A Bend in the Road - By Nicholas Sparks Page 0,28

loved it, secretly jumped for joy when Jonah scored, even though he knew it was nothing but a temporary phenomenon and didn’t mean diddly squat. Kids matured at different rates, and some kids practiced with more diligence. Jonah was physically mature and didn’t like to practice; it was only a matter of time before the others caught up with him.

But in this game, by the end of the first quarter, Jonah had already scored four goals. In the second quarter, with Jonah on the sidelines, the opposing team kicked four goals to take the lead. In the third quarter, Jonah kicked two more, giving him thirty-three for the year, not that anyone was counting, and a teammate added one. By the beginning of the fourth quarter, Jonah’s team was behind 8–7, and Miles crossed his arms and scanned the crowd, doing his best to appear as if he didn’t even realize that without Jonah his team would be getting destroyed.

Damn, this was fun.

Miles was so lost in his reverie, it took a moment for the voice coming from off to the side to register.

“You got a bet riding on this game, Deputy Ryan?” Sarah asked as she walked up to him, grinning broadly. “You look a little nervous.”

“No—no bet. Just enjoying the game,” he answered.

“Well, be careful. Your fingernails are almost gone. I’d hate to see you accidentally nip yourself.”

“I wasn’t biting my nails.”

“Not now,” she said. “But you were.”

“I think you were imagining things,” he countered, wondering if she was flirting with him again. “So . . .” He pushed up the brim of his baseball hat. “I didn’t expect to see you out here.”

Wearing shorts and sunglasses, she looked younger than usual.

“Jonah told me he had a game this weekend and asked if I’d come.”

“He did?” Miles asked curiously.

“On Thursday. He said that I would enjoy it, but I kind of got the impression he wanted me to see him doing something he was good at.”

Bless you, Jonah.

“It’s almost over now. You’ve missed most of it.”

“I couldn’t find the right field. I didn’t realize there would be so many games out here. From a distance, all these kids look the same.”

“I know. Sometimes even we have trouble finding what field we’re playing on.”

The whistle sounded and Jonah kicked the ball to a teammate. The ball shot past him, though, and promptly rolled out of bounds. Someone on the other team chased after it, and Jonah glanced toward his father. When he saw Sarah, he waved and she returned the wave enthusiastically. Then, settling into position with a determined look on his face, Jonah waited for the throw to put the ball back in play. A moment later, he and everyone else on the field were chasing after the ball.

“So how’s he doing?” Sarah asked.

“He’s having a good game.”

“Mark says he’s the best player out here.”

“Well...,” Miles demurred, doing his best to look modest.

Sarah laughed. “Mark wasn’t talking about you. Jonah’s the one out there playing.”

“I know that,” Miles said.

“But you think he’s a chip off the old block, huh?”

“Well...,” Miles repeated, for lack of a clever response. Sarah lifted an eyebrow, clearly amused. Where was that wit and charisma he was counting on?

“Tell me—did you play soccer as a kid?” she asked.

“They didn’t even have soccer when I was a kid. I played the traditional sports—football, basketball, baseball. But even if they’d offered soccer, I don’t think I would have played it. I’ve got a bias against sports that require me to bounce a ball off my head.”

“But it’s fine for Jonah, right?”

“Sure, as long as he likes it. Did you ever play?”

“No. I wasn’t much of an athlete, but once I was in college, I took up walking. My roommate got me into it.”

He squinted at her. “Walking?”

“It’s harder than it looks if you keep a fast pace.”

“Do you still do it?”

“Every day. I have a three-mile loop that I follow. It’s a good workout and it gives me a chance to unwind. You should try it.”

“With all that spare time I have?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“If I went three miles, I’d probably be so sore I couldn’t get out of bed the next day. That’s if I could even make it.”

She ran her gaze over him appraisingly. “You could make it,” she said. “You might have to give up smoking, but you could make it.”

“I don’t smoke,” he protested.

“I know. Brenda told me.” She grinned, and after a moment, Miles couldn’t help but smile as well. Before he

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