The Last Letter(48)

“I’ll agree not to drop you if you agree to keep your hat from blowing off.”

“Deal!” She giggled, a sound I decided was only outranked on my list of the best sounds ever by her mother’s laugh.

Some of the other team moms and dads called out greetings, and I answered with a smile that I hoped didn’t look forced, knowing I was damn lucky to have a place in Maisie’s and Colt’s lives, no matter how small. That role came with dealing with other parents, and I was working on it. Every practice the small talk got an ounce easier, the smiles a little less fake, and I started to see the other parents as individuals and not just…people.

I settled Maisie into the camping chair Ella had set up, and then propped her feet in a smaller one that served as a footrest. Seeing the small shiver that ran over her, I quickly pulled the blanket from the wagon and laid it over Maisie’s legs.

“You sure you’re okay?”

She nodded. “Just a little cold.”

I tucked the blanket around her, and we settled in to watch the game. Ella started out as one of those quiet moms, more than a little camera happy but reserved in her commentary. By the second half of the game, she was full-on shouting for Colt as he scored a goal.

The transformation was hilarious and sexy as hell.

Or maybe that was the view of those mile-long legs in her shorts. Either way, it took a great deal of my concentration to keep my hands off the soft skin just above her knee. Damn, I wanted her. Wanted every aspect of her—her laughter, her tears, her kids, her body, her heart. I wanted everything.

Lucky for me, my craving for her physically was second only to my need to take care of her, which kept my libido in check.

For the most part.

Yeah, okay, that was a lie. The more time we spent together, the closer I came to kissing her just to see how she tasted. I wanted to kiss her until she forgot everything that weighed her down, until she’d forgive me for the lie I was living.

And the longer I kept my secret, the further away it felt. The more I dreamed of the possibility that she might let me stay in her life as just Beckett.

Not that I wasn’t tempted to tell her who I really was. To tell her how her letters had saved me, that I’d fallen in love with her by her words alone. But then I realized how far I’d dug into her life—picking up groceries, taking Colt to soccer, hanging out with Maisie when she was too sick to go to the main house. The moment I told Ella who I really was, what I’d done, she’d kick me out and be on her own again, and I’d promised to show up for her and the kids. Keeping that promise meant not giving her a reason to throw me out. Telling her was selfish, anyway. It would only hurt her.

Chaos had no chance of helping Ella—of being there for her. Not after what had happened. I’d have to wait until Maisie was in the clear before coming clean to Ella. Then the choice would be hers.

“What is that kid doing? Isn’t that illegal? He can’t trip him like that!” Ella shouted.

“I think it was more of mutual clumsiness, there,” I countered.

“Oh my God, he did it again! Get him, Colt! Don’t you let him do that to you!”

“You know, he’s only six,” I said, sweet as cherry pie.

She slowly turned to me with a glare and an openmouthed scoff. “Whatever.”

I laughed and for the first time realized that I was utterly, completely content with my life. Even if I never got Ella, never tasted her mouth, never touched her skin, never kept her in bed on a rainy Sunday morning or heard her say the three little words I was starved for, this moment was enough.

Glancing back at Maisie in the shade, I saw her eyes closed, and the deep, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. She was asleep with Havoc curled up under her outstretched legs. If she was already this exhausted, how the hell was she going to withstand another round of chemo next week?

“Oh no…no, no,” Ella muttered, and I turned my attention back to the field.

The other team slipped past Colt, then the defense, and scored to win the game.

Well. Shit.

My heart ached when I saw Colt’s face, the way his shoulders fell. But he shook hands with the opposing team like the sport he was, and then sat on the bench long after the coach finished the post-game pep talk. Seeing some of the other dads cross the field, I looked over at Ella, who looked almost as disappointed as Colt.

“Well, that sucks.” She folded her arms across her chest, her long side braid brushing over her arm as she turned to look at me. “What do I say to him?”

“How about you give me a second with him?”

“Be my guest.” She motioned toward the bench. “I’ll pack everything up.”

I crossed the field with his cleat bag in my hands, then dropped down in front of him to start untying the double knots he swore he couldn’t play without.

“Man, I loved watching you play,” I told him, slipping the first cleat free.

“I let him by. We lost because I messed up.”

I untied the second cleat and then took it off, too. “Nah. You win as a team, and you lose as a team. There’s no shame in that.”

“I didn’t want to lose,” he whispered, like it was a dirty secret.

“No one does, Colt. But I can tell you sometimes the losses are just as important as the wins. The wins feel really good and let us celebrate what we did right. But the losses, they teach us more. They teach us to see where we can improve, and yeah, they feel pretty darn bad, and that’s okay. As you get bigger, you’ll see that it’s not how you handle the wins that make you a good man, it’s how you handle the losses.”