“Time out,” Mom called, her hands resting on her knees and her body bent over, as if she was trying to catch her breath. I don’t know why—she hadn’t even been running.
“You got one minute. Max.” I set the timer on my watch and eyed Chloe as she made her way over to Mom. When she was close enough, Mom covered her mouth, I assumed to whisper something to her. As I got my water bottle from the side of the driveway, I pushed down the thoughts of how good a time I was having and how nice it felt to watch Chloe and my mom together. Laughing, joking around, getting along. When the timer went off and I looked back at them, Mom was looking down Chloe’s shirt. “What the hell!” I shouted.
Chloe laughed.
“Time’s up!”
“Settle down, Blake,” Mom yelled, then whispered something else to Chloe. Chloe shook her head, her smile wide. Mom rested her hands on her hips. “Come on, Chloe. It’s our only hope.”
Chloe lifted her gaze and locked it with mine. She shook her head again and groaned, “Fine.” Then she took off her shirt.
My jaw dropped.
My hands had touched her bare skin, the curve of her hips, and her tiny waist, but I’d seen her body only once, when she was in a bikini, and that had been for only a minute. But that was nothing compared to seeing her like this. Up close. So close her sports bra–covered breasts were just under my nose.
“Blake?” she whispered.
I struggled to take my eyes off her chest, but I finally made it to her face. She had her hair tied up in a messy knot on top of her head, like she often did. But a few strands were stuck on her neck and on her face . . . and a little sheen of sweat covered her arms and her stomach, her chest, her breasts . . .
“Blake,” she repeated, and I trailed my eyes back to hers again. She pouted before she said, “Give me the ball?”
I shook my head and hid the ball behind my back.
She pouted again. “Please?” she whispered. Then a hint of a smile broke through.
“Are you trying to seduce me into giving you my ball?”
She snorted with laughter.
Then I felt the ball being smacked out of my hands from behind. “Yes!” Mom shouted.
I laughed and watched as she bounced it once, then took five tiny steps toward the hoop. “That’s travelling!” I shouted.
Chloe ran toward her. “I’m open!” she yelled dramatically. Of course she was open. There was no one there. Mom ran the ball over and handed it to her.
Chloe stopped in her spot and dribbled it twice. I strolled slowly over to her. She stopped bouncing the ball when she saw me coming. I stopped a few feet in front of her. She squealed and ran away, trying to dribble at the same time. “That’s travelling and double dribble. Do you need me to go through the rules again?”
She just laughed and tried to shoot. She missed. Completely.
I started to jog over to the ball, but Mom shouted my name. “If you touch that ball, you’re grounded.”
I threw my hands in the air. “What the hell? Who’s setting these rules?”
I ignored her and picked up the ball, but before I could straighten up, Chloe’s arms were around my neck and her legs around my waist. “And this is definitely a foul!” I successfully completed a layup with her on my back.
“You’re cheating!” she shouted.
Mom walked over and handed Chloe the ball.
“If we get this, Mrs. Hunter,” Chloe yelled, “then we win.”
“How do you win?” I said, adjusting her more comfortably on my back. “It’s sixty-eight to nothing.”
“Shut up, Blake.”
I laughed.
“I wanna slam it!”
I laughed harder. “Slam-dunk it?”
“Whatever!”
I walked us to the hoop and adjusted the lever until the post dropped and the hoop was as low as it could possibly go.
I guess you could say that she dunked it. Whatever it was, it made her and Mom squeal. “WE WIN!” Chloe shouted.
“No, you’ve scored once.”
“Shut up, Blake!” She gripped her legs tighter around my waist and fistpumped the air. “We are the champions . . .”
I shook my head and laughed again.
“Do you hear that, Blake?” she said in my ear. “That’s the crowd cheering my name.”
Mom cupped her hands around her mouth. “CHLO-E! CHLO-E! CHLO-E!”
“It’s sixty-eight—” I started.
“What part of WE WIN do you not understand?” Chloe cut in. “I can’t believe I won the Super Bowl!”
I lost it in a fit of laughter, almost dropping her.
“I need a victory lap!” she squealed.
I gave her a victory lap around the driveway. She kept her hands raised in triumph as she made a speech thanking everyone but me for training her. Mom kept on chanting her name.
On the second lap, I froze.
So did Chloe.
So did Mom.
“Hunter,” Dad said, nodding his head. He narrowed his eyes at Chloe.
I carefully released her until her feet were on the ground, but she didn’t step out from behind me. “Colonel,” I replied.
His eyes moved to Mom. “Celia. Nice to see you upright and coherent.”
She didn’t respond.
“Who’s your friend, Hunter?”
I didn’t answer him. But Chloe stepped to my side, her voice mousy when she said, “I’m Chloe Thompson, sir—Colonel—sir. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Right.” He nodded. “You might want to put a shirt on, young lady. My house isn’t a strip club.”
I wanted to punch him, but Chloe held me back.
And with that, he turned and walked away.
“Asshole,” Mom said. “I’m sorry, Chloe. Don’t pay him any attention. He’s a miserable old bastard.”
I turned to Chloe, but she was looking at the ground. “Hey . . .” I drew her into me and hugged her.
“Can you please take me home,” she said into my chest.
I rested my cheek on the top of her head. “You don’t have to go.”
“I know, but I should.”
I looked at my mom. She was watching us with a frown on her face. I held more tightly on to Chloe. Mom mouthed, “I’m sorry.” And I knew she wasn’t just talking about Dad, she was talking about Chloe and how much she obviously meant to me. And she was sorry that soon it would all be over.
Chloe pulled out of my hold and made her way over to her shirt, silently shrugging it on before going to Mom and hugging her good-bye. Then she walked to my car and waited for me to catch up.
“You want to go somewhere and hang out?” I asked her as we pulled out of the driveway.
“No. I just want to go home,” she said, looking down at her lap.
“Sure?”
“Yeah, Blake, I’m sure.”