by Kyra Jacobs
Felicity took a sip of her drink rather than turn the magnifying glass toward herself. She’d been accused of doing the same thing a time or two by Lauren. Her passion, though, was Tyler. As a single mom, that’s where she believed her passion should be. Probably, Scott believed his passion was centered on the right thing for him, too.
“But his passion isn’t such a bad thing, is it? I mean, clearly you did a great job raising him, because he’s not like the celebrities you hear about in the news, destroying hotel rooms or doing drugs.”
“We did the best we could. And yes, I suppose that’s true. But when you focus too much on one thing.” Edna tipped her head to one side. “It’s like…loving steak. And you want to eat steak all the time, so you do. But you’re missing out on all the other nutrients your body needs to grow and thrive. And then one day, you realize you’ve been missing out, but it’s too late.”
“So…all the other food is gone?”
“No, but you’ve got kidney stones and liver spots and dentures, because Lord knows half your teeth have been knocked out by now. So you end up in some nursing home assuming the fetal position, waiting for those damn stones to pass while some nurse named Claude keeps turning up, offering to bathe you. It’s horrible.”
No longer sure who it was they were talking about, Felicity took another sip of her drink.
“Balance,” Edna proclaimed after a moment. “The key to happiness is finding balance.”
“Have you found it?”
“Getting closer every day,” she said with a wink, then raised a hand to her mouth and hollered for the boys to come get a drink.
“One minute,” called Scott.
“Hey, Mom!” Tyler waved. “Watch this!”
Scott tousled her son’s mop top and pointed to a spot on the ground a few feet away. Tyler dribbled the soccer ball to the general area, tongue sticking out in concentration, then looked over to make sure she was watching. She laughed and gave him a thumbs-up.
“Okay, buddy,” Scott said. “Remember, don’t toe it. Kick with your laces, and give it all you’ve got.”
Her son nodded, backed up several paces from the ball, then ran straight at it. As he reached the soccer ball, he planted his left leg then drew his right leg back, swung it forward, and connected with the ball. Felicity could hardly believe how hard he’d kicked it, and watched with excitement as the ball shot forward, ricocheted off the crossbar…and beaned Tyler square in the face.
Chapter Fifteen
Scott hurried over to help Tyler up, cringing at the misshapen blue plastic lying next to him on the lawn. Oh, man. Not the new glasses. Felicity was going to kill him.
“Tyler, buddy, are you okay?”
The boy blinked a few times, his dazed look slowly coming into focus. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
Scott eased him into a sitting position as Felicity raced across the yard. No doubt about it, Tyler was going to have a shiner in the morning. Thank goodness his lens hadn’t shattered from the impact or things could have been a whole lot worse.
Felicity dropped to her knees before him. “Honey, can you hear me okay?”
“You don’t have to yell, Mom.”
She ignored the comment and made a peace sign with her hand. “How many fingers do you see?”
“Two, duh.”
“Do not joke with me right now, young man. You just got hit in the head. I need to make sure you don’t have a concussion.”
Scott studied Tyler as Felicity checked him over. He’d seen a lot of guys get their bells rung on the field over the years, and they’d looked far worse for the wear. “I don’t think the ball hit him hard enough to—”
“I’m not chancing it, we’re going to the emergency care clinic. Your glasses, where are your—” She sucked in a sharp breath, and Tyler’s gaze followed hers. His cute new glasses were bent to nearly breaking at the bridge of the nose with one lens popped clean out. “Oh no.”
Tears welled in Tyler’s eyes. “I broke them?”
“No, sweetie, the ball broke them.” She threw Scott a scathing look as she collected the spectacles’ remains. “I should have never let you try something so dangerous.”
“Come on, Felicity,” Scott said. “It was an accident. It could have happened anywhere. Heck, he probably gets more roughed up than this at recess.”
“Are you going to take the call for me when school phones tomorrow, wanting to know if I abuse my kid?”
“If my teacher asks, I’ll tell her what happened,” said Tyler.
“I’m sure you will, sweetheart.”
“And anyway, it was my fault, Mom. I didn’t do it like Scott told me. I toed it, didn’t I Scott?”
He offered Tyler a small smile. “You just need more practice is all, buddy.”
“Oh, no,” she said, helping her son to his feet. “There will be no more soccer or any other sports, not until you’re older.”
“No sports?” cried Tyler. “But what about recess?”
“Not there, either.”
Scott raked a hand through his hair. “Okay, now you’re just being unreasonable. What do you plan to do, keep the kid in a bubble for the rest of his life?”
“If that’s what it takes to keep him safe, then yes. And don’t you dare try and tell me how to raise my son.”
Scott hung his head in defeat. He’d tried to help the boy by building up his confidence and gotten him injured instead. If he’d just minded his own business, none of this would have happened.
As the Shaws headed inside to get Tyler an ice pack and head into town, Scott stayed back and watched them go. Her anger and the boy’s tears were both not-so-subtle reminders of what could happen when he allowed himself to get distracted. Getting his career back on track—that’s what he should be focusing on this week. Not butting into other people’s family matters or sneaking kisses from his PA every chance he got.
He shuffled over to the ball that’d just hurt Tyler, dribbled it farther from the goal, then turned around and drilled it into the net’s back corner. His knee ached from the strike, but the pain wasn’t as sharp as it’d been on Monday. Definitely a good sign, since he was clearly wearing out his welcome here.
Restless and needing some space to get his head back on straight, he called to Edna. “I’m going out to the creek.”
Thankfully, she spared him a lecture. “Keys are in the ignition.”
Scott headed to the garage, opened its overhead door, and gingerly climbed in the Pepto-mobile. It wasn’t until he ran his hands over the steering wheel that he realized how much he’d missed being able to drive. He itched to be in his Mustang now, to be able to hop on the highway and gun it back to Columbus where he belonged. Unfortunately, the golf cart wasn’t exactly highway legal, and its electric charge would never get him home.
Home.
He shook his head, turned the key to power it on, and headed out the door. This place had been home to him far longer than his apartment in Ohio, thanks to a father who’d been desperate to leave town. For his dad, it’d been an opportunity to start over; to Scott, it’d nearly been the end of the world.
Looking back, he understood why his father had been in such a hurry to leave. It was denial, an out of sight, out of mind coping mechanism for losing his beloved wife. So had been finding the second wife within a year and spawning two more kids in the four years following.
But Scott wasn’t wired like that. He couldn’t just brush the memory of his mother aside. Thankfully, Edna knew it, too. She’d advocated for Scott to stay in Quail Hollow, close to his friends and remaining family. He needed them, she argued, more than his father knew. In the end, as was usual when his grandmother was involved, Edna won. Scott moved into his room on the second floor. When the nightmares started, his grandfather looked for a way to wear him out so that he might sleep through the night once more.
That way had been soccer.
Scott hadn’t thought much of the sport while his mother was still alive; he would have rather bee
n with her than at those stupid practices. But she’d seen potential in him, told him to dream big and chase after his goals, no matter what. When she passed, he honored her wishes and set his goal to go as far as he could. In the States, that was making the national team and hopefully playing in a World Cup.
He’d thrown his body and soul into the game, working himself to exhaustion every day that first summer, teaching himself how to dribble, to shoot. When middle school tryouts came around the following spring, he was the first seventh-grader to start in all their games…and he’d never played a game before in his life.
From there, he’d only excelled. If there was free time, he was in the backyard practicing. In support of his efforts, his grandfather plowed up a portion of the field adjacent to their yard and turned it into a makeshift pitch with homemade goals at each end. Gillie Field—they’d christened it with a bottle of A&W Root Beer. By the time high school arrived, kids from all around the area were turning up for pickup games whenever the weather allowed.
Scott surveyed the long-abandoned Gillie Field as he steered for the creek that snaked behind their property. He could still picture his friends there, competition fueling matches but never ruining friendships. Edna had smiled and welcomed them all, but off to the side she’d warned Scott not to let the game take over his life.
He hadn’t listened.
Scott passed the spot where he and Felicity had parked last weekend, eventually drawing to a stop at the creek’s edge, a place he’d snuck away to countless times in the past, and killed the engine’s power. The creek bed was visible beneath water only a few inches deep, tiny minnows darting in small schools from one patch of submerged weeds to another. The trees around him were a little bigger than they’d been the last time he was here, the scrub brush at their base a little denser. Otherwise, it was the same old place of refuge, his quiet space. Scott drew a deep breath in and slowly let it out, closed his eyes, and there she was. His mother.
God, he missed her still. Missed her smile, her warmth, her kind heart. Seeing Felicity with Tyler brought back so many memories of his own that sometimes it hurt to be around them. Their closeness reminded him he’d been gipped, robbed of her long before he should have.
These past few days playing with Tyler in the backyard had him wishing he’d had a dad to be there for him. To kick the ball around with, to coach him. To love him. He wanted that for Tyler, too. Unfortunately, he just wasn’t that guy. Couldn’t be that guy, not until his own soccer plans had been fulfilled.
Besides, as angry as Felicity was with him right now, even if he wanted to be that guy, it wasn’t going to happen. Hopefully, she’d calm down once Tyler’s glasses were fixed and his bruises began to fade. Until then, Scott would be wise to give her plenty of space. Some added distance was a good idea, anyway, since his days in Quail Hollow were numbered.
Because as soon as Evan gave him the green light, he was out of there.
…
Felicity drove from the emergency clinic over to Tyler’s eye doctor, hoping they’d still be open. The clinic had thoroughly—and extremely slowly—checked him out and decided Tyler would live to see another day. Despite a few of their staff not-so-secretly rolling their eyes at her insistence to have him examined for a possible concussion, she counted her blessings. This might have been old hat for other parents, but his head injury was a first for her.
An injury he wouldn’t have gotten if she hadn’t let him play soccer with Scott.
She hurried across town, traffic thankfully light at that time of the evening. But when they pulled into the eye doctor’s parking lot, their interior was dark. A schedule on the door read weekday hours ended at six.
Felicity glanced to her dashboard clock. It was five after. With a groan, she dropped her head to the steering wheel. “This cannot be happening.”
A small hand lit on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Mom. I can still see good enough.”
“But your headaches, sweetheart. I’d hate for them to come back.”
She turned to face him, that blasted ice pack still pressed to the side of his face with one hand. Over and over he’d defended Scott and blamed his “toe-ing it” for the injury. And while, no, he wasn’t mortally wounded and, yes, the black eye would soon fade, she still hated that he’d gotten hurt. As a mother, she’d take on his pain tenfold any day of the week.
“Does it hurt?” she asked softly.
“Just a little. The doctor said I was a real trooper.” His brows pulled together. “Please don’t make me sit on the bench at recess tomorrow. I don’t want the kids to make fun of me again.”
“But, honey, sports are so dangerous. Can’t you find something else to do at recess? Trade Pokémon cards or something?”
“I’m not in kindergarten anymore, Mom.”
He rolled his eyes, and she bit back a grin. Her little man was growing up. If he wasn’t bothered by today’s injuries, maybe she shouldn’t be making such a big fuss about them, either.
“You think a hot fudge sundae might help make the pain go away?” she asked.
“Yes!” He lunged forward and wrapped his non-ice pack-holding arm around her. “You’re the best mom ever.”
The best mom in his eyes, but probably the worst right now in Scott and Edna’s—they’d just seen her one rant away from a full-blown meltdown. Not exactly the best example to set for her son, either. Ice cream might make him feel better, but she definitely had some crow to eat when they got back tonight.
“Well, I don’t know about that,” she said, turning her car toward the exit, “but ice cream sounds pretty good to me, too.”
“Can we get Scott one, too? So he doesn’t feel so bad about what happened? I don’t want him to be mad at me.”
“Oh, honey. I’m sure he’s not.”
“Will you check when we get back?”
She grimaced. Talking to him so soon after practically biting his head off wasn’t high on her list. But at the pleading look her son was giving her in the rearview mirror, how could she say no?
“Sure, baby.”
They grabbed dinner and ice cream, then headed back. The house was unusually quiet when they arrived. Edna greeted them from her seat on the couch with Bruno, but Scott was nowhere to be found. When they headed upstairs so Tyler could take his nightly shower, she spied a light peeking out from underneath Scott’s door.
Was he avoiding her? Heck, she’d do the same if she were in his shoes. Guilt pinged Felicity again for tearing into him earlier. Once Tyler had been successfully tucked into bed, she stepped across the hall and knocked on his door.
“It’s open.”
She turned the knob and reluctantly stepped inside, her entry feeling entirely different from the last time she’d been in his room. They’d both been giddy, sneaking in long after Edna had gone to bed, on a mission to find another condom. Tonight, she found him sitting on his bed, legs stretched out long and beloved notepad in his grasp. He remained silent as he watched her approach, an unspoken tension humming between them. A tension she’d created…and wanted desperately to remove.
Felicity lowered herself onto the far edge of his bed, eyes fixed on the folded hands in her lap. “Scott, I—”
“It was my fault, and you have every right to be mad at me. I feel terrible about Tyler getting hurt. I’ll pay to get his glasses fixed, but I’m hoping he’ll forgive me.” He added in a softer voice. “That you’ll forgive me.”
“Oh, Tyler’s got you on too high a pedestal to be mad at you. And he helped me realize I might have overreacted a wee bit, too.” She sighed. “Scott, Tyler’s all I have left. My folks aren’t in the picture, and I don’t have any siblings. Sure, I’ve got Lauren, but she’s busy most days with her little family. Once John died…” She shook her head.
“We don’t have to talk about it.”
“I know, but I want to.”
Felicity looked to her hands once more, summoning the courage she needed to continue. Only Lauren had ever heard the full s
tory, but Scott would hear it today, too. She’d felt a growing pressure to get it off her chest, to set the words free. Hopefully, he wouldn’t think less of her when she was done.
And if he did, so be it. Scott would be gone before long, her confession leaving town along with him.
“John and I met at work. We’d both been employed at a tool and dye shop outside of Markle. I was going to night school in Fort Wayne, and he was a journeyman. It was the classic good girl/bad boy scenario. Ridiculous, right?”
She glanced over, expecting a chuckle. Instead, he just smiled, offering silent permission to continue. The memories washed over her like it was yesterday.
Lauren had started spending more and more time with Michael, so Felicity began hanging out with a group of friends from work—John included. Over time, he’d begun to pay more attention to her. Nuzzled her neck, snuck a kiss on the way to their cars—John knew how to use his bedroom eyes to make the girls’ knees go weak. It was her weakness that had landed them in bed; his recklessness that hadn’t gotten the condom on quite right. A month later, the EPT strip was showing a plus sign, not a minus, and Felicity began five months of bowing to the porcelain god.
“When we discovered Tyler was on the way, we decided to get married. It seemed like the right thing to do. We were happy enough together, starting to fall in love. A few months later, Tyler arrived, and our little family began this exciting new adventure. I was home on maternity leave, John was working, Tyler was a happy, healthy baby. Life seemed more or less perfect. And then the accident happened.”
She closed her eyes, still able to hear his boss’s message on the phone, telling her she needed to get to the hospital right away. Lord, she’d been so scared. Lauren offered to meet her there and take Tyler for her, otherwise she would have been an even bigger mess.
“I missed the initial call, had my hands full with a wiggly, crying baby in one of those miniature baby bathtubs. By the time I got the message, John was on his way to the ER with three fractured vertebrae and two broken ribs. He swore there’d been an equipment malfunction; the risk manager insisted it’d been negligence on his part. At the hospital, John was wrapped up, medicated, and sent home to recuperate. But the pain was too great, he insisted, the meds not doing enough.”
