"Actually, I do." Asher says as he turns on his stand mixer. "I've heard you grumble about her since I’ve known you. I'd at least like to know the reasons.”
"Yes," Theo says, taking a seat and leaning forward on his elbows. "Please tell us everything."
“That’s not happening," Beau says as he puts his bread in the oven. “We grew up playing golf together. She was my little sister's best friend. She was annoying then, and she's only become worse as we grew up.”
The three of us look at each other, none of us believing that’s the whole story, before Theo speaks up. “You don't call somebody the names you call her just because she is your sister's annoying friend."
“Agree," I say. "My sister was older, but she had annoying friends. But I've never once accused them of having a nine-iron up her ass.”
“Fuck you all,” Beau says before storming out of the kitchen toward the back door. A second later we hear it slam behind him.
“I really need to thank you two,” I say with a huge smile on my face.
“For what?” Asher asks.
“I said I wanted a welcome home party. And this didn’t disappoint.”
“Maddox, is everything okay?”
“Yeah, Mom. Everything's okay.”
Is it? I mean, the short answer is yes. But the gnawing feeling in my stomach that has been festering for months—andbecame a full-on stomachache tonight after I left Poker Club—says otherwise.
I had every intention of going back to Gabi’s apartment after leaving Sugar and Sweets. But I knew she wasn’t going to be there—she was over at Shelby’s so I just started driving. Poker Night was much needed. Yes, I have my teammates, but having a different perspective from guys who understand the pressures of being a professional athlete, while also giving a slightly outside point of view, has been invaluable.
But after our conversation that sprung up memories of my father—which led to thoughts of what kind of father I’ll be—I needed to clear my head. Yes, I’ve thought about these since the moment I realized I could be a dad. But they always went away. Tonight’s didn’t. Before I knew it, I was on the interstate before driving up to the new house. When I let myself inside, I went straight to the nursery, feeling like it was the only room I could go in to help me process these thoughts. I sat here for twenty minutes before I pulled out my phone to call the one person who could help me sort through my head space.
“Are you sure? Doesn't sound like everything's okay. Is it the baby? Gabi?”
“No, Mom, they're fine,” I say, holding a plush football between my hands. The one I took off the shelf above my son’s crib that rested next to a picture of Gabi and I from the gender reveal. A football that looks like one my dad gave to me when I was little. Before…
“I’m just... I don't know…”
I don’t even know how to start this conversation. The topic of Dad was always an awkward one. When she filed for divorce after he’d been gone for nearly a year, he didn't contest. He didn't ask for custody. She didn't even try for child support knowing he wouldn't pay it. It was like one day he was there, andthe next, me, her, and my sister were trying to rebuild our lives. No one has seen or heard from him since.
“I know Maddox.”
“How? I haven’t even told you why I called.”
“Because Maddox. I’m your mother. Mothers know things. And I’ve been waiting to get this phone call for the past six months. So just ask Maddox. I promise I’m ready for it.”
My mother is a both a witch and a saint. “Am I anything like him?”
In her years of shielding me and my sister, Mom made it a point to bring up my father as least as possible. Looking back, I have a feeling it was because she didn't want to remind us of what we didn't have. That also means I don't know much about him. I was only four when he left. I’ve seen pictures, so I know I have his hair color and build. My eyes look nothing like my mom's, so I assume I got them from him. But other than that, everything I know are stories from Mom or long faded memories that I don’t know if they’re real.
“You're so much like him that sometimes it scares me.”
That's not the answer I wanted to hear. “Mom, I’m?—”
“Let me finish,” she interrupts. “Youarelike him, but the version of him that I fell in love with. The boy who at sixteen years old lit up every room he walked in. Had a smile that every girl wanted to be flashed her way. I remember when he first moved to our school district, every female had hearts in their eyes, especially when they found out he was the next star running back. And somehow, I’m the one who caught his attention.”
“Not somehow. You were, and you are, the most beautiful woman in the world.”
“You’re sweet Maddox.” She trails off and I can picture her sitting in her recliner, looking up at the ceiling as she tries to find the words. “When times got hard, before he left and Iwondered who the man standing in front of me became, I tried to remember that boy. The one who took me to prom. The one who gave me his letterman’s jacket. The one with the brown eyes that I could get lost in.”
I swallow down the anxiety that's building in my chest, though this is what I called and asked for.
“But people change, Maddox. Your father changed. The boy I fell in love with was not the man who left us with barely a note saying goodbye. His eyes weren't the same. His smile had faded. I still don’t know why he thought leaving was the best plan, but I know he wasn’t happy.”
