Fumbled (Playbook #2)(7)

“You are vivid to a fault.”

“Whatevs,” she says. “Well then, the big dude with the hair came back. Which, by the way, has piqued my interest in the sport of football. If they are out there looking like him, my cute little ass is gonna be parked in front of a TV every Sunday.”

“Sadie! For the love of God, tell me if I’m fired or not!” And stop reminding me about TK’s ass.

“Sorry. Geez.” She sighs into the phone and starts talking before I hang up and call Phil my damn self. “So the big guy comes back. Moore or something. And Phil apologizes straight to him this time. Telling him you’re fired, and I’m not shitting you, this Moore guy had just sat down, and as soon as Phil said it, he stood back up, looking like a fucking angry giant and just towers over him, saying, ‘She is not.’ Just like that. With this deep-as-shit voice, he tells Phil if he fired you, he’d make sure nobody came back to the club. Phil looked like he was about to shit himself!”

Sadie breaks into a fit of giggles. I, on the other hand, have to find a bench to sit on. TK went head to head with my boss so I could keep a job he made clear he thought was crap.

“Isn’t that great?” Sadie says through her laughter.

“Yeah. Great.” I don’t know what to do with this new information, I just know I can’t process it with her on the phone. “Listen, thanks for filling me in, but Ace’s soccer practice is about to end, so I have to go.”

“Sounds good!” she says, oblivious to the crisis I’m having. “Tell him Aunt Sadie says hi!”

“Will do.” I force cheerfulness into my voice. A skill I am way too practiced at. “Bye, babe.”

I slide my finger across my screen, ending the call before she has the chance to say anything else.

Owing TK is not something I need on my conscience.

I’d rather get fired.

Dramatic? Yes. But also accurate. I had a feeling last night wasn’t the last time I was going to see him and now I know it.

What I don’t know is what the hell I’m going to do about it.

I don’t think about it for long. Anger chases the confusion clear out of my system. The audacity of this guy. To come into my life and demand answers? Maybe my last week in DC didn’t stick with him, but it altered my entire life. He went on to live his dreams and I ran from everyone I knew to create a life for the person he didn’t even want. TK can screw himself if he thinks talking to my boss and doing the absolute bare minimum is going to earn him brownie points. We’ve spent too much time apart, with too many lies and too much hurt filling the voids, for this to end in anything other than disaster.

“Mom!” My green-eyed ball of sunshine runs toward me, a soccer ball at his feet and a backpack that’s too big bouncing on his back, and chases away every dark thought clouding my mind. “Did you see my goals? Coach said I’m starting on Saturday!”

“You know I saw them!” I give him a high five, just as excited and proud of him as he is of himself. “And I saw that new fancy footwork you had out there.”

“Oh, you saw that, did you? Just a little somethin’ somethin’ I picked up watching videos on YouTube.”

God. This kid. Too cool for his own good.

“A little somethin’ somethin’? I can’t with you.” I’m fast losing my battle to stay serious.

“Yeah, you know I got those skills, Mom.” He wiggles his eyebrows my way and I lose any semblance of a strict mom.

“I know.” I nudge him with my shoulder once I stop laughing. “You get ’em from your mama.”

“Suuuurrreee.”

“What?” I stop cold in my tracks. “Ace, don’t make me take your soccer ball and whoop you in front of all your little friends.”

“Mom, you’re not faster than me and . . .” He pauses and scrunches his cute little nose. “No offense, but you’re old.”

“I’m twenty-seven, for goodness’ sakes! That hardly qualifies me for an AARP card.”

“A what?”

Dammit.

Now I feel old.

“Never mind.” I reach over to him, slip off his backpack, and throw it over my shoulders for our walk home. “I’m not old, though.”

“I was just kidding; I know you aren’t. All the boys on my soccer team and my class have crushes on you. I told them it’s gross, but they don’t listen to me.”

Oh great. I have a bevy of nine-year-old admirers and none of age. I don’t know if I should be flattered or scaling back my volunteer hours.

“Tell them I have cooties.” I elbow him lightly on his shoulder.

“Already did.” He smiles up at me, his lone dimple on his left cheek appearing. “Sooooo, Mom.”

Knew it. He doesn’t flash the dimple unless he wants something.

“What do you want?”

“Well, I was thinking, I really like soccer and I think flag football is super fun.” He draws out the words. “But I’m gonna be in fourth grade. Don’t you think maybe it’s time for me to play tackle football now?”

Crap. I should’ve known where this was going. Tackle football is the one thing he begs for all the time and the one thing I won’t budge on.

“Ace. You know how I feel about tackle football. I’m not sure if I’m ever going to want you to play, dude.”