Swing and a Mishap (Summersweet Island 2)

“Franklin’s backdoor slider breaks over the plate, and that’s a swing and a miss for Nick DeVera,” the announcer states.

“Son of a bitch… you had one job to do.” Wren sighs, making me chuckle softly to myself in spite of my hard cock I have nothing to shield with.

“Yeah, Nick really does like the high ones. No clue why the league pays that clown so much.”

My hands are shaking inside my pocket as Wren’s body slowly turns around to face me when she hears my voice. My last name across her shoulders disappears from sight until her gorgeous blue eyes are wide and locked onto mine. Not 3,000 miles away from a photo on a screen, but three feet and close enough to touch.

Mine.

It’s the only word flashing over and over in my head as I drink in the sight of the woman in front of me whose mouth drops open in shock, and a small gasp comes out of her before the giant drum of ice cream drops from her arms. It lands with a thunk right at her feet, but she pays no attention to it as she stands here in front of me, not saying a word, just rapidly blinking like she can’t believe I’m here.

I can’t believe it either. But I am here, and I’m not going anywhere. It’s time for me to finally do something about it, and hell no, no one will stop me!

Right when I open my mouth to rain sunshine, rainbows, and unicorns down upon Wren, her mouth quickly snaps shut, her wide, shocked eyes narrow on me with fire in them, and her arms that hung limply down at her sides after she dropped the ice cream cross aggressively in front of her as one of her white Converse starts tapping against the tile.

“Well, look who the cat dragged in,” Wren finally addresses me, definitely not using that sweet, delicate voice. It’s sarcastic and filled with an edge that quite frankly scares me a little, considering there are sharp objects within reach.

I take a subconscious step backward even though five seconds ago I could barely stop myself from launching at her and pinning her up against the freezer.

“This is just great. Perfect! Shepherd Oliver, another pile of human garbage I have to deal with.” Wren sighs in annoyance.

Okay, so maybe one person is going to stop me.

Well, fuck.CHAPTER 4Wren

“We are having major league fun!”“Measure me.”

My body jolts, and I look up from the empty wine glass in my hand and the bottle of wine with the cork still firmly in place sitting on the white marble top of my small breakfast bar counter that juts out from the main counter against the wall. The sound of my son’s voice makes me realize I didn’t even hear the front door slam shut when he got home just now. Glancing at the clock above my kitchen sink, I realize I’ve been standing here just like this, staring at nothing and not pouring the drink I so desperately needed since I got home from work, for the last fifteen minutes.

Who am I kidding? I needed a drink a half hour ago when I heard that voice while I was grabbing more vanilla to put in the front cooler and knew it wasn’t coming from the TV.

“Awww, I missed you too, and I had a great evening. Thanks for asking.” I smirk at my son, setting the wine glass down, since my brain has currently forgotten what I’m supposed to do with it. I need to act as normal as possible in front of my kid, even though I want to scream at the top of my lungs right now.

He’s here… on the island. Why in the hell is he here?

Owen, who is in no way ever phased by my sarcasm, cocks his head at me, a wavy brown lock of hair falling down into one eye, the same pale shade of blue as my own, when I embellish a little on that last part, since there was nothing great about the end of my night at all.

I can’t believe he’s really here.

“Yeah, yeah, I missed you, even though I just saw you at practice a few hours ago when you dropped off snacks.” Owen waves me away with his hand, the deep timbre of his voice still shocking to my ears. One day, I had a boy with the pitch of a toddler when he bid me goodnight, and I woke up the next morning to a man telling me we were out of milk and he couldn’t find any clean socks.

Like most nights I work, my sister, my mom, or Murphy will grab Owen after baseball practice and let him hang out at their house until I get off. He’s almost fifteen and can absolutely stay home alone whenever he wants, but my son prefers being spoiled rotten at someone else’s place. And at least when he’s with one of them, they can make sure he does his homework and eats something that isn’t from the Hot Pocket or Ramen family. Sometimes they’ll drop him off when I get home, and other times Owen will just walk, depending whose cottage he’s at and who lives closer. Aunt Birdie’s cottage is usually a walking night, since it’s the next street over and he can cut through yards.