Fumbled (Playbook #2)(53)

Too bad for me, tonight’s preseason game is a home game, so Charli and Vonnie aren’t keeping me company. Brynn asked if I wanted the night off, but since I’ve been here for only a couple of weeks, I couldn’t take her up on it.

Ace was damn near crushed when I told him I had to work and we couldn’t go. So when Jagger asked him where our seats were and Ace told him, with—I’m assuming—tears in his eyes, Jagger ran straight to his mom. To which I was scolded mercilessly for not asking Vonnie to take Ace to the game in the first place.

I now know why her boys are so well behaved. Vonnie is scary as fuck when she’s mad.

She picked Ace up this morning and is keeping him until tomorrow. I told her she didn’t have to, but with one glance my way, I shut up and gave her my kid.

“You’re doing a really great job,” Brynn tells me as I finish cleaning up after my last table. “The customers love you, and you picked up on the menu faster than any other waitress I’ve had.”

I try my hardest not to bask in her praise, but I can’t help it. “Thanks, Brynn.” Smiling so wide my cheeks ache. “I love it here.”

“Good, because I’m not planning on letting you quit.” She takes the rag from my hand. “It’s starting to slow down in here, why don’t you head out and watch the rest of the game at home?”

“Are you sure?” I ask, not certain I can deny the appeal of a night in a quiet house.

“Positive.” She smiles, her blue eyes even sparkling in the dark. “Get out of here and watch your man kick some Steeler ass.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” I laugh and head to the back room to grab my purse. “See you tomorrow.” I wave as I head out the front door.

I take a cautious step outside, bracing for whatever weather Mother Nature felt compelled to deliver. You never know what to prepare for here, but lucky for me since I left my car at home, it’s beautiful out. After growing up in humid-as-hell DC, I’ll never stop loving the dry Colorado air. Yes, I go through way more ChapStick and spend a little more on hair products, but it’s so worth it on nights when I can enjoy a walk without my clothes sticking to my body. Tonight’s one of those nights I have to close my eyes and whisper my thanks to Maya for not giving up on me . . . for making this life possible for me and Ace.

I round the corner to my house, reaching into my purse and pulling out my keys and phone. My phone is blazing with notifications—one missed call and five text messages. All from Vonnie. My heart rate picks up, a cold sweat breaking out across my forehead until I unlock the phone and I’m met with silly selfies of Ace, Jagger, Jett, and Jax stuffing their faces with hot dogs and ice cream. They’re all dressed in blue and orange and sporting matching face paint.

I stare at the pictures, going back and forth between each one, making them bigger, letting them shrink back to size. And something in my chest settles. Ever since I left DC, I worried about the day I’d have to tell Ace about TK. Then, ever since actually telling Ace about TK, I’ve been bracing for the moment he tells me he wants nothing to do with me for keeping him from his dad. But as I look at these pictures, all I see is a little boy who has been loved his entire life and just got a whole lot more love.

I push open the still-creaky gate and add on yet another thing to my to-do list, when I’m met with darkness. I swear, I just put a new lightbulb on my front porch last month. I start to type out a response to Vonnie when I trip on something in front of my door. I turn on the flashlight on my phone to see what’s blocking my doorway, and when I do, I see the most gorgeous arrangement of flowers. And it’s huge.

My heartbeat stutters in my chest. TK’s first home game of the season and he sent me flowers?

I’m falling for him so freaking hard.

I pick them up from the ground and unlock my door. Barreling through my entryway, I damn near skip to my couch. I set down the flowers as gently as my giddy fingers will let me and grab the remote to turn on the game, something I never, in a million years, thought I’d do.

“Touchdown Mustangs!” the announcer yells as soon as the picture comes into focus. “Rookie quarterback Peter Bremner connecting with the second-year receiver Avery Sheppard for an easy catch. I’d say these guys aren’t fighting for a roster spot, they’re fighting to dethrone one of the starters.”

Since TK’s spot is set in stone, he only plays the opening quarter of preseason games alongside the other starters. Nobody wants the guys with guaranteed money getting taken out before the season even starts. Plus, it gives the new guys a chance to shine. Each team starts training camp with ninety hopefuls reporting to the small hotel, and when it’s over, only fifty-three players are left standing. There’s a reason they say NFL stands for Not for Long. Making a final roster is a huge accomplishment.

I turn up the volume to see the football sail through the goalposts for the extra point. Even though—without TK on the field and Ace badgering me to watch how tight so-and-so covered his man—it doesn’t really matter how loud the volume is. The chances of me paying attention for the rest of the game are slim to none.

I slip off my flat ankle boots, letting them fall onto my favorite rug. If Ace did this, I’d be yelling at him right now. But I’m grown and pay the bills, so I can do it. Plus, nobody is here to see it. So nanny nanny boo boo.