Page 127 of Scoring Eden

It passes through the hands of several equally confused journalists before it reaches me, and I slip it into Macon’s palm with trembling fingers.

“You’ve got this,” I whisper.

I’d planned to do the talking, but it seems my son wants to take the reins. And who am I to hold him back, when Alex is just as important to him as he is to me?

The microphone lifts to his mouth. “It was all my dad’s fault. He was trying to take me away from Mom, and Alex was only trying to help. But my dad…he made up all these lies, and he pretended to be a judge, and he wrote fake letters that meant I’d have to live with him.” He waves his hand. “My mom can explain it better. But what matters is that Alex never paid my mom to do…you know. That was a lie. But he did give us a place to stay when all the scary men turned up at our house. That was my dad’s fault too. And he played Minecraft with me, which my dad never did, and he cooked us food, and he kept every promise he ever made me, and he said I could call him Uncle Alex, and he made my mom happier than I’ve ever seen her before. I know they were lying about dating, and lying is bad, but the thing is, you see, I don’t think it actually was a lie. Not really. Because Alex always made gushy faces at her whenever she was around, and he cleaned up her period sheets!”

Did he just…?

Yep, I think he did.

“And I know that periods are normal, and there’s nothing gross about them, blah blah blah, but I don’t think you do that for someone you don’t love. And I think Uncle Alex loves my mom. And I know my mom loves Uncle Alex because I’ve heard her talking about it to my Aunt, and they both talk really loud. And well…” He pauses and wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. “I love him too. So, you have to keep him on the team! Because if you don’t, he’ll be really sad, and I’ll be really sad, and you don’t want to make a kid sad, do you?”

Ah, manipulation tactics. He’s taken after his aunt, I see.

“And also, if you kick him off the team, then he can’t help me with my school project. We’re raising money for the Poppy Fields Children's Home, and he said he’d cut off all his hair so people would donate, and whoever raises the most money gets to be principal for the day at school. And I really want to be principal for the day. So please”—he blinks his wide, glossy eyes at Jacqueline and Coach Carter—“please don’t let this be the first promise he doesn’t get to keep. Please let him stay.”

The room is so silent when he lowers the microphone that you can hear the sound of Alex’s tears splashing as he smiles at my son. There’s an expression on his face I’ve never seen before. Full of awe, and gratitude, and love. So much love.

I wrap my arm around Macon and pull him into me, his sobs jolting my hip as he finally lets out all the emotion he’s had coiled within him since Sebastian took him yesterday.

“You did so good, buddy.”

“Do you think they’ll let him stay?” he asks, his voice ragged.

By the apathetic look on Jacqueline’s face, I don’t know. But the rest of the room, all one hundred journalists or so, are looking at her with matching expressions: raised brows, pursed lips, an air of expectation wrapped around each one of them.

Macon may not have earned the approval of the team investor, but he’s captured the hearts of everyone else.

A chair scrapes across the floor. Alex stands, drying his palms on his jeans, then steps down from the podium and makes his way toward us, journalists squishing together to give him room.

Time slows as he nears. My racing heart—that hasn’t slowed since Aspen told me what was happening—picks up even more speed. I swallow, forcing moisture into my mouth, and hold my breath as he reaches us.

He takes Macon first, peeling him off my hip and helping him down off the boxes. “Little dude,” he rasps. “I don’t know what to say.”

Macon blinks up at him. “Are you mad at me?”

“No.” Alex laughs. “I just can’t believe you’d do that for me. You were so brave, talking in front of everyone like that. I don’t know if they’ll let me stay, but I don’t care anymore, you know why?”

Macon shakes his head.

“Because I have you. And your mom, if she’ll let me. I’ve been a bit of an idiot, you see.” He’s talking to Macon, but his eyes find mine. “Because I’ve been keeping words inside that I should have let out a long time ago. I’ve been scared—can you believe that?—of what saying those words would mean for me. But the truth is, as terrifying as it is to think about what might happen in the future, my life has very little value if I’m not living it with you.”

I can’t breathe.

Slowly, he lets go of Macon and passes him over to Aspen, then he steps into me.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to see it.” He takes my face between his large hands and graces me with a wistful smile, thumbs stroking away the teardrops that have gathered on my cheekbones. “And I’m sorry it took me even longer to be brave enough to admit it. But if Macon can be as brave as he just was, then I can be too.” He sucks in a breath. “I love you, Eden Miller. I love you so much that the first time I felt it, I thought I was having a heart attack. I love you for loving me, even though I’ve been a stubborn asshole. I love you, and I love your son, for being the first people I’ve ever let in enough to save me.”

I can’t believe that out of all the places he could have done it, he chose to do this here, in front of a hundred journalists who I’m sure are filming every word, his coach, and the team investor from hell.

But I don’t care.

He could have done it in a back alley beside a drunk man pissing, and I’d still be elated.

I rise onto the tips of my toes to brush my lips along his and whisper, “It’s about damn time.”

THIRTY-SEVEN