“Hey, Rachel,” Christian greets me, a wave from Walsh and a nod from Seth following. I stare at them in disbelief, wondering why they’re here.
Randy jogs over, slapping hands with Christian in an easy, familiar greeting as Seth tosses him a jersey.
I return their greetings with a smile, surprise blooming in my chest. Randy shrugs out of his plain white shirt, slipping into his jersey Seth handed him. The four of them now standtogether, matching, as Christian tosses Randy another piece of clothing. Catching it, Randy closes the short distance to my son, flanked by the other men as he crouches and meets Sam’s eye. He holds up the miniature jersey, the blue and silver fabric catching the light. “Got you something,” he says, turning it over and gently offering it. On the back of the jersey, bright blue letters spell out Harrison/Summers with a big number 7.
I blink, momentarily stunned. It’s bold. It’s claiming. It’s all kinds of official.
Sam lets out a shriek of delight, grabbing the jersey and running over to me. “Mommy, look!” he boasts, breathless. “I have a Raptors jersey—and it’s number seven, just like Randy’s!” His smile stretches wide, brown eyes sparkling in the sun as he lets me touch the soft fabric. “It has our name on it,” he beams, “and I think Randy’s too!”
My chest swells as I hold back tears, enjoying my son’s excitement. “Well, what do you say?”
He leaves my side, running back and doing a flying leap into Randy’s waiting arms. “Thank you!” he gushes.
“You’re very welcome, little man.”
I feel the tears start to sting my eyes at the sentiment behind this from all four men. I look to them in sheer delight and admiration as Randy slips off Sam’s dinosaur shirt and adorns him in his own personalized Raptors jersey.
“There’s my boy, now he’s ready to play. Sam, these are my friends. This is Christian, Seth, and Walsh,” he points out to him. “They wanted to come play ball with us too. Is that okay?”
Sam is left unable to speak as he stares at the men in front of him, total blissful delight, and all he can do is nod in agreement.
Randy looks up to Christian, who throws him a ball. Randy passes the ball to Sam, his small hands gripping it tightly.
“Walsh,” he nods to him, “will show you how to kick a ball.” He points to the goals behind us. “He is the best kicker in the league. Do you want to head over with him and he will teach you? I’ll be there in a minute. I just need to talk to your mom.”
He nods vigorously, still unable to talk.
“Come on, champ,” Christian says, reaching for his hand and leading him over to the goals. Leaving me and Randy alone, but not before Walsh passes him another jersey.
He squats down beside me, his blonde hair falling over his brown eyes, all smiles and charisma. “For you,” he says, holding out another jersey.
I take it, fingers trembling around the woman’s sized jersey. Harrison hovers above the number 7 on the back in bold lettering.
“It says Harrison,” I whisper, at a loss for words.
He leans in, lips just inches from mine. “That’s right—my girl, my jersey.” Then he turns and points to Sam. “Our boy, our jersey. And one day, when you marry me, his shirt will just say Harrison too.”
My hand flies to my mouth as the tears tumble—unstoppable, joyful, real.
“I love you, Rachel…both of you.”
I lean in, cupping Randy’s face gently between my hands, my fingers still gripping parts of the jersey and not wanting to let go. “I love you too.”
Randy falls to his knees and I pull myself up to match his pose as my hands wrap around his head, his arms wrapping around my back. We pull each other close, and for a short moment we lose ourselves in the middle of a massive stadium, my son busily laughing in the distance.
Randy slowly pulls away, his eyes still closed as he begins to speak. “I’m going to finish what we just started,” he murmurs, voice low and thick with promise. “But right now…” He openshis eyes, gaze drifting toward Sam and the guys. Seth crouches with one finger steadying the ball, while Walsh gestures broadly, coaching him through the mechanics of a perfect kick. “I need to go play some football with my boys.”
I nod, a smile tugging at my lips. “You better go then.”
He presses a kiss to my nose, then turns and jogs off, leaving me with a few happy tears still freely falling down my cheek. For a good portion of last year, I was quite happy for it to just be me and Sam for the rest of my life. Thinking no man would be able to fulfill my expectations. Randy has not only done that in this short amount of time, but I know and believe that he will continue to.
“Don’t cry. I brought drinks,” Shelby says, holding up a bottle of wine and two plastic cups.
I look to her and smile while wiping the happy tears from my cheeks, still grasping my jersey. She walks across the field and then falls to her knees and wraps me in a hug, and I thank my lucky stars that I met all of them.
“I hope you don’t mind, but we are hijacking your date.” She looks over to the boys. “Even though Randy set it up, I think Christian is reveling in some payback.”
I sniff. “I don’t mind at all.” I turn my head to look at the men playing with my son. They pick him up and gently tackle him to the ground as he screams in laughter. I realize then that all the love in the world from my best friends and family can’t offer this for my son. “I can’t believe that just happened.”
