Meant For You: A Playing for Keeps Novel, page 1
Copyright © 2019 by Sweetly Us Press, LLC
E-book edition
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles. This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are products of the authors’ imaginations and are not to be construed as real.
Cover design by Sweetly Us Press
Cover Photo Credit: “2 People Sitting With View of Yellow Flowers during Daytime” picjumbo.com | pexels.com
Editors:
Stacey Turner
Jenny Proctor | www.jennyproctor.com
Published by Sweetly Us Press
www.sweetlyuspress.com
Created with Vellum
Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Review
Also by Raneé S. Clark
Also by Raneé S. Clark
About the Author
To those of you who crushed on Anthony,
Who thought David was the sweetest,
Who believed in Sean’s loyalty
Who read and asked for more.
You make my day every time you turn a page.
Thank you, Readers.
❤️
Acknowledgments
It feels like a long time ago that I wrote a story about a quarterback and the girl who loved him. After my mom read it, she texted back and asked me, “What about David?” And so I gave him a story. And then if David got a story, then Sean and DJ also needed one. Thank you, thank you, Mom. Three novels wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t asked for more.
Once again, thank you to my family members who lent their names all that time ago and got roped into being characters in novels. So to my brother DJ, thank you so much. Not only did you help me write about a football player, but you weathered your namesake being known as the least serious of the roommates. To my dad, Doug, who read like the wind to make sure my firefighters were all up to par. Any mistakes there are totally mine. Thanks, Dad!
To my writing group, my Suite Sisters who always support and help where they can. To Kaylee Baldwin, Kate White, Gina Denny, and the many others who read and gave ideas for how to polish this story up. To my editor, Stacey Turner, it means more than I can say to have you be a part of this project. To Jenny Proctor, who not only beta read and helped me through a tough revision, but also did editing work as well.
To my family, my husband who supports most of my crazy ideas and my boys who have survived so far with a creative person as a parent.
Chapter One
“You love spaghetti, remember?” Chelsea lifted her two-year-old son’s plastic fork, full of pasta and the special sauce she’d made to hide something like a million vegetables. She tried to tempt Austin by gently tapping his sealed lips, but he shook his head and reeled back, shouting, “No! No, sketti!”
A second later he banged his head against the back of his high chair. His screaming increased by several decibels, and he smacked the bowl away, sending it and three-fourths of the spaghetti still inside flying across the kitchen floor. Chelsea also got her fair share down her shirt. She dropped her head onto the table in total defeat— right into a pile of spaghetti.
It didn’t surprise her. Of all the bites she’d tried to get into Austin’s mouth over the last half hour, she hadn’t succeeded with even one noodle. Of course, there was always the possibility some had accidentally gotten into his mouth while he flung it all over her and the kitchen.
“You okay?” she asked, reaching for a nearby rag and dabbing it over his tear-stained face. No sauce that she could see. Funny how it could cover her and the kitchen, yet he’d escaped unscathed.
“No!” he yelled, pushing her hand away.
Of course. His favorite word. Sure, he used to love words like Mommy and pease. A year ago, his babbling and increasing vocabulary had made her sure he’d be speaking full sentences by now, but ever since Brady had left, it seemed like the only word that passed Austin’s lips was no and always in the same high-pitched yell.
The French door leading from the backyard into the kitchen opened and closed, making Chelsea turn to see who’d entered. Her mom had come in, wearing a pair of dark-colored jeans and a T-shirt emblazoned with the logo of Chelsea’s cousin’s bakery, Cutie Pies.
“Mmm, lunch, little man?” her mom asked. Denise Gardener laid a light hand on Chelsea’s shoulder but quickly lifted it back up. When Chelsea turned to look, her mom was eyeing spaghetti on her fingers. Denise put down a box with the same logo as her t-shirt on the table. She picked up a napkin from the shabby-chic napkin holder to wipe off her hand.
“Want me to try?” she asked, laughing.
Chelsea shook her head. “With what?” She stood to clean up the spaghetti around the high chair. It almost blended in with the warm, red-brown of the hardwood floor.
Denise glanced at the stove. “I’ll make him up some more and give it a try. What do you say?”
“I can do it, Mom,” Chelsea said from the floor. She swept wide underneath the high chair with the rag, gathering up most of the spaghetti in one swipe.
“Gamma! Gamma!” Austin had forgotten his temper tantrum as he reached for her, but Denise only planted a careful kiss on his cheeks.
“I know you can,” she said to Chelsea, “but you never let me feed him. Give me some grandmotherly duties. I bet I could tempt him to enjoy some spaghetti. Mmmm!” She stepped over to the stove and dished some more pasta, dipping her finger into the sauce and trying it. “What’s in this?” she asked with a smile, dipping her finger in for another taste before adding some to the bowl. “It’s good.”
“Why are you so surprised?” Chelsea teased. “It’s a recipe from that new cookbook I got. Tomatoes, obviously, sweet potatoes, carrots, cauliflower, zucchini, and some spinach. Can you taste it all?” Chelsea frowned as she scooted across the floor to scrub streaks of spaghetti from the white cabinets next to the stove. She’d waited a long time to be a mother and had expected the trials that would come with it. But doing it without Brady was a different kind of hard than she’d anticipated. “I thought it tasted like regular spaghetti sauce.”
Denise smiled and helped her off the floor. “There’s a hint that it’s not normal sauce but not in a bad way. I love the way you used the seasonings to perfect it. Don’t let it get you down. Babies always have super taste buds. Not your fault.”
“He used to eat vegetables without me having to trick him into it. Now I’m lucky if he’ll eat peanut butter and jelly.”
Denise crossed back to the kitchen table, where she set down Austin’s bowl, then went back to the counter to prepare her own lunch. She dished up some of the pasta, added sauce, and headed to the fridge, where she pulled out the parmesan. She sprinkled some cheese on top of Austin’s food and her own and then sat down.
“He’ll get better if you keep trying, sweetheart. Don’t give up.”
Chelsea picked up Austin’s fork again and held it toward him. “Look, Gramma got you cheese,” she said in a bright voice, but Austin started shouting “No!” again, so she gave up. “How was the bakery this morning?” she shouted over Austin’s tantrum.
“Busy. As always. Wendy said to ask if you could come in a little early to help her get ahead on the afternoon baking.”
Chelsea sighed as she looked at the big clock on the kitchen wall. “If Austin goes down for a nap earlier. Which he might. He didn’t sleep well again last night. I’ll text Wendy.” She had hoped to spend some time that morning looking at the shop’s books but hadn’t gotten to it yet. When she worked at the counter at Cutie Pies, going back and forth between that and her computer always left her feeling frazzled. But Wendy needed her to do double duty, and small as it was, Chelsea didn’t want to turn down the pay.
With the child support Brady paid and her meager paycheck, she could probably afford to move out on her own, but she appreciated more than just her parents’ financial support and wasn’t ready to give it up quite yet. There was a small house a block away for sale, and if she saved up carefully and got a few more freelance clients, she’d be able to afford it.
Denise waved her off. “She said not to stress about it if you couldn’t.” Denise pointed to the box she’d brought in earlier—sugar cookies by the looks of it. “Nabbed these from the day-old stash. Couldn’t believe that someone hadn’t already bought them. You should have one.”
“Maybe later.”
“You too, Austin,” Denise said with a grin. “Finish up your lunch.” He screamed louder.
The door banged open again. “What’s all the hubbub for?” Chelsea’s dad shouted, making a beeline for Austin. Even though Max Gardener was just a few inches taller than his wife and Chelsea, he had the broad, muscular build of a farmer. Befor
“Max,” Denise scolded at the same time Chelsea cried, “Dad!”
He stared between the two of them, bewildered. “What?” Austin, meanwhile, shoved most of the cookie in his mouth.
Chelsea gestured toward the spaghetti-splattered high chair. “He hasn’t eaten lunch yet. You can’t give him a cookie because he’s screaming.”
Max sniffed some of the glop on Austin’s shirt—what hadn’t transferred to Max’s oil-stained work shirt. “You don’t like spaghetti now, little monkey?” He scowled mockingly at Austin before turning back to Chelsea with the same sad-puppy look he always gave her after spoiling his grandson. “And I can give him a cookie, Chels. I’m his grandpa.”
“Max, we talked about this.” Denise offered the box to Chelsea, and since denying one to set an example for Austin was a moot point now, she took two. “It was one thing for you to spoil him when he was visiting, but they live with us now.”
Max’s jaw worked to clamp his lips together. He tried hard to keep his criticism of his former son-in-law to himself. Eight years ago, he’d asked Chelsea to consider giving her first baby up for adoption. She and Brady were so young. But once they’d chosen to get married, he’d kept his peace and mourned with her and her mother when she lost the baby. She respected her father for that, and she respected him even more now, when he had ample reasons to spout I-told-you-so’s. He’d been right about it being a mistake to marry Brady at eighteen just because she was pregnant, but he’d never say so.
“Doesn’t seem quite fair that Brady’s the one that gets to swoop in and spoil him now.” Max walked with Austin toward the apron sink to wash him up, muttering, “When he even comes at all.” Chelsea noticed red streaks on the sink’s usually sparkling, porcelain-white surface. She sighed again but didn’t move to clean it up.
“Max.” Denise’s voice held a warning tone.
“It’s okay, Mom.” Chelsea waved her off. Brady hadn’t been to visit for a while, using his job as an excuse. She’d remind him on their next video call how long it had been. She joined Max at the sink, grabbing a new rag from the drawer and helping her dad wipe up Austin before she used it on herself. “He’s been busy since he started with the new firm. I’ll talk to him.”
Max dropped an arm on her shoulder. His unique machinery/cow manure smell was comforting instead of off-putting since she’d grown up smelling it on him. “He’ll figure out how important time with Austin is . . . eventually.”
“Thanks.” She understood Brady’s job took a lot of time—a new lawyer at the firm doing all the grunt work—but his job would always take a lot of time. He had to figure out how to balance that. Her ex-husband was notorious for getting wrapped up in projects and not balancing the other priorities in his life. He’d gotten better in the year since their divorce, but he still had learning to do.
She kicked away the nagging feeling she should move back to Salt Lake. It would make it a lot easier for Brady to make time if they lived in the same city; she could encourage him a lot more. She’d come back to her hometown to regroup after her divorce and lean on her parents for emotional support, but she had to admit, it wasn’t what tied her down anymore. Selfishly, she knew staying in Wyoming meant she could spend at least part of the day at home with Austin. She’d longed for a baby for so long, she fought against giving up what she had now—working for her cousin during nap time and spending most of the day with her son.
When she’d first found out she was pregnant at the end of her senior year, she had been terrified, but losing the baby two months later had devastated her more than she’d expected. Brady’s obvious relief hadn’t helped. She’d struggled with her and Brady’s decision to wait to have children until he was done with school, approaching him every year or so about changing his mind, but she’d anticipated blessings because they’d waited: Brady would finish school debt free, and she could fulfill her longing to stay home once she had kids. She didn’t want to give up on that idea just because they were divorced. She’d worked for it. She’d earned it.
But would Brady ever figure out how much he needed his son if he was effectively out of sight, out of mind? She sighed and shoved the thoughts away. She definitely didn’t need to make that decision today.
Chelsea rolled over and glared at the neon-green numbers of her bedside clock. Had she gone into Austin’s room just four minutes ago? Maybe his constant screaming made time run slower. The parts of the sleep book she’d read so far said something about letting him cry for ten to fifteen minutes, but he was waking everyone in the house. Heck, everyone in the neighborhood. She threw her legs off the bed and hurried out of her room and down the hallway. She’d give in—again—and let Austin sleep with her, if he’d sleep at all. She’d reached the door when Denise emerged from the master bedroom kitty-corner from Austin’s room. Chelsea’s insides tightened.
“Sorry, Mom,” she whispered.
Denise waved her hand. “I heard your door open and wanted to see if you’d let me take a shift while you got some rest.”
“I’m okay,” Chelsea said. “Did he wake Dad up too?”
Denise shook her head and came toward her, one hand on the wooden railing of the stairwell, letting her eyes adjust to the dark. “He’s sound asleep. Has his earplugs in and playing that sleep machine with rain or ocean waves or something.”
“Good.” Chelsea forced a smile.
Denise reached for her hand, rubbing the top of it. “Let me help, sweetie. Letting me help doesn’t mean you can’t do it by yourself.”
Chelsea gripped her mom’s hand, grateful for her support. “I know it’s not a big deal for you to help. But Austin . . . at some point he needs to get back to something more normal, and I’m his mom. It’s best for me to do this.” They wouldn’t live there forever, she hoped, and she wanted to disrupt his life as little as possible. He’d already been through so much.
“Even before, you had help, Chels. It’s not going to spoil Austin to let his grandma calm him.” Denise leaned forward toward Austin’s door, where they could both hear him wailing at the top of his lungs.
“He didn’t sleep bad before.” Chelsea moved to go into the room and cut off the discussion. Denise caught her hint and laid a hand on her back before padding back to her room.
Austin’s screams calmed to hopeful whimpers when he saw Chelsea. She should lay him back down in the crib. He wouldn’t learn to sleep there again if Chelsea picked him up and took him back to bed with her, but she couldn’t argue with the fat tears rolling down his cheeks and the anxious way he stretched his arms over the railing toward her. She gathered him in her arms, letting the tension in her shoulders relax when he nestled his head on her shoulder, his small body jerking with hiccups.
“It’s still bedtime, little man. Can you go back to sleep in your crib?” she whispered.
Austin’s cries picked up again. “No, Mama, no!”
She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t put him back when he was so upset. “Okay, okay.” She swayed as she walked down the hall to her room, tears stinging the insides of her eyes. She entered her room and slowly rocked her way across the short distance from the door to her bed, hoping that exhaustion would overtake Austin before they got there. Having Mom lying beside him didn’t always equal sleep for him. She tried to joke with herself as she lowered both of their bodies to the bed, telling herself that since Austin had slept through the night at only two months old, he was making up now for the sleep she hadn’t lost then. The knot in her chest tightened. It wasn’t a joke. Austin’s good sleeping habits had dissolved right along with her marriage.
She let out a relieved breath as he settled next to her and closed his eyes. Carefully she reached to tug the blanket up to cover them. Already her own consciousness started slipping.
