Me:Exactly. Can I see you later? When you’re finished?
Havoc:Should be home around 7pm. Can you bring some honey?
Me:Only if you let me run you a bath and eat a proper meal
Havoc:See? Dadding already
Me:See you tonight, Havoc
I tuck my phone away and shift into gear.
When I arrive, Harry’s front yard is a riot of lavender, lemon balm, pink lupines, and whatever else he’s thrown into the dirt this month. Nothing symmetrical, and all of it thriving.
He’s in the backyard when I let myself through the side gate, bent over one of the raised beds with a trowel in one hand, wearing his wide-brimmed hat and the same faded Storm shirt he’s had since my rookie season.
“Morning,” I call.
He grunts without looking up. “You’re late.”
“It’s ten-thirty.”
“And I’m eighty-three. I’ve already had two arguments with the newspaper and a productive conversation with my basil. What’s your excuse?”
I huff a laugh and grab the second pair of gloves off the bench. “What’s the plan? We mulching? Weeding? Arguing over the state of your knees?”
He leans back on his heels and finally looks at me, squinting. “Mulching. And you can shut your mouth about my knees. They’ve got more years in them than that overpaid goalie leg of yours.”
We fall into rhythm—him directing, me hauling. The scent of compost and rosemary fills the air, and bees drift lazily through the lavender he planted along the back fence next to the treehouse.
He lets me work for a while before he speaks again.
“You look tired,” he says.
“Been training.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
The trowel in my hand pauses halfway in the soil. He always sees more than I want him to.
He wipes his forehead with the back of his shaky wrist. “You seeing someone?”
I pause, lifting my head from the soil slowly, until my gaze lands on the treehouse.
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“And…” I look back down and keep trowling. “It’s serious.”
Harry nods once like he’s known the whole damn time. “She good to you?”
“Yeah, and she’s brilliant. Driven, incredibly successful… and exhausted.”
He narrows his eyes, sensing the weight beneath the words. “Exhausted?”
I take a breath. “She’s pregnant.”
That finally stops him, and I turn just in time to see the blue eyes I inherited widen for a moment.
