Mason sucks in a startled breath, eyes wide.
“We don’t eat any kind of sea life in this house,” Felicity says, sitting across from us. Dad rolls his eyes. Clearly, it wasn’t his choice to humor the boy in this way.
Mason’s brows lower, and he switches his study from me to Stella. “Are you a sister? I never had a sister.”
Stella smiles. “I’m Roman’s wife.” The words sound so easy, so right as she states them.
Mason looks at me as if I must confirm this as truth. “Yep, this is Stella, and she’s my wife.”
Mason pinches my stomach and giggles. I haven’t been around a lot of four-year-olds. I don’t get the joke. But his low-pitch chuckle is contagious, and soon I laugh too.
“We have a gift for you, Mason,” Stella says.
But because I feel to my core that it must be stated before the little guy gets his hopes up— “It’s not a crab. Or anything ocean-related. Sorry.”
“I like chocolate too,” Mason says, leaning his body across my lap and peering up at me.
I clear my throat. “It’s not chocolate either.”
“But it is fun. Would you like to open it?” Stella asks.
In answer, Mason reaches out and pinches Stella lightly on the arm with his clawed hand. I think that means yes.
“One minute,” Stella says, “it’s in the suitcase.”
“I can get it,” I start, but Stella hops up.
“I’ve got it. You stay with Mason.”
Dad sits in the chair opposite this couch, Felicity in the chair right next to him. He crosses his legs, watching us, both of his sons together. I’m not sure what he thinks of all this. Mason is my family, my blood, and I want to be in his life. My father might think this is a one-time visit—maybe he even hopes for that. But I’m not going to let that bother me. I honestly don’t know if he’ll stick around for Mason. He didn’t for me. But I’m going to. I will be here for that kid until my last breath.
“What’s your second job?” Dad asks me.
I peer up from Mason, who has crawled into my lap. He’s back to tracing my tattoo. “I don’t have one.”
Dad grunts out a humorless laugh. “And you can pay your bills?”
“The Red Tails are the best-paid minors in the league. Baxter makes certain we’re set up well. We’ve got guys headed to the majors every year.”
“You’re too old for that,” Dad says. “You think you can provide on a minor league income?”
“I do just fine,” I say, my words just short of a growl. I grind my teeth together and grudgingly add, “Messi’s in his thirties, by the way. You may have forgotten how old I am—but I’m not there yet.”
Another snort from my father. You think he’d be proud. You think he’d ask anything else. He opens his mouth for more, but I’m saved by Stella.
“Ready, Mason? Your brother picked this out just for you.” She hands him the wrapped soccer ball; in its box, it isn’t completely obvious what the gift is.
My jaw clenches, more unsure than when we bought the gift. I can’t see this little crab kicking around a ball. “I hope you like it, buddy.”
Mason slides off my lap and shakes the present. He tears into the paper, stripping it off one rip at a time. And when he’s finally unveiled the ball, he stares at the thing like he’s never seen one before.
Dad snorts. “Not everyone’s into soccer, Roman.”
Ignoring the man who didn’t really raise me, I take the box from Mason, opening it up and pulling the black-and-white ball from its case. “It’s a ball,” I tell him, certain now that Peter Graves has never introduced him to one. “My soccer team signed it. See?” I show him the signatures scribbled over the ball.
“Brother?” he says, pointing to Lucca Cruz’s name.
“Ah—no. This says Lucca. He’s my teammate.” I tilt my head, looking at Mason’s finger over the ‘L’ in Lucca’s name. “A teammate is a different kind of brother.” I’m not sure I’m impressing him though. “It’s a ball,” I say again. “You kick it. Or throw it. Or roll it. You know?” I toss it into the air a couple inches before it lands back in my grasp.
