Fumbled

by Alexa Martin

  “Not that Shawn’s not fine too, but that damn TK? Lord. I don’t know what it is about him.”

  “You don’t need to explain.” Charli reaches into her purse and pulls out a pack of Red Vines without ever looking away from the field. “Shawn has caught me staring at TK more than once.”

  “You guys are crazy.” I laugh and take a Red Vine when Charli puts the box in front of me. “How can you even tell which one he is?”

  “Don’t play with me.” Vonnie pulls her sunglasses low on her nose, her narrowed eyes and a perfectly arched brow directed my way. “You can’t tell me you don’t know which one of them is TK.”

  She’s right.

  I spotted TK as soon as I stepped on the concrete steps and haven’t lost sight of him since.

  “Well, yeah, but—” I start, but I’m cut off before I get a real word out.

  “Exactly. Between his hair falling from his helmet and his ass filling out those pants better than anyone else in the league, he’s impossible to miss.” She pushes her sunglasses back into place. “Much to the dismay and ego bruising of everyone else on the team.”

  “Maxwell looks pretty good too,” Charli pipes in.

  “You’re right.” Vonnie points to Maxwell when I strain my eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of him with his hands flat on the ground in front of him. “Ebony and ivory. Fine and fine. Can I get an amen?”

  “Amen,” Charli calls, still focused on the field.

  I finally spot Maxwell, who is only two rows over from TK, and enjoy the show.

  Then I mentally reprimand myself for sitting here, snacking, talking with friends, and openly ogling these men the same way the men at the club judged me.

  And dammit if I don’t go right back to looking.

  * * *

  • • •

  IT’S CRAZY HOW after just one practice, a scene so foreign yesterday feels familiar and welcoming today.

  I walk out to the field with Vonnie and Charli. Vonnie forbade Charli from leaving us this time and Charli didn’t fight too hard. We’re laughing at a story Vonnie’s telling us about Jagger when I glance over her shoulder and look directly into a phone as the flash goes off in our direction. The photographer is a woman probably around my age, with blond highlights scattered through her brown hair and a Mustangs jersey I’m positive she found in the children’s department stretching past its limit across her very ample chest. She’s with a group of five other women, all in similar outfits, all with phones focused on the huddles of women waiting for their players to come say hi.

  “What’s wrong?” Vonnie asks when my laughter dies. She follows my gaze to the sideline and rolls her eyes so hard, I worry they won’t come back down. “Ignore the groupie brigade.” She brushes them off with a flick of her wrist.

  “Somebody posted pictures of me and TK kissing yesterday.” I avoid eye contact, feeling the familiar heat creep up my cheeks.

  “Which website?” Vonnie asks.

  My eyes go wide and fly to meet hers. “Which website?” I repeat, horrified at the notion of there being multiple forums discussing my love life. “You mean there’s more than one?”

  At this, Vonnie and Charli look at each other for a split second before dissolving into a fit of laughter.

  “Yes,” Charli says, wiping under her eyes for falling tears. “There is more than one.”

  “And that’s just sites designated to athlete gossip.” Vonnie continues on like a camp counselor trying to scare the kids with ghost stories. “Then you have all the little side forums and Facebook groups sharing pictures and trading stories.”

  “But . . .” I struggle to form a cohesive sentence. “Why?”

  “You’re so sweet.” Vonnie pats my shoulder, turning to look at the group of women who are meeting our gazes head on. “Because for them, this is a game. Some people collect football cards and autographs. And some”—she motions to the women in front of us—“collect dicks and chlamydia.” She smiles sweetly and waves before turning us back around.

  “Those are the women who watch WAGS and Real Housewives. They see the red bottoms, designer bags, and mansions,” Charli tells my poor, scandalized soul. “They don’t see the guys who get cut after training camp and never play again or the heightened chances of substance abuse and gambling. They don’t see the women who dedicate their lives to raising their kids and following their husbands from state to state, only to have to become a caregiver when their husband gets diagnosed with Alzheimer’s or ALS at forty.”

  “Damn, Charli,” Vonnie says. “I was just warning her about groupies. You gave it all to her.”

  Charli shrugs. “She can handle it.”

  I’m not sure I agree.

  “Well, shit,” Vonnie says, squeezing my hand. “I’m not sure I wanted to hear all that.”

  “Oh, whatever!” Charli shakes her head, not making the slightest effort to hide her laughter. “You’ve been at this longer than either of us. You’re the one who schooled me!”

  “I know I did.” Vonnie lets go of my hand and shoves Charli’s shoulder. “But shit, I don’t want to think about these scary-ass stories all the time. Retirement is my light at the end of the tunnel. I can’t have you messing with that dream when it’s this close to becoming a reality.”

  “Not sorry.” Charli sticks her tongue out right before Shawn runs up behind her and swoops her into his arms, causing a high-pitched scream and a girly giggle that seems almost foreign coming from Charli.

  I turn to give them a little privacy and look around for TK.

  When I find him, he’s taking a selfie with Miss Tiny-Jersey.

  Just my luck.

  I don’t want to watch. I don’t feel threatened—honest, I don’t. More like morbidly curious. The group of iPhone-wielding friends circle around TK. Hands coming from every direction to touch his shoulder, graze his hand, and one even “trips” and uses his chest to stabilize her skanky body. After she trips, TK takes a comical step back before moving down the line to grown men who fawn all over him.

  The group of women make a circle, their smiles so big I’m sure they must crack their foundation. They fan themselves off, exaggerated hand motions no doubt describing how it felt to touch the TK Moore.

  Gag.

  It’s as amusing as it is pathetic.

  Then one of them turns her head and sees Maxwell and Peter Bremner, the rookie quarterback, coming her way, and all thoughts of TK are thrown out the window.

  “TK!” a familiar voice shouts.

  “Ace!” TK yells back, running our way and dropping his gear by my feet before picking up a nearby football and shouting, “Go long!”

  Ace takes off down the field, his nearly completely blond curls with how much time he’s spent outside blowing behind him as he creates his own wind machine, looking back over his shoulder at TK every few steps. TK makes a sudden movement, pointing the football to a hard left. Ace pivots with grace and sprints, following the route with a speed that even impresses me. TK launches the ball, sending it spiraling across the field a little in front of Ace. But with a determination and talent I didn’t know he possessed, Ace leaps into the air, diving over the low-cut grass beneath him. He stretches his arms in front of him as far as possible and cradles the ball in his hands before gravity kicks back in and he slams into the ground.

  “Holy shit!” TK says to nobody in particular, and it almost gets lost in the applause breaking out from the sideline. The crowd, apparently, finding this father-son moment as captivating as I do.

  “I thought you said Ace didn’t play football?” Vonnie asks, watching TK run across the field to high-five Ace.

  “He doesn’t,” I answer, but don’t look at her. My vision is locked tight on Ace, TK, and the few other players who drifted over to congratulate Ace on what may be the play of the day.

  “Shit, girl,” Vonnie w
hispers beside me.

  My eye starts twitching. “I know.”

  A second later, Ace is lined up next to TK and across from a player I don’t recognize. TK pulls the ball back, standing up straight from his squared position, and watches Ace stop and go, trying to beat his professional opponent. He spins to the right this time and TK throws the ball right into his chest.

  Even from a hundred yards away, I see Ace’s eyes light up and his love of soccer start to fade.

  * * *

  • • •

  “HOLY SHIT.” TK jogs up to me, his eyes still on Ace, who’s running routes with Justin now. “Are you watching him?”

  “I’m watching,” I say, sharing none of TK’s excitement.

  “He’s amazing. I wasn’t half as good when I was his age.” He keeps going, pride evident in every word. “When does his football season start?”

  I knew we’d have to have this conversation at some point, I just hoped it wouldn’t be in front of thousands of strangers. “It doesn’t.”

  He swings his head in my direction, his brows knit together like I’m speaking German. “What do you mean?”

  “Ace isn’t playing football.”

  “You didn’t sign him up yet?” he asks, trying to make sense of what I’m telling him.

  “No, TK.” I rub my hands together to try to stop them from fidgeting. “I’m not signing Ace up for football ever.”

  TK’s back goes straight, and even through his thick beard I see his jaw tick. “Why not? Do you not see how good he is?”

  “He’s your kid, TK. He’s the best athlete I’ve ever seen.” This is the truth—there hasn’t been one sport Ace has played that he isn’t amazing at. “But I made my mind up about football a while ago and he’s not playing.”

  “You care to explain why?” he grinds out, color rising up his face.

  “It’s too dangerous. The risks aren’t worth it.”

  For some reason, this seems to calm him down. His shoulders relax and his lips turn up at the corners . . . which makes my back go straight.

  “I get that you’re a mom and you don’t want him to get hurt, but he’s a boy. He’s supposed to be rough and get hurt sometimes.” He keeps going, oblivious to how angry he’s making me. “I’ll get him the best helmet and teach him tackling techniques, he’ll be fine. You don’t need to coddle him.”

  Oh no he didn’t.

  “No.”

  His head jerks back and his smile flees. “No?”

  “You heard me, TK. The answer is no.”

  “You’re being ridiculous.” He rolls his eyes, only further pissing me off. “He’ll be fine.”

  “I’m sure since you play football, you think you know everything there is to know about it, but I’m not bending on this.” I plant my fists on my hips. “This isn’t some decision I made willy-nilly because I’m afraid he’ll get a boo-boo. There have been so many discoveries about the long-term effects of concussions caused by football. I know football is America’s thing, but a game isn’t worth his health.”

  “I told you I’ll get him a good helmet. He won’t get a concussion.” He keeps his voice low, but it does nothing to disguise the anger lingering in each word.

  “Helmets don’t make a difference.” I fight the urge to slap the patronizing look off his face. “Our brains aren’t connected to anything. They are free floating inside our heads. So every single hit you take, your brain rattles around and hits your skull. Every hit, TK, not just the bad ones. And each of those hits adds up and causes damage. Then there are the inevitable concussions that come with the sport on top of those little knocks he’d be taking every day. I’m not letting it happen.”

  The hardness behind his eyes has softened, but he doesn’t say anything.

  “I’ve talked to Ace about it. He loves football and he hates that he can’t play—a feeling I’m sure has grown being around you. So I really need you to not fight me on this, TK.” I grab his hands and hold them as tight as I can. “I know how much you love football. I mean, it’s your freaking career! And I might hate watching you get hit and I dread knowing you will probably get hurt, but I’m not asking you to quit. I just need you to back me when it comes to Ace playing.”

  “This is important to you.” TK says what might be the understatement of the century.

  “It’s Ace’s health, so yeah, it’s important to me.” I pull my lips into my mouth.

  “Then I won’t mention it to Ace, and if he brings it to me, I’ll back you,” TK says.

  Relief floods my system. I close my eyes and draw in a breath so deep, I go a little light-headed. “Thank you.”

  I don’t care how sweaty and gross he is, I pull my hands from his and wrap my arms around him as tight as I can.

  TK hugs me back and drops a kiss on my forehead.

  “You hungry?” he asks.

  “Always.” I tip up my head and watch as a smile crosses his face.

  “Then let me get showered so I can feed my woman.”

  “Sounds good,” I manage to say without jumping up and down and screaming.

  Because it doesn’t sound good. It sounds like the best thing ever.

  We had a disagreement. I told him it was important to me. Now he wants to feed his woman . . . and I’m his woman!

  Every time I think he can’t get better, he gets better.

  He’s not taking a hammer to my boundaries, he’s using a freaking bulldozer.

  Twenty-two

  I love HERS and I love Brynn.

  I thought I’d liked the Emerald Cabaret. But after working at HERS for two weeks, I knew I’d been lying to myself for two years.

  At HERS, I don’t have to coach myself when I approach a table. I don’t have to lie about my name or flirt with a scumbag looking to get his kicks. I don’t have to pretend I’m someone else to make it through the night. And I don’t report to a misogynist who thinks my worth lies between my legs.

  Plus, with Brynn being best friends with Marlee Pope, HERS was already a hangout spot for Mustang wives. Charli and Vonnie insisted on coming over and quizzing me on the menu . . . which they knew by heart.

  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.

&nbs
p; 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.