Robin didn’t hit Reply this time, although she felt a pang of regret. She’d been rather enjoying their exchanges. Tomorrow, he’d be home to see his son play.
She hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed if Brett didn’t see much action Saturday. Although as well as Brett was playing, the coach might put him in. Without a good backup goalie, Josh had been playing both halves in a mask and pads, but he was a heck of a forward, too.
Robin had no trouble picturing Craig on the sidelines at the game. She’d always noticed when he showed up for the occasional practice and every game when he wasn’t working. She’d tried to reconcile the husband Julie talked about so casually, and increasingly grumbled about that last year, with the handsome man who paced the sidelines yelling encouragement, who ruffled his son’s hair and said, “Don’t worry about it. That was a heck of a shot on goal you took earlier,” when Brett had made a mistake and was slumped despondently on the ice chest after being pulled from the game.
The two people—the tall, athletic man with unruly dark hair and the demanding but indifferent husband—never quite lined up and clicked into place in Robin’s mind, and she knew why. Face it, she’d thought. You think he’s sexy and can’t imagine what she’d been grumbling about.
But even then she had known that the exterior was often deceptive. Then, she’d reminded herself that beauty was only skin deep, etc., etc.
Now she reminded herself that some of the most famous serial killers were both handsome and charming, à la Ted Bundy. Some wife-killers looked like every woman’s dream husband.
Craig Lofgren could have murdered his wife and still be a caring father. In fact, he might have killed her for that very reason: he didn’t want to lose his children.
So don’t be an idiot, Robin told herself when her heart gave a faint flutter at the idea of seeing him. Concentrate on helping Brett.
THE NEXT DAY, the team had already begun running laps when Robin glanced idly over her shoulder—not that she was looking for anyone!—and saw Brett tearing across the grass from the parking lot, kicking his soccer ball before him.
When he reached the sideline, panting, he dropped his water bottle, spoke briefly to Coach and took off after the other boys.
Robin was careful not to look over her shoulder again. As a result, her start was genuine when a slow, deep voice said from just beside her, “Did you see the totally cool new soccer shoes?”
She pressed a hand to her chest. “You scared me!” Then she laughed. “Yes, I did. You had to buy top of the line to make all the other boys jealous?”
It was the first time she’d seen him smile since before…well, before. This one was slightly abashed. “He begged. I succumbed.”
“You were glad he was excited about something.”
His gray eyes met hers. “Read minds, do you?”
“My stock in trade. How else do you think I maintain control of a classroom full of eleven- and twelve-year-olds? I have to scare ’em somehow.”
He laughed, showing a flash of teeth, his dark face heart-stoppingly handsome. A lock of hair flopped over his forehead, and his throat was tanned and bare with his sports shirt unbuttoned at the top. When her heart gave an uncomfortable squeeze, Robin lowered her gaze.
Which didn’t help, as he had his shirtsleeves rolled up and she’d always been susceptible to strong brown forearms and big, capable-looking hands.
Sounding only a little breathless, she asked, “How was Tokyo?”
“It was my third visit this month.” His gaze following his son, Craig said, “Prices there make Seattle look cheap. I mostly read in my hotel room. Went out for dinner and drinks with my crew.” He yawned. “But they’re a hard-drinking bunch. I’m not.”
“I thought pilots couldn’t drink the night before a flight.”
“Our layover lasted two nights.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that other mothers were watching them. Two whispered to each other. Most of them had known Julie, too, and had seen Craig at games. This team had been together for several years. Once they’d seen Brett, they had begun buzzing about whether his father would show up, but conversations had tended to die when Robin drew near. Everyone knew she was instrumental in bringing Brett back, and that he was in her class this year.
Craig ignored the others. Robin tried to think what to do, but couldn’t decide. Introduce him as though none of them had ever met him? Say cheerily, “Remember Brett’s dad?” The one who is under suspicion for murdering Brett’s mom?
She didn’t think the other women would snub him, but she couldn’t be sure. In the end, she let him handle meeting other parents—or not—as he chose. She not only wasn’t his pen pal, she wasn’t the team social director.
After drills, Brett suited up to play goalie. He flubbed a couple of attempts to stop balls and looked dark as a thundercloud. Robin saw him steal a glance at his father on the sideline. Craig gave him a thumbs-up.
Jaw setting, Brett turned his attention back to the action heading his way. Josh passed to Malcolm, who thundered a kick at goal. Brett threw himself horizontally through the air and came down clutching the ball.
Applause erupted from parents on the sideline and his teammates. Robin heard a quiet, “Yes!” from the boy’s father.
When the practice ended, Brett and Malcolm, dirty, sweating, dark hair plastered to their heads, walked together toward their parents as if their friendship had never been interrupted.
Robin said, “Craig, you probably don’t remember Malcolm.”
Craig held out his hand. “Well, you’ve changed.”
Mal shook the hand of Brett’s father with no more self-consciousness than he would have shown with any adult.
“Great save!” one of the other mothers said as she passed.
“Thanks.” Brett blushed as several others echoed her.
The two boys headed for the cars, leaving Craig, Robin and Abby, who parted from her new friends and ran to her father, to follow.
“Good practice,” Robin said, to fill the silence.
“Yeah.” Gazing at his son, Craig said in a low voice, “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this. Didn’t see how much he missed it.”
“It hasn’t been that long…”
“A year and a half? That’s forever to a kid this age.” He made a sound in the back of his throat. “I’ve been trying to protect them. Believe it or not.”
“I believe you.” But when he turned his head, she evaded his gaze, because she wasn’t sure exactly how far he had gone to “protect” his kids and she didn’t want him to see that doubt in her eyes.
“Thank you for that.” He waited until she did look at him. “And for everything else.”
“I said no more…”
He grinned. “Tough. Right, Punkin?” He swung his daughter in an arc above the ground.
She giggled in delight.
Robin laughed, said, “See you tomorrow,” and dug in her purse for her car keys.
“Mom?” Malcolm stopped