“Nice to meet you, Bronny,” Dad greets first while Mom promptly follows suit. “What do you think we should grab to eat?”
“Za!” he excitedly answers, consideration for anything else non-existent.
“Is that…” Mom’s face crinkles in confusion, “some sort of fusion food?”
“Short forpizza,” I announce alongside an amused headshake. “How about we doItalianthat way you can have pizza,” my face tips forward towards him, “and your brother can have something that will align better with his pre-season training meal plan that’s been coordinated by the new on deck personal chef who specializes in athlete nutrition.”
“Lord have mercy, Gillybean,” croons my boyfriend, warranting my focus, “you truly are ‘Your Song’ you know that?”
“Is that an Elton John reference?” Mom asks, shock and awe coating her stare alike. “Did you just make a70sElton John reference?!”
“Why yes ma’am I did,” replies Jukes, gaze still glued to mine. “And I meant every word of it.”
“See,” cockily mutters the teen. “Apple Music in shorts that ain’t got no drip.”
“Italian sounds perfect,” Dad agrees in such a way we all divert our attention back to him. “And so does getting an update on our daughter’s life,especially your two new additions…”
Chapter 13
Thayne
Preseason suck?
Fuck early pracky.
Preseason gino?
Falling asleep and waking up next to the woman that shouldpermanentlybe wearin’ my name.
We’re talkin’ on more than just her sweater.
We’re talkin’ on more than just her body.
We’re talkin’ on more than just her morning coffee order from LMC.
She’s wifey.
Albeitfuturewifey, since I ain’t technically asked yet.
But she fits that Next song.
Especially the line about having my kids.
I can’t fucking wait for that.
Or…you know what?
Maybe I can.
Co-parenting a teen has been facing seventy plus shots on goal fucking rough.
Gettin’ my truck dealership clean after muddin’ frustrating.
And I like mud!
I rarely mind a bit of it on my truck or my boots!
Look, I knew this shit wasn’t gonna be easy.
