Cradling two foil-wrapped hot dogs and two steaming Styrofoam cups, I made my way up the bleacher steps, focusing every bit of concentration on not tripping in my skirt and heels. If I’d known I would be here today, I would have dressed in a damn pantsuit. Or packed jeans and an extra sweater. Hindsight was a bitch.
I’d missed the entire beginning half of Jamie’s first game but had at least arrived in time for the second half. My boss made a deal with me. He allowed me to slip out as soon as I’d finished payroll and paid me for a full day on the promise that I would babysit his granddaughter for free in a couple weeks.
Was it ethical? Probably not, but I’d agreed in a heartbeat. I was excited as hell to surprise Jamie.
I’d scanned the area for my parents, knowing they’d be here somewhere, and found them sitting in foldout camping chairs closer to the field. But like a damn planet drawing me to his gravity, my eyes were pulled to the bleachers.
Sitting several rows up, right above a group of school moms I recognized, was a familiar black hoodie hugging a body I couldn’t miss if I tried. By the way the women before him were glancing back, they hadn’t missed it either.
He had what looked to be a gray beanie pulled down over his head, and he was leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs, rubbing his hands together for warmth. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed seeing him. I’d only caught quick glimpses of him the past week, and he hadn’t responded to my text when I’d given him the field location.
Seeing him felt like a sun was settling inside me. The man had no idea I would be here, yet he’d shown up. For Jamie. I pressed my handful of items against my chest, trying to dampen the uncomfortable pressure there, and began the climb.
Making it to his row, I shuffled my way past a few long legs and knobby knees, trying not to stab my heels into toes or knock over beverages. A gust of wind shoved into me, yanking and pulling loose curls across my face. Hands full, I made do with shaking my head and blowing a few pieces off my nose while cursing.
Garrett’s head whipped in my direction, and he half-stood, eyes lighting up as a slow, panty-melting smile formed on his lips, his dimples on full display.
The moms who’d been watching him like he was the game rather than their actual children, gaped openly. I was torn between half of me completely understanding while the other, irrational half wanted to shove them down the bleachers.
Garrett straightened to his lumberjack, six-foot whatever height as I made my way toward him. His eyes trailed from my heels, up my pencil skirt, and lingered on my lilac sweater.
Either he was a secret fashion connoisseur with an eye for thrift shop finds, or he appreciated the half-inch of visible cleavage my scoop-neck sweater showed.
By the darkening of his eyes, I was pretty sure it was the latter. I pushed down the thrill the thought sent me. It wasn’t necessarily me he was ogling, I told myself. Garrett Rowe was simply a boob man. The idea he might enjoy someone else’s rankled, but I pushed that down too. All my idiotic thoughts could have a damn party down in the pit of my stomach.
“I come bearing gifts.”
His eyes dipped down once again, and the corner of his lips quirked up. For a moment, I swore he was about to make a dirty joke about what my gifts were, but he refrained. Instead, he sat back down, taking the cups from me and setting them on his other side out of the way.
“Hot chocolate and hot dogs?” He quirked an eyebrow, and I chuckled, ungracefully plopping my butt next to him.
“They were out of coffee, and you looked cold.” I unwrapped my foiled meal and looked out onto the field to try to pinpoint Jamie.
There was a beat of silence before he bumped my shoulder with his and said, “Thank you.”
I replied by reaching over to toast his wrapped hot dog with the tip of my own. Taking a giant bite of the rubbery, luke-warm food, I desperately wished I had some mustard and relish to drown it in.
I chewed, watching miniature humans chase after a ball. I had no idea what the rules were or who was winning. To be honest, I wasn’t into sports at all. Growing up, I’d only participated in the school dance team and my brother had been into cross country, so soccer was outside my bubble of knowledge.
“He’s done really well.”
“Hm?”
“Jamie. He’s played almost the entire game so far, and he’s done well. He’s a good team player, which I doubt is common at this age.”
I smiled around my food, pleased, but the feeling didn’t last long.
“Glad you were able to make Jamie’s first game, Madison. You almost missed it.”
The comment came from Tristan, the woman sitting in the center of the mom trio in front of us. I’d run into them a few times before, and they were no fans of mine.
They were the kind of people who enjoyed using their religion for attention and glamor but were the first to turn a blind eye and ignore everything they claimed to believe in when it was convenient for themselves.
Brushing off her passive-aggressive tone and letting it flow past me like I was a damn river stone, I glanced away from the field to answer her. “Thanks, Tristan, I’m glad I was able to make it too.”
I didn’t know Tristan’s exact age, but I knew she was about mid-thirties. She was pretty in a small-town-pageant-winner type of way. Wavy, volumized blond hair, blue eyes, and bright, extravagant makeup. She had a lean face with straight square teeth and was always dolled up in name-brand items, from her coat down to her shoes.
Batting her eyelashes at Garrett, she smiled up at him. “It’s nice to finally meet you. There for a while, we all thought you were imaginary.” She giggled, and I had a nasty urge to pour my drink on her head.
He lowered his eyes, giving her that flat, uninterested look I’d been the personal victim of before. “Should I know who you are?”
I coughed, choking on my half-chewed bite, and he immediately leaned over, handing me one of the hot chocolates while continuing to look down at Tristan. If stone-cold granite was a person, it’d be freaking Garrett Rowe.
She pulled back, blinking furiously in offense. “I run the PTO at your son’s school. I even designed the boys’ soccer uniforms this year.” She pursed her lips, like second-grade uniforms were the epitome of a life well-lived.
“Huh,” was all he said before dismissing her and looking back out at the field. No explanation, no denial, no “he’s not my kid.” Nothing. I stared up at him, baffled. I didn’t know of a single man who wouldn’t have corrected a beautiful woman about his parental status.
She frowned, or at least I think she did. It was hard to tell with her perfect, Botox face. “How long are you staying in town for?”
He took his time dragging his eyes from the field, making it very clear she was interrupting. “I live here.”
Her lips formed a perfect “oh” and her eyes darted to me, calculating. I sighed, setting my cup down and hardening my spine. I could fill an entire notebook with all the reasons I disliked this woman.
“Tristan, this is my neighbor, Garrett. Jamie invited him to the game.” Which is why we’re trying to watch it, you gossip whore, I silently added.
Her bell-chimed laugh hit my ears, banging all the way to my eardrums, and making me wince. The other two women—Carolyn and Lara, if I remembered correctly—laughed along with her like they all somehow knew the same joke. It instantly had alarm bells taking off, joining the still-ringing sound of her laugh.
“My apologies, Garrett. That makes so much more sense.”
I sucked my lips into my mouth, trying to let the comment pass. Same shit, different day. We’d only spoken a handful of times, but she always found a way to insult my single-parent status each time. Inhale, exhale. Her comments didn’t matter. She didn’t matter. I was a motherfucking river stone, and I was here for Jamie.
“And why is that?” The question rumbled out of the broad chest next to me, and my head turned his way, but he wasn’t looking at me. If Tristan had wanted his undivided attention, she now had it.
She batted her lashes again, and I imagined if they were any longer, she’d fly away. Turning around more fully, she had the audacity to rest a hand on his knee. Her very much married hand.
“I meant it as a compliment. You don’t seem like the kind of man who would have had a child with a child.” She laughed again. “But that’s what I get for assuming.”
The underhanded insult shot through me, and I set down my Styrofoam cup to keep from squeezing it in half and throwing it at her smiling face.
I waited to hear his reply, hear him knock her down a peg or give her his unimpressed expression. But he didn’t. He just stared at her hand on his knee, the muscles along his jaw flexing.
The cold, plummeting feeling in my stomach definitely wasn’t disappointment or embarrassment. Nope. I was probably just coming down with a sudden case of the flu.
Pushing down the feeling—that I was leaving unnamed—I pasted my very best customer service smile on my face, lining it with a hint of disdain.
“Thank you, Tristan.”
She glanced over, eyebrows raised, and her hand still resting on Garrett’s knee. “For what?”
“For always reminding me how young I was when I gave birth. You’d think I could remember since I was the one who laid there for fourteen hours and shoved his body out of my vag, but it’s so difficult sometimes. Probably because my brain hadn’t fully developed yet. So, thank you.”
I kicked my smile up a notch, sweetness oozing from the corners. I hoped she fucking drowned in it.
She sneered, finally pulling her hand off my neighbor to point a long, manicured nail at me. “I’d say I’m surprised by your crass, juvenile comment, but lying is a sin.”
“Ah, yes, we wouldn’t want Jesus thinking you were anything but a stand-up Christian woman.”
Her jaw jutted out, and she huffed loudly. “Not all of us are as comfortable spitting on our values and beliefs as you are, Madison.”
I clenched my fists to keep them from visibly shaking. It was physically painful to keep my face neutral when my heart was racing, and my neck and ears were reddening.
“Turn around and watch your son, Tristan. I’d like to watch mine play since, as you so graciously pointed out, I already missed the first half.”
Contempt filled her eyes, her lips curling and twisting to form the poison I could sense was about to spew. “Your son wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for the tuition payments parents like us pay.” She gestured to herself and the moms on either side of her.
I could ignore a lot, but implying my son didn’t have a right to his education was a hard ass line. Forcing my jaw to unclench enough to speak, I said, “I pay the same tuition you do.”
Her bell-chimed laugh burst out, but it was tainted, no longer carefree. “Please. You receive financial aid, and everyone here knows it. How do you think your son was able to join the team? Did you think it was free?”
My face fell, and she scoffed. “People like you love working the system, and rather than be grateful, you turn your greedy rear around and butt into our social circle like you belong here.”
Her voice had picked up in volume, and the people sitting around us were now watching, salivating over my humiliation like vultures circling a rotting carcass. I could hear my pulse in my ears and my eyes were beginning to burn.
I sniffed, blinking rapidly, refusing to let a single drop fall. I was used to this. I could handle this. It was fine. Everything was fine.
“You’re right, Tristan. I didn’t pay for Jamie to be on the team, but not because I was unwilling to pay. However, I pay the same tuition as every family here, and I do it on my own. I get up and go to work every day to earn my son a spot here. And as an unemployed mother whose husband works to pay for her child’s spot, you have no right to comment on it.”
“You, of all people, are going to judge me for being a stay-at-home mother? How unsurprisingly hypocritical of you.”
I slid my sweaty hands down my thighs and gripped my knees. I could feel the heat of everyone’s eyes, and nausea coiled inside me.
“You’re putting words in my mouth so you can manipulate your way into being a victim. I won’t play that game with you. My son is here because he deserves it and because I work for it. End of story.”
Carolyn and Lara were both tapping at her shoulders, telling her to drop it, but she was a wildfire, blazing with no care of who or what she torched. “You can sit there in your second-hand secretary costume all you want, but we both know the only job you’re qualified for doesn’t require clothes.”
I flinched, my shield crumbling under the combination of her venom and the continued stares. A single tear leaked out, and I dashed it away only for a second to quickly follow. I stood, intent on running away to bawl in the privacy of my vehicle, but a firm grip around my wrist stopped me.
I looked down, blinking to see through the blur in my eyes. Garrett had a hand around me, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was staring at Tristan, and he was radiating with fury.
“You may not care about actually watching your children do something they enjoy, but we’re here to watch the game. Remove yourselves so we can do so.”
She pulled back, verbally exhaling, like she couldn’t believe he’d actually told her to leave. But Garrett didn’t give a shit. If anything, his gaze grew even harder as he leaned forward. “Now.”
The idiot still looked ready to fight, but Carolyn suddenly shoved into her shoulder, muttering who knows what in her ear. Tristan made sure to shoot me one final condemning look, but she listened, getting up and sashaying away with her nose in the air.
It didn’t matter to me whether she’d left or not. I didn’t want to be there anymore, but the hand around my wrist refused to loosen, tugging me back down to the bleacher.
“I’m sorry, Maddie.”
I twisted toward him so fast, I was surprised I didn’t get whiplash. No one called me Maddie. I’d demanded my family switch to Mads back in middle school because I’d thought Maddie sounded like a kid’s name. So why did it sound like fucking sex on a stick coming from Garrett’s mouth?
“What,” I swallowed, wiping more rogue tears away. “What do you possibly have to apologize for? I’m the one who embarrassed you.”
He slid his hand from my wrist to my palm and clasped his fingers around mine. His eyes were still pulsing with anger as he looked down at my tear-streaked face.
“I should have stopped it before it got that ugly.” He cursed, holding my hand tighter. “I was afraid of saying something to that woman that I couldn’t take back, and even more afraid I’d do something that would fall poorly on you or Jamie with the school.”
I was barely breathing at that point, staring up into his eyes and losing myself in the knowledge he’d felt that way on my behalf. The idea of having someone—especially him—in my corner, was intoxicating.
“What were you afraid you’d do to her?” I whispered.
He leaned down until we were almost sharing breath. “Honestly? I wanted to slap her in the face with my wiener.”
I blinked, speechless, until he slowly raised his free hand. I glanced down to see the still-foiled hot dog, flattened like he’d squeezed the ever-loving hell out of it, and I lost it. I laughed so hard a high-pitched, piglet snort escaped me, and my stomach muscles screamed in protest. And then Garrett’s baritone laughter was joining me.
We sat there, with who knows how many people watching us, dying over the fact that he’d suffocated his wiener trying not to pummel a woman with it.
More tears dripped down my face, and they felt good. With each laughter-induced tear that fell, my lungs expanded farther, and my heart settled. Looking up at this man, each of us fighting to control ourselves, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed hard enough to cry.
We sat shoulder to shoulder, still holding hands while we watched the last quarter of the game. It didn’t feel weird or romantic, just comfortable, and a nagging whisper in the back of my head told me I could get used to it.
“Does she bother you often?”
“No. With my work schedule I can never attend school events, so I rarely see her or any of the other parents. But to answer the follow-up question I’m sure you want to ask, yes, she is always like that when I do. Although, usually she sticks to passive-aggressive comments. I may have poked the embers a bit today.”
“All because she disapproves of your age? Isn’t it a religious school?”
“Yes and no. The age I got pregnant bothers all the parents I’ve met, but it’s that combined with me being, not only single, but single and divorced. It’s a three strikes and you’re out club, so I never even made it through orientation.” I shrugged.
After eight years, I still sometimes struggled to bear people’s judgmental comments, but I also knew I wasn’t missing out by being excluded from their circles. I had no desire to befriend people like that anyway.
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
“You just told me you wanted to wiener whip a lady. I think we’re past the point of needing permission to ask questions.”
He laughed, deep and full, and butterflies took off in every fucking direction, making me lightheaded. “Point taken.” Sobering, he asked, “What made you and Jamie’s father divorce?”
I tensed, my immediate knee-jerk reaction being to jump ship and not answer. But we’d basically just traded imaginary friendship bracelets, so he deserved the truth. I pulled my hand away, trying not to read too much into the way his fingers clenched the empty air.
“My ex-husband, Aaron, the one you met? He’s not Jamie’s dad.”
His eyebrows shot up, not necessarily in shock but rather mild surprise, which I’d expected. He’d already hinted once before that he assumed them to be one and the same.
“When I was sixteen, I dated a guy who was four years older than me. We were together less than a year before we broke up, and then I found out I was nine weeks pregnant. I was seventeen by the time I gave birth. He was twenty-one. In the state of Kansas, I was of legal age to consent, but it obviously didn’t go over well with my family.”
I laughed humorlessly, watching my son chase the ball and successfully steal it from an opponent.
“He’d always been controlling, telling me what to wear, how to act, making me straighten my hair and wear certain makeup. But he got nasty during my pregnancy and started following me around and obsessively calling my phone.” I looked down, distracting myself with pushing back my cuticles.
“In the end, my parents threatened to put a restraining order on him, and I was induced at the hospital under an anonymous name. We even tried to get his parental rights removed. It was denied, but the court ruled he had to attend parenting classes and anger management before he could have non-supervised visitation with Jamie.”
“And did he?” he asked, his tone indicating he already knew the answer.
“No. He disappeared soon after when he realized he had no control over me or Jamie. I haven’t heard from him since. I don’t regret any of it because it gave me Jamie, but the guy was just a nameless sperm donor. Nothing else. And I’m finally at a point in my life where I’m okay with that.”
“That’s a lot to go through at such a young age.”
I nodded absently, chewing the inside of my lip and feeling uncomfortable. “Anyway, I’d already known my ex-husband through mutual friends during all of that, and we eventually eloped when I turned 18. The rest you know.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Like I said, my plane is packed the fuck full.” I stood, gathering up my purse and trash. “Let’s go, it looks like the game’s over.”
I felt bad for how little I’d actually paid attention. If it wasn’t for the scoreboard, I wouldn’t even know they’d won. But when it was all said and done, it didn’t matter. The look on Jamie’s face when he saw Garrett and me standing near the field was the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen. He hugged me so hard, I almost popped an ovary, but I hugged him back, congratulating him on the team’s win.
When I turned, Garrett had approached my parents and was shaking my dad’s hand, introducing himself. My conveniently timed indigestion reared its head at the sight.
There was a pull on my arm. “Grandpa said we could go get frozen yogurt after the game.”
“Did he now?”
I should say no. None of us had consumed anything remotely resembling healthy food today, but I figured go big or go home, right? Jamie had won his game after all. I may not have paid attention, but a win was a win, and we could celebrate it.
Turning to see both my dad and Garrett looking over at us, I offered a goofy smile. “Apparently, we’re going out for frozen yogurt, would you like to join us, Garrett?”
He smiled, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Does anyone ever say no to frozen yogurt?”
“Nope,” I said, enunciating the word. “It was a rhetorical question. Get your butt in gear, and let’s go.”
