Fumbled (Playbook #2)(30)

I wasn’t prepared for those words to come out of his mouth, and because of that, there’s no holding back my laughter . . . or the accompanying snort. Ace and TK are laughing too, so much so that every time I think we’re almost done laughing, we make eye contact and the laughter starts all over.

I wrap an arm around my midsection and wipe the tears from the corners of my eyes with the other. “Still full of yourself, I see.” I stand firm in my position as anti-ab-workout, but I’d imagine this is what I’d feel like after doing a couple hundred sit-ups. “Are we gonna eat or what?”

“Food is always a yes.” TK pulls the keys from his pocket. “Let’s hit the road.”

I look at Ace, who is still standing next to TK, and something inside me that’s been broken for so long, something I didn’t even realize was still aching, fuses together. He’s always been a happy kid, but right now? He’s blissed out.

“Cool car!” Ace says to TK as soon as we hit the sidewalk.

“Thanks.” TK beeps the locks. “Wanna sit shotgun?”

“Yes!” Ace shouts, lunging for the passenger door at the same time I yell “No!” and block his opening.

“Back seat until twelve,” I say to anyone who will listen. Which, at this point in time, I’m not sure is TK or Ace.

But they both hear me.

I know this because, at the exact same time, they both mumble out a defeated-sounding “Moms.”

“Yes, moms.” I use sarcasm to deny my current need to turn into a gooey, gushy mess again. “We keep you safe. You’re welcome.”

Then, with me back in the front seat of TK’s Range Rover and Ace safe and buckled in the back seat, we take off on our first-ever family excursion.

Only nine years late.





Fourteen




Two hours.

It took me two hours of identical orders, laughter at the same crappy jokes, and obsession with football and Ninja Warrior to realize that sometimes nature is indeed stronger than nurture.

“No way!” Ace shouts from the back seat, like TK isn’t only a foot away from him. “I can’t believe you like that movie too! Mom hates it.”

“Because it’s terrible, and sitting with the only two people in the world who like it isn’t going to convince me otherwise.”

“Poppy,” TK says beside me, his voice deep and serious. “They brought Kevin into the new millennium. We got to see how he handled himself with modern technology.”

“Home Alone 1 and 2 were perfect on their own. But 3 was pushing it, although at least the kid had a different name. However, 4 was just a disgrace.”

“It’s the best one!” Ace says at the same time TK says, “You’re a sequel snob.”

“It wasn’t—” I close my eyes, inhale through my nose, and throw my hands up in the air, as if summoning the Holy Spirit itself to talk me down. “No. No, I’m not debating the merits of Home Alone 4 with you guys.”

Ace dissolves into a fit of giggles on TK’s black leather seat. I don’t know why their bad taste is so amusing to him.

TK lets out a deep, throaty chuckle. “You’re a nut.” Then his hand comes off the steering wheel and he squeezes my thigh before sliding it down to my knee and back to the steering wheel. I don’t know if it’s reflex or if he meant to do it, but I do know my thighs now feel like they’ve been plastered in cement with how tight I’m squeezing them together.

“Yup.” I force out a laugh that sounds more like I have a hair in my throat. “You know me. Nutty Poppy.”

Holy crap.

I did not just say that.

I close my eyes, hoping it will create a chasm in reality and I can go back in time and learn how not to be a socially awkward adult.

When I open them and sneak a peek at TK, his chest is shaking and his lips are pulled in between his teeth to keep his laughter silent.

So I guess the chasm thing didn’t work.

I narrow my eyes at him even though between the dark sky and—what has to be illegal—tint, it’s almost pitch black inside his fancy Range Rover. But I keep my mouth shut since I clearly cannot be trusted when it opens.

He makes a right onto my street and comes to a stop outside my little bungalow.

“Home sweet home,” he announces.

“Can you spend the night?” Ace asks. “We can watch Home Alone!”

“It’s Monday night, bud.” I turn my head and gentle my tone, he’s been on cloud nine all night and I hate to be the bearer of bad news. “He probably has work.”

“I don’t.” TK rushes the words out. “A sleepover and a movie sounds good, but only if it’s okay with your mom.”

“Please, Mom.” Ace sticks out his bottom lip and clasps his hands together. A move that should’ve stopped affecting me when he was four but still manages to sway my decision making.

“It’s fine with me,” I say.

“Yes!” Ace jumps off the seat and high-fives TK.

“But!” I continue on, only louder. “Tomorrow you need to read at least two chapters of your book.”

“Okay, I will,” he says with the biggest smile he’s ever had about reading.

“And . . .” I turn my head to look at the two of them. “No Home Alone 4.”