Fumbled (Playbook #2)(29)

“Awesome!” Ace turns and stutter-steps in TK’s direction.

TK sees his hesitation and takes it upon himself to close the distance between them and wrap Ace in his strong arms.

My heart squeezes and then proceeds to explode into a million glittery pieces inside my chest.

“Glad you like it.” TK ruffles Ace’s mop of curls but takes another minute before he completely releases him.

“Wait until I show Jayden, he’s gonna flip.” Ace starts putting his new goodies back in the bag. Well, not the jersey. That he puts on over the shirt he’s already wearing. “His dad buys him a new jersey every season and he always tells me about the Mustangs games he gets to go to.”

“Who’s Jayden?” TK asks.

“My friend.” Ace states the obvious but continues on before I have to supplement information. “He lives down the street and hopefully we’ll be on the same soccer team this year. When I saw you the other day, that was our last tryout.” At the mention of soccer, his green eyes almost pop out of his skull. “Mom!” he shouts even though I’m only a few feet away. “Has Coach emailed you? Check your e-mail!” he keeps yelling, not giving me a chance to answer.

I grab my phone off the coffee table and punch in my password when my hands are too sweaty for the fingerprint technology to work.

I open my e-mail and skim over what feels like hundreds of ads, trying to ignore Ace bouncing on his toes and biting his nails—a habit I fear I’ll never be able to break—until I see it.


DENVER ELITE TEAM ROSTERS

“It’s here!” I shout.

Huh? So I guess that’s where Ace gets his loud tendencies from.

“Did I make it? Did I make it?” Ace asks.

“Hold on.” I motion a finger at him. Scrolling through the names.

Denver Elite Soccer Club will have four teams for their Boys U10 division—Gold, Silver, Bronze, and Copper.

They start from the bottom.

“Hurry, Mom.” Ace rushes me, like I’m going slow for dramatic effect. “Did I make it or not?”

“There are so many names, I haven’t gotten to you yet.” But as soon as I say it, I see what I’m looking for: Ace Patterson. “Team Gold, baby!” I cross the short distance between us and pull him into a hug.

“Team Gold? Really?” Ace asks, not yet returning my hug. Like I would ever trick him about this.

“Yes, really!” I squeeze him extra tight and lift all seventy pounds of him with my legs. “I told you you’re amazing. I knew you’d make it!”

I put him back on the floor, unable to hold him any longer. And the news finally sets in.

“I did it!” His feet leave my rug again—but this time of his own accord—as he jumps Tom Cruise on Oprah style onto my couch. “I’m on Team Gold!”

I raise my hand for a high five, but he ignores my hand in front of his face and turns to TK, giving him the high five instead.

I mean . . . Damn.

“That’s awesome, dude!” TK returns the high five with genuine excitement. “Congratulations!”

“Thanks!” Ace jumps off the couch. “I’ve played soccer since first grade, but this is the first year Mom let me try out for competitive. I can’t believe I made it.”

I watch the two of them, bonding over sports, over the good news Ace has been hoping to hear since I gave him the go-ahead to try out, and I check my hurt.

This is the way it should be. The way it always should’ve been. And once I get over my initial reaction, I go soft at the realization that this is the first big moment Ace gets to share with both of his parents. It’s the first time in a long time I get to share my pride and happiness over Ace with another person.

I feel my smile growing and decide to give them some time to themselves. That’s what today was supposed to be about anyway.

I turn to leave, thinking of all the chores I’ve ignored since school let out, and decide to attack the mounds of unfolded laundry piling up.

This dad thing is already proving to be very beneficial.

I don’t even make it out of the living room when TK calls to me. “Poppy, put on some shoes.”

I turn back to him, my eyebrows raised at his demand. “Why?”

“Our kid just made Gold. We have some celebrating to do.”

“Poppy?” TK asks when I don’t make a move or even whisper a word.

But it’s impossible.

Our kid.

That’s what he said—our kid.

Melt me like a freaking Popsicle.

I nod at him, still incapable of speech, and slip on the flip-flops I left on the floor next to the chair.

“Mexican food?” TK asks, and I watch as Ace lights up.

“Mexican is my favorite!” Ace turns to me, aware that I exist again. “Did you tell him that?”

I give him the God’s honest truth. “Nope.”

“She didn’t tell you?” he asks TK.

I guess my answer didn’t satisfy him.

“Nope, Mexican food is my favorite, so I was just hoping. Looks like we have a lot in common already.” TK holds up a single finger. “We’re both superstar athletes.” He adds a second finger. “We have great taste in food.” Third finger. “We both cheer for the Mustangs every Sunday.” Fourth finger goes up. “We’re ridiculously good-looking.” He adds his thumb. “And . . . most important of all . . .” He drops his hand before pointing a finger at me. “That lady is crazy about the both of us.”