AllFreeNovel
Share Us
This feels like my last chance. This feels like I’m losing him. The older Forrest gets, the more questions he’ll ask. So will his dad.
Does Forrest look like me? Or like Beau?
Tough to say.
He was born with a tuft of brown hair. I took in every detail while I held him when he was three months old. Reese let me come by when Jake was at work, and I cried. Forrest was so tiny in my arms, and I fucking cried at how beautiful our little boy was. Holding him healed what Reese did to me.
Then, she let me see him again when he was thirteen months old. I had to miss his first birthday. Reese said it was too risky. So I met them at a park. Forrest had just learned to walk. All his brown hair had fallen out, replaced by wisps of blond like mine. And I cried again when he held his arms out, laughing, toddling my way with a big smile.
But Reese is blonde, too. The truth is, Forrest looks a lot like her.
Three, maybe four times a year, Reese lets me see him.
And I wanted to hate her for all the time I’ve missed with him.
But when she found out about my mom’s illness, Reese came through. She brought Forrest to see her when I wasn’t there. They explained their relationship as family friends, and they were. Reese was so good to my mom in her last year. She let her see her grandson every chance she got.
That’s what my mom died believing—that Forrest is her grandson.
“Hey,” Beau plops beside me on the bench, “let’s do a Lucy.”
I snap my glance his way. He’s chewing on the tip of his mouthguard. He does that when he’s up to something.
“A Lucy?” I ask. “You sure?”
It’s a trick play. It’s our code word for a left-handed throw.
“Yeah. I’ve been throwing to Goodwin and Martinez this whole quarter,” he says. “So act gassed out. Act like you’re tanked, and I’ll throw to them again for the first down. Then I’m throwing left to you for the second. They won’t see it coming.”
Beau can do it. In a clutch, he can throw left-handed, but it’s risky. With his right, his aim is razor-sharp. But with his left? It’s a gamble when we need a sure win.
But I nod, checking the clock. It looks like we’ll have two minutes left in the game to score.
I feel the pressure. The worry. The disappointment. The possible loss. It’s clawing inside my skin.
“Hey.” He juts his chin. “You alright? You’ve been fucking quiet all day.”
“I’m fine,” I lie, glancing up at the club box on the visitors’ side—the one on the fifty-yard line. I can’t see her from here, but Blair’s in there. I can feel her watching us.
So, it’s instinct. I glance back over my shoulder, worried Blair’s spotted Reese behind us.
Are Reese and Forrest here? Could Blair see them from there?
“Who are you looking for?” Beau glances over his shoulder, craning his neck, too.
Oh shit. “No one!” I answer quickly.
“You sure?” Beau laughs. “Careful, if you get too close to our fans when we win, you’ll get pelted with Touchdown panties.”
I lighten my tone. “No, you get pelted with panties.” I try distracting him.
If Beau spots Reese in the crowd, it’s over. If he sees her with Forrest, we’re done.
Usually, Beau doesn’t go to the midfield, where the richest seats are, after a game. He goes to the end zone, where he gives a game ball to a kid waiting there.
That’s what I’m counting on.
“Alright!” Coach approaches us with his laminated play sheet in hand. “It’s magic time.”
