Sweet Rome (Sweet Home, #1.5)(102)
“Oh, don’t you dare, Shakespeare,” I said with a hard crack on her ass. “You started this shit and I’m going to make sure I f*cking finish it… at least three times!”
*
Centurylink Field, Seattle
A few months later…
“Taylor, Isaac, Archie, Elias! Come here, we have to go on the field in a minute! You all need to calm down!”
The roar of the crowd boomed all around the stadium, shaking the rafters, as we waited at the back of the players’ tunnel. Molly was busy running around after the kids, trying to get them straight. I couldn’t help but smile at them all in their Seahawks PRINCE jerseys, Elias’s jersey so tiny as he tottered around his momma’s legs—hell, he’d just begun walking and was already running rings around us both. And then there was Molly, long hair loose, tight jeans, her favorite brown cowboy boots and she too wearing my number. I could tell she was nervous; years of sitting in the “wives’ section” hadn’t prepared her at all for the craziness of today.
I was retiring. After nearly twenty years playing for the Hawks, I was calling it a day, and because of that, the Hawks were sending me off in the only way they knew how… big and loud.
Someone tugged on my jeans, and when I looked down, Archie, my son, was looking up at me with a strange expression on his cute-as-hell face.
Crouching down to his height, I asked, “You okay, little man?”
He pointed to the direction of the screaming crowd, all wide brown eyes, red flushed cheeks, and whispered, “Are you a superhero, Daddy?”
Smiling, I replied, “No, son. Why d’you ask that?”
He stepped forward, placing his chubby five-year-old hand on my shoulder, and said, “Because all those people are here today for you. They keep saying you are the best, ever, and the only other people who get treated like that are superheroes.”
Lifting him into my arms, I said, “I’m not a hero, little man. I just threw a football good for a lot of years and that’s why we’re here today, to say good-bye to all the supporters before we head to Alabama.”
He nodded his head in understanding, but pursing his lips, he leaned in and whispered, “I have a secret.”
I pulled back, dropping my mouth in playful exaggeration, and said, “You do?”
He nodded his head sagely.
“Am I allowed to know it too?”
Pausing for a moment and thinking hard, Archie finally sighed and nodded his head. His little mouth went to my ear and he whispered, “I think you’re a secret superhero and you’re saying you’re not because superheroes are not allowed to tell no one, are they? Just look at Superman; no one knew about the real him.”
“And what’s my power?” I asked, playing along.
“That you can throw a football farther than anyone, ever, and…” He motioned for me to lean in closer to his mouth, whispering, “You’re the bestest daddy in the world. The kids at school are always telling me how lucky I am. But they don’t need to. I know it.”
I stilled and closed my eyes, his words choking the f*ck out of me, but two strong little hands pushed on my cheeks. “No telling the others, though, okay? It’s our secret.”
“Okay,” I agreed with a graveled voice, placing him back to the floor, letting him rejoin his brothers and sister playing across the way with a pigskin—they were football to the core.
A soothing hand rubbed at my back and Molly flashed me a wide, knowing grin. “You okay, baby?” A proud glint was shining in her golden eyes, and it was clear she’d heard what our son had just said.
Inching forward, I pressed a kiss to her lips. “Mm-hmm, more than okay.”
She placed her mouth at my ear and whispered, “I believe you’re the best daddy in the world too… and the best husband.”
Clasping both hands on her face, I pressed my lips firmly against hers again, laughing at her surprised squeal.
A throat cleared beside us, and, glancing beside me, I saw the field manager, embarrassed. “Mr. Prince, we’re almost ready.”
Molly quickly fixed her hair and squeezed my hand in reassurance. She was always there for me, today being no different. She’d attended every game, Superbowl, charity function—you name it—for years and most of all, she’d given me four beautiful children. I loved my girl more now than ever and still thanked God every day that he brought her into my life.
“Okay, kids, come here,” Molly shouted, and the four of them ran over, all smiles and hyper with excitement. Molly crouched down, meeting each of their eyes, and explained, “Now we’re about to go out into the stadium. It’s going to be super loud, so just prepare yourselves, okay?”
A chorus of, “Yeah, Momma,” came out in reply, and Molly moved to Elias and wrestled with him, trying to secure his noise-cancelling headphones in place.
After giving up and leaving them hanging around his neck, she said, “Now, what do you all have to say to your daddy?”
I narrowed my eyes at Molly and caught the happy expression on her face.
Taylor, our daughter, our eldest child… our teenager, stepped forward, and I bent down as she hugged me. “We’re all very proud of you, Daddy, and we wanted to let you know how much we love you.” She presented me with a handmade card, a hand-drawn picture of us all in our yard on the front and a framed picture of the six of us at last year’s Superbowl, all four of my children in my arms in the center of the field, huge, happy smiles on their faces and Mol kissing my cheek. “The boys made the card, but we all signed it for you. I chose the picture, well along with Momma—it’s our favorite.” I glanced to the picture again. It was my favorite too. A hand landed on my shoulder. “I really am so proud of you, Daddy.”