His honesty and straight-talking attitude, however, yeah, he got that from me.
“If you don’t find him, you can always get another one.” Ava smiles, but my son gawks up at her as if she’s just grown a second head.
“I don’t want another one.”
I ignore Ava’s comment, resisting the urge to shake my head. Anyone who knows anything about kids would understand that was completely the wrong thing to say.
“Don’t worry. We won’t need to get you another one. He’ll show up.”
Some may accuse me of being too meticulous when it comes to deciding who is and who isn’t allowed into my son’s life, but we know what it’s like to be left behind. I don’t care about myself. Leo’s mother leaving didn’t affectme in that sense, but it hurt knowing running off with some other man took priority over her son.
It’s as if Leo never existed to her. He receives no check-ins. No birthday phone calls. No Christmas gifts or visits. She wiped her own child from her life entirely as if he were a mistake on a page, and my heart cracks for him.
He was too young to remember her leaving, but he’ll have to answer as to why he doesn’t have a mom when he starts kindergarten in around a year.
Everyone deserves to grow up with love from both parents, and I’m having to make up for the fact that he doesn’t have two by giving him double.
But balancing my football career and being a father sometimes feels like I’m walking on a tightrope with burning coal beneath me, and even though I’ve considered cutting my losses and buying my way out of the contract so I can retire early, something keeps me here.
My love for the sport, perhaps, but also the fact that I want to prove I can do this. That I don't need Leo’s mother around to raise my son and keep on top of my career.
“See you in a few hours. I’ll be back as soon as possible, and we can watch a film and have popcorn.”
Stubby arms wrap around my neck and bring me closer.
“Love you,” Leo whispers into my neck.
“Love you too, kiddo.”
2: Flo
Istraighten my poofy blouse—I hate this stupid dress code—as I stand outside Alexander’s office door, heart thumping inside my chest. Anxiety isn’t an emotion that I feel too often, but I’ve been waiting for this moment for what feels like forever. My boss has been hinting at the possibility of a promotion for me here at Starbound Talent Agency for months, and after all the hard work I’ve been putting in lately, it seems today is the day he’s decided to recognise it.
He’s asked to see me.
I put up with way more than I should for my pay grade—divas calling me and complaining about the temperature in an interview room or the choice of music being played at an afterparty, as if I’m their fairy godmother and can snap my fingers and fix it for them.
But a pay rise will make it all feel worth it. I’m planning to relocate closer to the city, so I need the money, and paying rent month-to-month, as I’m doing now, isn’t stable.
I no longer enjoy my job. There's no one I like left, since my friend, who worked at Elevate Publications—we're their parent company—moved on. The only reason I’ve stuck around is that the idea of a promotion makes me feellike I’m succeeding in life, like I’ve achieved something, like all this hasn’t been for nothing. I want to make my parents proud. They don’t expect much—they’re pretty easy going—but I want to show them I can pave the way for myself.
After knocking on Alexander’s office door, he opens it, revealing his usual glum and bored expression. I had high hopes he’d be in a better mood today, but his flat lips bring me back down to earth in a second.
Glad to see everything is right in the universe.
“Flo, come on in.”
I shuffle past him and sit opposite his desk in the red leather armchair. “You asked to see me, Alexander?”
“You live near Missarali, right?” He removes a wad of papers from his desk and shoves them into a drawer, barely looking at me.
“Um, I’m like thirty minutes away from it. Why?” What does my location have to do with my promotion?
“Good.” He pauses for a few seconds before reaching under his desk and pulling out… what appears to be a stuffed donkey, but it looks in rough shape with weathered fuzz and a mane so shaggy it could be mistaken for a ball of grey yarn. The toy stares at me with lopsided eyes, its fraying fabric tongue sticking out of one side of its mouth, as my boss balances it in his hands as if he’s never held anything fluffy in his life.
Alexander is a bit of a tough nut, and I never pegged him as the type of man to collect stuffed animals, but if it is his, who am I to judge? Everyone has their secrets.
If I ever need blackmail material, I suppose I’ve hit the jackpot.
