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They deserved it.
My sweet boys had worked their butts off all spring. And for me, watching and cheering them on was a privilege. Plus, they were finally at the age where some of the things I said and did embarrassed them. That was a bonus.
The boys’ travel soccer team, the FC Storm, was up against the FC Bearcats. At the start of the game, they’d whooped us, but we were slowly catching up and taking over.
“Go Miles!”
The oldest of my boys—by two whole minutes—was in possession of the ball and was racing on the offensive side.
He was the sweetest and most gentle boy, but drag a jersey over his head and put him out on the field, and he was a beast. My little beast. Coach Smith, who was the kindest old man, always put Miles on offense and Dallas on defense. Initially, I’d balked at the separation. But now, after witnessing the way they thrived independently, I was 100 percent on board with the positions.
Dallas was tasked with protecting the goalie, and he took his job seriously. He was as protective there as he was with his brother. Miles’s position meant he got the rare chance to shine, to take chances that he never would outside the game.
It made this mom’s heart swell.
Miles took the shot, and the ball soared straight into the net.
“Woo!” I yelled, waving at my boy from the blue bleacher seat I brought to every game. It was custom made and matched the team’s colors perfectly.
While several of the moms sat together and chatted during the games, I was usually on my own. Maybe because I was a little more enthusiastic than most. I may have yelled at a ref or two, challenging them to meet me in the parking lot, but outside of that, I thought I was pretty darn approachable. Even so, the moms kept their distance. I was too engrossed in the game to really let it bother me, though.
The metal bleachers creaked as Liam came up the stairs.
We never sat together. It felt…wrong, I guess. But we’d talked more this week than we had in years.
It was still irrational to be disappointed when he took his usual seat to the far right of me, though. I’d blame it on hormones. I was pretty certain I was ovulating, and that always made me extra sensitive.
Stretching my back, I lifted my arms and peeked over at him from behind my elbow. He was decked out in an FC Storm T-shirt and navy shorts, showing off far too much of that glorious tan skin sprinkled with dark hair and tattoos. As I dragged my gaze up his arms and shoulders to his face, I found him watching me. He lifted a challenging brow and gave me a similar once-over. When he brought his attention back up to my face and we locked eyes, his lips quirked just a little. Quickly, he bit his lip to stifle the smile and shook his head.
Caught in the act of ogling the man, I dropped my hands halfway and gave him an awkward wave. To which he smirked and returned the gesture. His presence felt heavy now. Suddenly, my ability to throw up a casual wall between us had disappeared.
Maybe it was because he’d ridden in my car for the first time in years, or because we’d been forced to work together on the spring festival project. Either way, we were nearly twenty feet apart, but he might as well have been right next to me. I cleared my throat but didn’t break eye contact. I couldn’t. It was like I’d been mesmerized. He wore the smolder that was all but stitched onto his face these days. Like he knew what he was doing to me. Like he knew that the outside temperature had suddenly risen five degrees and my heart rate had kicked up a notch.
He dipped his chin. I returned it. Just allies, not even friends.
“And number twenty-seven takes the lead—”
Twenty-seven? Dal?
I jerked my head away from Liam and homed in on Dallas. He was defending the goalie, feverishly kicking the ball stuck between another boy’s legs.
“Good job, Dal!”I stood and shouted, my hands cupped around my mouth.
“Just like we talked about, bud!” Liam yelled from his own spot at the bleachers.
Now we were both standing and waving at our son. The parents around us were gaping in shock, or maybe disgust.
To us, this was so much more than just a soccer game.
Dallas took possession of the ball and sent it over to another boy, who sent it to Miles. Miles checked his blind spots, then raced to the other end of the field. Like a gazelle avoiding a pack of lions, Miles darted across the wet grass, his cleats digging into the earth. He kept control of the ball, avoiding the opponents attempting to steal it. His friend, Ty, raised his hands and waved wildly at him, signaling that he was ready to shoot it.
Miles nodded, reared back, and kicked it to Ty, who shot it straight into the goal.
“That’s a goal, folks!” The announcement came over the speakers, and the crowd erupted in cheers.
I couldn’t contain my excitement. “That’s it, boys! Those are my sons!”
Liam was now standing one bleacher higher, as if he’d jumped up there in the crazed moment. He was shouting too, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. He clapped, shaking his head, and I swore I saw a tear form in the corner of his eyes.
