Tumble (Dogwood Lane 1)

She heads into the locker room, leaving Dane and me alone. He jabs a hand in his pocket and starts to turn away.

“Dane—” I call but am interrupted by Keyarah.

“Madison and I are staying all night with you soon,” Keyarah calls from the doorway of the locker room. “And we’re kicking your butt in rummy.”

“You two cheat,” he tells her, making her laugh as he heads toward the door.

“And we’re ordering pizza because you burn it.”

“Once. I burned it once. You have no forgiveness.”

“Nope.” She laughs, skipping back into the locker room.

Mia emerges and hands her bag to her father. She looks at him adoringly before turning to me. “Bye, Miss Neely.”

“Bye, Mia.” I give her my best smile before looking at Dane. I open my mouth to say goodbye, to smile, to do something, but am stopped by the apathetic look he gives me in return.

The door opens, a stream of sunlight coming inside that does nothing to warm my chilled heart.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

DANE

Two plates. Two forks. Two glasses. One frying pan and a cereal bowl from breakfast are freshly washed and drying on a towel beside the sink. Scent from the lavender dish soap that Mia picked out because she liked the color wafts through the kitchen.

The pipes in the ceiling squeal, and the distant sound of the music Mia plays while she showers goes quiet. Her footsteps patter overhead, and it’s just a few moments before I hear her run down the hallway and the door to her room slam shut.

I shake my head. She’s been scared of that hallway her entire life. Only in the last six months or so has she managed to get out of the shower and get to her room without yelling at me to come upstairs. Why I always listen in hopes she’ll call for me is anyone’s guess.

Drying my hands and throwing the towel on the counter, I make my way through the kitchen and living room. I stop and pick up Mia’s gym bag and hang it on the hook I put up for her near the door.

Flipping off the television and turning on a lamp by the sofa, I pause.

Artwork courtesy of my daughter hangs off an old board I fashioned with a few metal clips over the sofa. Pictures of her with her friends from Aerial’s, and a few with me, are framed along the fireplace in the corner. She picked out the blue rug in front of the television—insisting it was perfect for relaxing and that she now needed only a puppy—and the various throw pillows that I’d never choose. But they make her happy. That’s all that matters.

“Dad! Come tuck me in!”

“Coming,” I call back. Taking the steps two at a time, I hit the landing. Passing the bathroom and the spare room across from it, I get to the door with the purple star cutout hung a little crooked. It opens with a gentle push.

She’s curled on her side, her wet hair all over her polka-dot sheets. “Took you long enough,” she teases.

“Some of us have to do the dishes and pick up gym bags.” I give her a look as I sit on the edge of her bed. “Any reason why it missed the hook?”

“I’m lazy?” she offers.

“I think so.” I laugh before kissing her on the forehead. “Sounds like you had a good practice tonight.”

She rattles on about her back tuck, and I do my best to feign interest. As she goes into the mechanics of the trick, my mind wanders. But instead of going through a mental list of lumber needed in the morning or wondering if Penn put the saws up before he left today, my thoughts go straight to Neely.

The look on her face tonight is seared in my brain. But then again, so are the words she spat at me last night.

“I really like her, Dad.”

Coming out of my reverie, I peer down at my girl. “Who?”

“Miss Neely. I really like her.” She snuggles into her bedding. “She makes things seem so easy.”

You’re telling me.

“She was always really smart,” I offer, figuring that’s fair enough.

“You know her?” She pulls the blankets from her face. “You know Miss Neely?”

“Yeah, I know Miss Neely. We grew up together. She was in Uncle Matt’s class.” Rubbing the back of my neck, I laugh. “Why are you looking at me like I said I knew a rock star?”

“Did you know she was a college champion?”

“Yes. And she had many state titles before that. She also won the Spell Bowl in eighth grade and was on the Academic Bowl team in high school. Two or three years, I think.”

She gasps. “How did I not know you knew her?”

“I know a lot of people you don’t know I know.” I wait for a response but am met with only a slack jaw. “What? Am I supposed to give you a list of all the people I’ve ever known?”