“WANT A DRINK?” Aiden asks. He pulls down the hand mixer from above the oven and glances at me over his shoulder. “Beer? Whiskey?”
“I’ll grab a beer,” I say and head for the fridge, all too familiar with helping myself to whatever is inside. “Want one?”
“No, thanks. I have an early shift tomorrow. I’m getting too old; the hangovers hit harder than they used to.”
“True, but that’s not stopping me.” I pop off the top of a bottle and sit on a barstool at the marble island. “Where’s Mags?”
“Dropping Maven off at Katie’s. The kiddo is celebrating her birthday with her mom the next two days, then I have her over the weekend,” Aiden says.
“You and Katie should teach a class on co-parenting.” I take a sip of my drink. “Years post-divorce, and you two have never had a fight. Plus, your new girl doesn’t have any animosity toward your ex-wife. It’s remarkable, really.”
“Because Katie and I work better as friends.” He shrugs and clicks off the stove, extinguishing the gas burners. “She’s also attracted to women, and I love Maggie more than anything in the world.”
“Any thoughts of proposing?” I ask.
“I’ve been thinking about it more and more lately. Maven’s okay with it. She adores Maggie.”
“But you’re hesitant?”
“God, no. You know I still think she’s out of my league. We just aren’t sure marriage is the right path for us. We’re both divorced. I’m close to my late forties, for Christ’s sake. I think we’re enjoying doing this right now. Loving each other without all the legal shit. Maybe that will change one day down the road, but for right now, it works,” he says.
“You have to do what’s best for you,” I say. “There’s not a one-size-fits-all happily ever after.”
A phantom ache sprouts behind my ribs as I offer my support, and I rub my hand across my chest. The pain pops up from time to time when the people close to me talk about their significant others and the loves of their lives. About how happy and lucky they are, enduring heartache and sadness until a pivotal moment in history happened: the day they met The One.
It’s jealousy, I think, not of the person but of their situation. Of having someone to come home to every night. Someone to share their day with, the good, the bad, and the mediocre moments in between.
The ache has turned more painful the older I get, more poignant and harder to ignore.
It’s a stubborn reminder the years are moving faster and time seems to be flying by. Like a clock is ticking, counting down the seconds until I reach a point where it just makes more sense to be alone forever instead of dealing with the headache of dating.
“You okay?” Aiden asks.
“I’m good.” I smile and jump off the stool. He gives me a look that tells me he knows I’m lying, but he doesn’t press me for more details. “Let me help you.”
“I’ve got it. You have a big game this weekend. Just relax.”
“A big game where I’m standing on the sidelines. It’s probably the least physically demanding job of anyone on the field.”
“Still. The Titans are undefeated this season for a reason, Shawn. Give your brain a break.”
“Fine.” I sit back down and drink my beer. “If you insist.”
“You’ll be here for Thanksgiving, right?” Aiden asks, and I nod.
“I will. We have a home game that night, so I won’t need to head to the field until about four. Are you cooking?”
“The works. Turkey. Mashed potatoes and stuffing. Maggie wants cranberry sauce, so we’ll have that, too. What about Christmas? Are you going home?”
“Yeah. My sisters and their families are flying in, and it’s going to be a big thing like usual. I’m going to drive to Philly and stay for a couple of days. I’m also giving the guys some time off between our game before Christmas and the game on New Year’s Day. They deserve it.”
“I can’t believe Katelin and Amanda have kids. It feels like yesterday they were in middle school and we teased them because we were the high school freshmen,” he says. “We thought we were so cool.”
I chuckle at the memory of us in our early teenage years, friends from childhood to now. I’ve known him for forty years, and my family is his family. He doesn’t visit my parents’ house as frequently as he used to, too busy balancing shared custody of his daughter, a loving relationship, and a heavy workload at the local hospital where he’s a pediatric oncologist, but there’s always a place for him at the table if he wants it.
“I know. It’s wild. Doesn’t stop Mom from hounding me about more grandkids, though.” I sigh and run my hand through my hair, the strands still wet from my post-practice shower. “I think she’s expecting us to give her an entire football team of offspring.”
“You haven’t met the right girl yet,” he says. “It’ll happen soon. Plus, you know there are other options out there. Like adoption.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Maybe.”
The front door to his apartment flies open, and Lacey comes tumbling inside like a bat out of hell. There’s snow stuck to her dark hair, and her cheeks are bright pink. Her puffy jacket makes her look like a marshmallow, and her smile is bright, a beam that instantly warms the room.
“Hey,” she says. “Am I late?”
I match her smile with one of my own. “Right on time,” I say. “Do you want a beer?”
“Please.” Lacey shucks off her jacket and hangs it on the rack by the door. She kicks off her black leather boots and walks toward me with fuzzy purple socks on her feet.
I gesture for her to take my seat and I move around the counter, grabbing a chilled bottle of beer and setting it in front of her. “How was the rest of your afternoon?”
“Tolerable. Thanks.” She lifts the drink in my direction and takes a sip. “Hey, Aiden.”
“Lace,” he says, and he abandons the pot of boiling potatoes to kiss her cheek. “I heard you got shit on today.”
“You got shit on and you didn’t tell me?” I prop my elbow on the counter and grin. “What happened?”
“It was an accident, but it caught me off guard. I had poop under my fingernails.” Her eyes flick to mine, and there’s a sparkle behind the dark green. “That’s why I was in the shower when you stopped by.”
“Incredible,” I say, and she swats at my shoulder. “Definitely makes your day interesting, huh?”
“It makes it something,” Lacey answers. “Part of the job.”
“I have a lot of respect for you all. I can’t handle when someone pukes after a workout,” I say. “I get queasy and sweaty. My hands turn clammy and I have to cover my ears.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have such strenuous workouts,” she argues, and I bark out a laugh.
“Touché, Daniels.”
Our eyes meet, and we stare at each other for a beat. Lacey tips her head to the side. My lips curl up in a challenge, wondering who will be the first to break today. We play this game sometimes, when there’s a moment of silence in the conversation or our friends are being nauseatingly sweet with each other and we’re trying not to gag.
I lift my eyebrows and she sticks out her tongue, surprising me enough for a laugh to burst free from my chest. It’s loud and it’s sharp, and red flares to life on her cheeks with the sound.
“Where’s Maggie?” Lacey asks. She curls her hand around her beer bottle and brings it to her mouth. I watch her take a sip before looking away.
“She’ll be up any second,” Aiden says. He grabs a long-stemmed glass from the cabinet and pours a generous serving of red wine in anticipation of his other half’s arrival.
On cue, the door to the apartment opens and Maggie walks inside. Her arms are weighed down by a dozen shopping bags, and she leaves snow-covered footprints on the floor.
“Traffic is horrible,” she says. “I thought I would get ahead of the holiday rush and do some Christmas shopping after dropping Maven off, but everyone’s lost their damn minds with this early season snowstorm. I’m sorry it took me so long to get here. You all should have started without me.”
“Hey, sweetheart,” Aiden says. He takes the bags from her left arm and sets them on the floor, exchanging them with a glass of wine. He pulls her into a kiss, his fingers tugging at the belt loops of her jeans and a smile pressing against her mouth.
“Yuck,” Lacey calls out. “Get a room, you two.”
“Not in front of the children,” I say, and I cover her eyes.
Lacey tilts her head back and laughs, and it’s such a bright sound. It might be below freezing outside, but her laugh is warm. Inviting. Sunshine in human form, and one of my favorite noises.
She doesn’t care that it’s loud, or that a snort likes to slip through when she’s cackling at something really, really funny. It’s expressive. Bold and vivacious, just like her. A giant fuck you to anyone who’s ever told her she needs to tone it down, because Lacey laughs like she does everything else in life: without a care in the goddamn world.
I like that about her.
“To be fair, it’s no worse than that singer you were canoodling three months ago,” Lacey says, and I roll my eyes.
“I wasn’t canoodling anyone. Our agents thought it would be a good idea for some publicity since she had an album coming out and the football season was starting,” I say.
Lacey folds her hands over mine, and she moves my palms away from her face. “Still. Watching you stick your tongue down someone’s throat is on the list of things I really don’t enjoy seeing.”
“Jealous, Daniels?” I joke, and it’s her turn to roll her eyes. “Who are you canoodling these days?”
“I’m bringing a date to your game next week, believe it or not,” she says smugly.
She sits up on the barstool and crosses her arms over her chest. My smile slips at the edges. Burns out around the corners of my mouth, and I glance at her.
“What?” Maggie shrieks. She sprints across the room and nudges me to the side. “A date? When were you going to tell me?”
“Okay, calm down. I’m not marrying the guy. We matched on an app that I decided to re-download three nights ago when I was drinking wine in the bathtub,” Lacey says. She takes another slow sip of her beer, and her tongue darts out to lick away a drop of alcohol she leaves behind. Some of her bravado wavers, and she waits for a long pause before speaking again. “He’s nice.”
“Nice?” I scoff.
She narrows her eyes, and a challenge flares in her gaze. “Yeah,” she says. “Nice. Is that a problem?”
“No. I just think you should be aiming higher than nice,” I say. “Mr. Rogers was nice. Do you really want the guy you’re sleeping with to be like Mr. Rogers?”
She hums and sets down her drink. Runs her hand through her hair and twirls the ends around her fingers. “I’m weird about meeting people for the first time, so I mentioned the game next week when we’re back down by the field in our usual spot. He said it sounded fun. It gives us a buffer in case we don’t have anything to talk about.”
I squint and try to tell if she’s lying. As far as I know, Lacey doesn’t date. Her job at the pediatrician’s office in downtown D.C. takes up most of her time. She barely gives herself room to breathe, working from seven to six then spending the other free hours with her friends.
Her life is a constant go, go, go, and in the months that I’ve known her, she’s never talked about a guy outside a passing mention of a one-night stand or quick hookup.
“You’re bringing a guy to my game?” I ask, and something hot flares behind my eyes. My hand flexes at my side and my muscles clench tight, like I just finished a grueling workout under the summer sun.
“Yeah,” Lacey says. “Not for Maven’s birthday party. The one after. Is that okay?”
“Of course it’s okay,” I say. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know. They’re your seats. I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you or something. Using our friendship to impress other people.”
“I don’t think that.”
“Okay, cool.” Lacey flashes me a smile, and the moment of tension is gone.
I’m not sure why I care she’s bringing someone, but every home game, Lacey is there in the front row with an ear-splitting grin. Whenever the Titans are down, whenever we’re lining up to kick a game-winning field goal and I’m too nervous to watch, whenever we score a touchdown to take the lead and the rest of the team is celebrating, I find her in the crowd. She’s not hard to spot; it’s like she’s a magnet and I’m metal.
I’ve never been distracted on the field before, but Lacey never fails to catch my eye.
If something is going to distract me, I’m glad it’s her.
She always laughs like a maniac and waves her arms in the air, looking like she belongs at a rave rather than the sidelines of a packed football stadium. Then she turns around and shows off the name stitched on the back of the jersey I used to wear when I played in the league.
Holmes.
Maggie pulls her off the stool and puts her through an interrogation about the guy she’s been talking to. Lacey says he’s in finance, and I want to roll my eyes.
Fucking snoozefest.
“You good?” Aiden asks, his eyebrows pinched and a spatula in his hand.
“Why wouldn’t I be good?”
“You got a little testy when Lacey said she was going on a date,” he says cautiously, and I can tell he’s treading lightly to make sure he doesn’t ask the wrong thing.
“Testy?” I laugh so hard, my shoulders shake. “I don’t care if she brings a date, Aiden. I guess I’m bummed because the games are our thing. You all hang out on the field beforehand. Half the team tries to flirt with Lacey, but she shoots them down. I stop by before halftime to say hi, and after, we go to the diner near the stadium for milkshakes. It’ll be an adjustment to add someone new to the mix, but I’ll survive. If Lacey likes him, I’m sure he’s a great guy.”
Aiden bobs his head in a slow nod before dipping his chin and biting back an obvious smile. “Okay. If you’re sure you’re good.”
I clamp a hand on his shoulder. “Never better.”
