she’d already seen him mostly naked, so she had a pretty good idea—big and beefy, nicely furred chest, solid arms and legs and puckered abs. But none of those bits were as fascinating as what lay hidden behind his black boxer briefs, and, in her head, she pulled on the waistband and took a peek.

A sudden snore from Finn yanked her out of his underwear. Jeez Louise, she was a mother whose kid was lying eight feet away. It was not appropriate to be thinking about dicks. No matter how long it’d been since she’d seen one, touched one, done unspeakable things to one. Or hell, thought about one.

What Cole may or may not look like fully naked was both none of her business and completely irrelevant. The guy was going to be taking care of her son. It was not appropriate to be lusting after the manny.

Jane squeezed her eyes and repeated it over and over and over until she finally—freaking finally—fell asleep.

…

It took Cole less than an hour to suggest a walk to the park the next morning. Thankfully, it was a plan roundly approved of by Finn, because they had to leave. Jane was hovering, and Cole knew if they didn’t get out of the house she’d probably keep hovering and get little work done. As it was, they hadn’t been able to leave without Jane going all mommy on them.

Before he could blink, there was a loaded backpack for Finn full of water and snacks, and she’d crammed his hat on his head and slathered him head to toe in sunscreen despite his protestations. Cole had been very much afraid she’d start slathering him with sunscreen if they didn’t move out pronto, and he didn’t need her hands on his body, even brisk and efficient, as they’d been with Finn.

It took Cole less than two minutes into their walk to realize Jane had not been exaggerating about Finn’s energy levels. The kid was like a wind-up toy with a broken winder preventing him from the bit where he wound down and eventually stopped. He was fully charged and raring to go from the second Cole had appeared at seven-thirty.

Cole had given up on holding the boy’s hand after about ten seconds into their sojourn to the park. Firstly, because, thanks to needing his left hand for his walking stick, holding Finn’s hand put the kid on the road side of the pavement. Secondly, because he was also trying to juggle a football he’d found lying around the house. And thirdly, because of Finn’s impassioned insistence he was a big boy—just as Jane had predicted.

But the kid had given a solemn promise not to race ahead and always stick to the house side of the pavement, and Cole had caved. He hadn’t wanted to break Jane’s rules right from the getgo, but as with everything since his injury, he was learning to adapt to compensate for his temporary shortcomings. Not to mention him vividly remembering how chafing it had been to be constantly told to slow down and wait up.

Like Finn, Cole had always run at things like a bull at a gate.

Finn chatted away, his bug catcher clasped in one hand, as they walked, rarely stopping to draw breath. Questions about the trees and the sky and the cracks in the pavement. Observations about the wind and the number of red cars, which had lead to a monologue on Finn’s favorite colors and why. All of which was fine by Cole. Finn’s chatter required attention and answers and was, at least, some kind of distraction from thinking about his mother and last night’s kiss.

Cole had no idea why something so chaste was so damn fascinating. He’d certainly had hotter kisses in his life. Kisses that had grabbed him by the balls. But this one—that cool, passive press of lips on lips—had grabbed him by the throat and had lived on a loop in his head all night.

That little exclamation of surprise. The taste of beer. Her unwillingness to cede… Christ, that reluctance had been pretty fucking hot.

And seriously distracting. Out-distracting Finn’s chatter, which had apparently stopped. Registering this abruptly, Cole looked down to find that little blond head that had been bobbing along beside him was not beside him at all.

Cole’s blood pressure spiked, and for one terrible moment he thought he was going to have a stroke as panic descended. Then common sense kicked in, and Cole looked over his shoulder to find Finn had stopped a few feet behind and was, right this minute, about to do the one thing Jane had warned him about.

Lick paint.

Cole hadn’t taken that warning too seriously last night. Boys will be boys and all that, but paint wasn’t exactly the most pleasant thing a kid could put in his mouth, right? He doubted any kid could become addicted to it. But, as if in slow motion, Cole watched the tip of Finn’s tongue pushing closer and closer to a curved iron railing covered in peeling paint.

What the actual fuck?

“Finn!” Cole’s voice cracked through the warm summer air, startling the boy, who jerked back from the railing. Cole had probably said it harsher than he’d meant to, but seriously. It was paint, not cotton candy! “Sorry, mate, but don’t lick the paint, okay?” He softened his voice and smiled at the boy. “Your mother will have my guts for garters.”

Finn screwed up his nose, his fright at Cole’s raised voice obviously forgotten. “What’s guts for garters?” He said it slowly, like he was trying it on for size, relishing its newness.

Oh Jesus. He really had to remember Finn was a parrot and be careful what he said around the boy. He should definitely keep some of those more colorful phrases rugby had taught him to himself. “It’s a saying. It means I’ll be in big trouble. So let’s not lick the paint, okay?”

Finn sighed heavily. “Why not?”

“Because your mum says so.”

“I like how it tickles my tongue.”

“There could be lead in the paint.” Cole wasn’t sure what Jane had told Finn about the paint—if she’d gone into her reasons for not ingesting the tickly flakes. But he figured the truth was always a good place to start. “Lead is bad for you.” He hoped that sounded sufficiently knowledgeable enough to scare a four-year-old into submission.

“But…lead is good. It’s in my pencils.”

Well, yeah. Cole could hardly fault the kid’s logic there, even though there actually wasn’t any lead in pencils. But he didn’t want to get hung up on a technicality and end up down some rabbit hole. He regarded Finn for a moment. The kid seemed genuinely puzzled at the thought. Cole wasn’t proficient in four-year-old-boy stuff, but he figured keeping it simple was best. Changing tack, he said, “Birds could have pooped on the railing.” Weren’t all kids fascinated with poop?

Finn’s face was a picture of disgust as realization dawned. “Eww,” he said as he pulled his shirt up and used it to scrub his tongue.

Cole laughed. He’d definitely hit the jackpot with that little factoid. Finn didn’t look like he’d go anywhere near a railing ever again. Score one for him. “C’mon.” He tipped his head in the direction they were heading. “Let’s catch some crickets for Carl.”

Possible tongue contamination with bird poop forgotten, Finn dropped his shirt, and they continued on. Crossing the road to the park was an unusual experience. Normally, if he wanted to cross a road, Cole would look to the left and right and just cross the damn road. Oftentimes not even at a designated crossing.

But today was different.

Today, he was in charge of a four-year-old kid who did not belong to him, and he felt the weight of responsibility and Jane’s expectations heavily on his shoulders. And the thought Finn might take it upon himself to just randomly bolt across the road brought him out in a cold sweat, so he insisted that Finn take his hand as they crossed at Credence’s only set of traffic lights.

They spent a good hour chasing around the park after grasshoppers and other live bugs Finn thought Carl might find desirable. The kid was in his element. Cole was obviously slower, but he could tell the exercise was good for his leg. It ached a little, but then, this was the first exercise he’d done in over a week, so that was to be expected.

After stopping under a shady tree for a bite to eat and a drink of water, they left the bug catcher and the backpack and kicked the ball around for another hour. It wasn’t a rugby ball, but there wasn’t that much difference between an American football and a rugby ball, and it wasn’t like Cole was kicking to his usual standard, anyway.

But Cole was enjoying himself too much to dwell on how far his game had deteriorated. Finn was impressed in the way only a small child could be every time Cole kicked the ball, no matter the comparatively paltry distance. He was just happy to chase after it and kick it back with all his four-year-old enthusiasm.

Frankly, being able to have a kick around with no pressure, with no cameras poking through fences, no one assessing his ability or fitness or judging him on his performance, was liberating. A professional athlete was always under scrutiny, an injured one even more so. Cole just hadn’t realized the kind of mental toll that had taken.

But playing with Finn was none of those things. It was just…fun. What Finn lacked in sporting finesse, he made up for in enthusiasm, and that was infectious. Watching a kid getting so much out of a simple game of kick made Cole happier than he’d been in a long time.

“You’re a natural.”

Cole turned to find the cop from the bar that first night approaching. And if he wasn’t mistaken, he could detect a slight limp. “I’ve been playing professionally for twelve years. I should be.”

Arlo tipped his chin at Finn, who was tearing after a ball Cole had just kicked. “I mean with the boy.”

Laughing, Cole wiped the sweat off his forehead with his forearm. “I don’t know about that. Kids and balls just go together, don’t they?”

“Yeah,” Arlo agreed.

“You ever play?” Cole asked.

“In high school. Wasn’t up to Wade’s standard, though.”

Cole laughed again. “Neither was I.” He’d enjoyed his time at the Broncos, and he’d learned a lot, but it hadn’t taken him long to figure out he was never going to make the cut for gridiron.

They watched as Finn raced up to them, sweaty and red-faced but with a grin a mile wide. “Hey, Officer Pike,” he said, pulling to a halt in front of them, puffing a little. “You want to kick the ball?”

“How about I throw it to you?” Arlo suggested. Finn nodded enthusiastically, and Arlo shooed him backwards. “Run back a bit, over near that tree.” The police officer pointed to a tree, and Finn ran his little legs off to get there, his hat, which was secured by an elastic strap under his chin, blowing off and hanging off the back of his neck.

“You ready?”

Finn, obviously well-trained in hat wearing, pulled it back on his head and yelled, “Throw it, throw it!” He shifted excitedly from foot to foot.

Arlo grinned, stepping back onto his left foot and launching the ball in the air to Finn, who kept his eye on it, his arms held far too wide to catch anything.

“You still got it, I see,” Cole murmured. The man hadn’t even tried, and it must be about fifty or sixty feet between here and the tree.

“Some things you don’t forget.”

“Yeah.” Cole nodded as he absently massaged his thigh.

Finn missed the ball that landed just in front of him and scrambled after it as it bounced away at an odd angle. “I read about your accident,” Arlo said, tipping his chin at the walking stick lying on the grass. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.” Cole was over being surprised at who knew what. Maybe he hadn’t expected someone from buttfuck nowhere on the other side of the planet to know, but a few strokes of the keyboard could give anyone information these days. He glanced at Arlo’s profile as the other man kept an eye on Finn. “I see you’ve also got a bit of a limp going on.”

“Yeah.” Arlo looked down at his leg. “I lost it in the line of duty.”

Cole blinked. Arlo had lost his leg? Here he was, indulging in his own pity party, when at least he still had a leg. Considering how close he’d come to losing it, he was extra thankful now for what he did have, despite the frustration of his limitations. “I’m sorry.”

The other man shrugged. “It was a long time ago now.”

“You have a prosthesis?”

He knocked on his thigh, which produced a dull thud. “Yep.”

Finn came puffing back with the ball, stopping a few feet from them. “Catch!” He tossed the ball wide of Arlo, who threw out his arm and deftly plucked it out of the air. Finn grinned and said, “Throw it again.”

“Okay.” Arlo smiled. “Back you go again.”

They watched as Finn started to run backward, and Cole felt a spike of alarm. “Turn around and look where you’re running,” he called.

“Okay,” Finn yelled as Arlo laughed.

It was no laughing matter. Cole could only imagine his performance review tonight if he returned Finn with even the slightest little scrape. He’d rather not face the wrath and fury of Jane Spencer. He’d prefer her approval, smiling at him around the lip of her bottle.

And besides, he really wanted to do this again tomorrow. It had been fun.

Arlo tossed the ball to Finn again, then turned to Cole. “You given any more thought to that rugby clinic I mentioned?”

Cole frowned. He hadn’t really thought Arlo was serious. “I hadn’t…no.”

“You should. As I said, you’re a natural with kids. There’ll only be a handful, anyway, and I can get you some volunteers, along with the moms and dads, who’ll also help. There’ll be plenty of hands. You can bring Finn, if it’s okay with his mom.”

His first instinct was to dismiss the invitation a second time, but suddenly Cole was seeing the advantages. He’d had a really good time out here kicking the ball around with Finn, it was clear Finn was enjoying himself enormously, and it was exercise.

Before he could change his mind, Cole nodded. “Okay, sure… Why not?”

Finn got his hands to the ball this time, and Arlo clapped and called, “Good job,” before returning his attention to Cole. “Yeah?”

Cole nodded. “Yeah.”

Arlo held out his hand and shook Cole’s enthusiastically. “Thank you. The kids around here are going to love it.”

“No worries.”

“It’ll take me a couple of days to organize. What do you say we do it this weekend?”

“Sure.” It wasn’t like his calendar was full.

“Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”

“Here you go,” Finn announced, squinting up at them, still puffing but obviously not ready to call it quits yet as he passed the ball to Arlo. “One more time?”

“Sorry, Finn.” He ruffled the boy’s sweaty hair before replacing his hat for him. “I’ve gotta go now.” He handed the ball to Cole. “But I’ll be seeing you around, okay?”

Finn nodded solemnly. “You got to catch bad guys now?”

Arlo laughed. “No bad guys in Credence, Finn.” Then he gave a half salute and sauntered away to his car parked near the curb, his limp only just discernible. Cole wondered how long it had taken Arlo to recover and rehabilitate from his injury and how anyone ever got over losing a limb.

“Can you teach me to kick like you do, Cole?”

Finn’s request pulled Cole back from things that swirled dark and dangerous inside his head. A place he’d lived a lot in those early days and weeks after the accident and one he wasn’t keen to revisit.

“Sure, mate.” He grinned and grabbed the ball off the kid. “Let’s start with a dropkick.”

Finn nodded, squinting up at Cole like he’d invented football, and for the first time in a long time, Cole felt ten feet tall and bulletproof.