He wriggles against my hold, laughing so hard his face turns beet red. I release him seconds later, deciding to spare him before he passes out.
Hope only shakes her head at our antics, though her grin is wide and unrestrained.
Suddenly, I feel eyes on me, a prickle of awareness that crawls up my neck and on the side of my face. When I turntowards the bar, I catch Skylar’s curious gaze flicking between Hope, Zac, and me.
It’s brief—so quick it almost feels like I imagined it. But there’s no mistaking she was just watching us.
Needing to get out of here and into fresh air as soon as possible, I turn back to Hope and ask which park I’ll be meeting them at.
“Wilford Park, just off Sutherland Drive,” she says as she digs through her bag for her keys.
I nod, and we exit the restaurant together. Once they reach their car, I slip into mine and turn the key, the engine roaring to life beneath me.
The drive to the park is short, and within minutes I’m pulling into the near empty carpark. Hope and Zac are in the spot beside me, already climbing out of their car.
Zac approaches with a basketball tucked under his arm. He bounces it a few times and even tries to dribble it between his legs, only to hit his ankle and send it rolling away. He scrambles after it, almost tripping over himself in the process, while Hope and I stand there, barely holding back our laughter at his complete lack of coordination.
“Alright, Z-Man. Ready to lose?” I tease as I hold my hands up for him to throw the ball to me.
The ball flies towards me at rapid speed, and I’m caught off guard by the force of his throw. I catch it just in time, narrowly avoiding a hit to the face. Now it’s my turn to bounce and dribble, putting on a little performance as I moveeffortlessly around them—mostly for Zac, and maybe a little for his mother too.
We make our way over to the small basketball court at the edge of the park, and for the next thirty minutes, Zac and I go head-to-head, battling it out for the winning title.
The game is simple, really. We stand a short distance from the ring and take turns tossing the ball through the hoop. Whoever scores the most points in the half-hour, wins.
Little does he know I played a bit back in high school with Jason. Sport had always been my outlet—rugby, soccer, basketball, and even boxing. It kept me focused and out of trouble, alongside long afternoons in the woodwork room. There was just something about needing to keep my hands and feet busy all the time.
Throughout the thirty-minute game, Hope sits on the bench, cheering and shouting words of encouragement every time Zac scored.
I, on the other hand, was met with frustrated groans and whines from a very irritated nine-year-old who couldn’t handle watching me rack up point after point. At times, he let out sounds I didn’t think were even humanly possible, and whenever he did, it was hard to keep a straight face.
By the end—just to put him out of his misery, I deliberately missed a few shots, letting him steam ahead, before ultimately claiming victory.
After five whole minutes of rubbing his win in my face and calling me a loser in seven different ways, he dashes off to the play equipment, hopping onto one of the swings.
His mother and I settle on the grass not too far away, sharing a cheesecake she brought over from Jason’s restaurant.
We eat in companionable silence, watching Zac pump his legs to swing as high as he possibly can, Hope occasionally calling out for him to slow down.
After we finish devouring the delicious dessert, she places the empty takeaway box and spoons by her side, then stretches her legs in front of her.
“You know, if you keep letting him win, his head will grow to the size of a planet. He loves to gloat, a trait he clearly gets from his dad,” she murmurs, eyes shielded by sunglasses, though I can tell are clearly trained on her son.
“Nah, he won that game fair and square.”
“You spoil him too much.”
“I’m just not one to hurt a child’s feelings.”
Silence settles between us for a moment as we watch Zac on the swing, the creak of the chains the only sound between us. I’m still a little thrown off from my earlier encounter with my ex-wife, that is, until Hope finally breaks the quiet.
“I don’t think I’ve ever said this to you. But I’m sorry about the baby. I’m sorry you had to find out she wasn’t yours in the worst possible way. You would’ve made an amazing dad.”
Her words tighten around my heart like a vice.
Remembering that Ari was never mine still pierces my soul in a way I can’t shake. Fatherhood had always been something I yearned for, and to have it ripped away before I could truly experience it was a pain deeper than I ever thought.
“Thank you, Hope. That means a lot coming from you.”
