by Alexa Martin
And I have a feeling he’s not joking.
Seven
TK was not joking and I am drunk—with a capital D.
I drink wine, never hard liquor, and the punch hits me harder than I’d anticipated.
I’m also having more fun than I can ever remember having.
“You’re lying to me!” I reach for his hand on the table. “That did not happen!”
“Swear to God.” He holds up both hands in surrender. “She showed up with fucking Bundt cakes.”
He’s telling me about the time Lydia flew to Denver without telling him during his rookie season and went to the training facility to meet his new teammates.
“The guard at the gate had to call to get me because she refused to leave. My coaches were nice while she was there, but I got fined five thousand dollars for leaving to get her.”
“Your mom’s insane.” I might be laughing, but I could not be more serious.
“She just loves hard.” He defends her honor, which is sweet, but also bullshit. “She loved you too. She was just as sad as me when you left.”
At that, my back goes straight and the happy drunk in me disappears.
“She hated me and was thrilled to see me go.” I think back to her gloating face as she handed me the check and I feel the heat rising up my face. I went through a phase where I wondered if she would’ve been more supportive if I had been a blue-eyed blonde—and white—like her. But I realized it wasn’t a racial issue—it was a crazy one.
“She was not.”
I take a deep breath and try to collect my spinning thoughts. “New subject.” Even though I’m not thinking my clearest, I still know this is not a safe topic for me.
“Wanna go play games?” he asks.
My shoulders sag with relief and I nod my head. He gets out of the booth before me and comes to my side, offering a hand to help me up.
He looks like such a badass—long hair, thick beard, huge muscles with tats spilling out from his sleeves—but he’s such a gentleman.
I stand up, and instead of letting my hand go, he winds his long fingers through mine, holding on tight as we weave through the crowd. He stops for pictures when a few groups recognize him, but he never lets them give me the camera, and even though I try to move out of every shot, he keeps me firmly at his side.
“You know they’re gonna Photoshop me out of those pictures when they get home, right?”
“I doubt it.” He looks down at me, barely missing a drink tray as he does. “They’ll probably look at it, see how hot you are, and take me out.”
“You are so full of it!” I laugh, but my cheeks heat at his compliment.
We break through the crowd and into the hallway leading to the arcade. The walls are painted a bright teal but there’s a break of white-painted brick with the words “i love you so much” in red graffiti.
“Picture?” TK points to the graffiti.
I bite my lip and nod, unsure why, after all the shit we’ve shared, this makes me turn into a shy schoolgirl.
He stops a couple of girls walking past us and asks them to take our picture. We both hand them our phones and TK pulls me fast and tight into his chest. I look up at him, laughing so hard my side aches, and he looks down at me, lines crinkled around his eyes, smiling just as big as I’m sure I am.
We don’t even turn to look at the girls with our phones before they’re handing them back to us. It’s clear they have no idea who TK is, because they just seem annoyed that they agreed to do us a favor. Not honored that the almighty TK Moore directed his attention their way for a moment.
I like them.
We follow the girls to the stairs, me behind them, TK insistent on walking behind me.
“Such a good view, Sparks,” he says when we reach the top floor.
I don’t say anything this time. I just roll my eyes and keep walking . . . maybe with a little extra swing in my hips.
“Oh!” I jump when I see the arcade games and turn to TK. “Wanna play Ping-Pong?”
“If you want, but . . .” He pauses and his face changes. The smile disappears and he tenses up. “This isn’t gonna be like bowling. I am going to kick your ass.”
I slap his shoulder and a supersexy snort slips out. “In your dreams, buddy.”
* * *
• • •
IF I THOUGHT TK let me win at bowling, the way he kicks my ass at Ping-Pong and every other video game the arcade offers would’ve proved me wrong.
“Whatever,” I pout after losing another game of Ping-Pong. “I still kicked your ass at bowling.”
“Keep clinging to that.” He leans down to kiss me, and like the sore loser I am, I turn my head so his lips hit my cheek. “Will a milkshake make you feel better?”
“Yes,” I answer, and let him kiss me this time.
What can I say? Ice cream can always get you back in my good graces.
We walk back to the restaurant and I’m not shocked to see they saved our table for us. Or at the fact that TK offers up another money-filled handshake upon this discovery.
“Two chocolate milkshakes, please,” he orders when our same waitress comes back.
“Sorry I beat you so bad.” He sounds sincere, but the smile confirms his lies.
“You’re so full of it.” I roll my eyes and pretend to be annoyed, but I’m pretty sure he knows I’m full of it too.
“I’m having a lot of fun.” He reaches across the table to hold my hand again. “I wasn’t lying when I told you I missed you. I want to see you more.”
I’ve been so focused on living in the moment, I blocked out everything waiting for me at home. And if I’m honest with myself, I kind of wanted tonight to be a disaster. I wanted to reassure myself that I made the right decision by keeping Ace a secret. But the more the night goes on, the more I’m questioning every decision I’ve made.
When I got pregnant with Ace, I was young, scared, and alone. And even though TK was still a kid and didn’t have the wealth and power he has now, he came from money. I’ve always been able to justify my reasoning for keeping him away by imagining TK and his family as comic book villains. Thinking that TK just moved on and was a massive, egotistical asshole who would’ve only harmed Ace made it easy.
As a mom, you’ll do anything to protect your kids, even things that everyone from the outside looking in deem as wrong. But sitting here with TK, and realizing he’s not the bad guy I had living in my head for the past nine years, has clouded my judgment.
The alcohol had been enough make me forget about my real life for a bit, but listening to him being so honest with me while I’m lying to his face makes me feel like the scum of all scum.
Ace’s face, the one he makes when he sees his friends with their dads, pops into my mind. The way he conceals the sadness behind a mask of kid joy when he gives me the Father’s Day present he made at school taunts me.
“We have mini camp this week, but when it’s over, come over.”
“I have to tell you something.” I pull my hands away from him and tangle them in the bottom of my shirt.
“Oh.” He looks confused, not understanding the sudden change in my demeanor. “What is it?” he prompts when I don’t continue.
“I have a kid.” I blurt it out before I can change my mind.
I watch him physically recoil, his back colliding with the pleather-covered seat. “Um. Wow. A kid? That’s . . . that’s really great, Poppy.”
Poppy. Not Sparks. He’s already checking out.
“Yeah,” I tell him, pushing myself to tell him everything. “He’s a really great kid, the best, actually.”
“I’m sure he is, you’re his mom.”
“Thanks.” My fingernails are digging into my palms and I focus on the biting pain and instead of the look of horror on TK’s face. “He’s nine.”
I
search his face for some kind of acknowledgment. For anything that shows he knows. But instead, he doesn’t say anything and forces me to lay it all out there. “His name is Ace and he’s yours.”
There.
I did it.
Ripped off the Band-Aid and it didn’t hurt nearly as bad as I thought it would.
Or so I thought.
I blink and the look of horror is gone.
Even through his beard, I can see the deep red coloring his cheeks. His eyes are so narrowed the green has disappeared and his hands are bunched fists against the table.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” he whispers, the softness of his voice only accentuating his anger. When I don’t answer, he slams his fists against the table. The wrapped silverware jumps with me and the salt and pepper shakers fall over. “Are you fucking kidding me!” He stands up, leaning over the table, screaming in my face.
“Ace.” I use the nickname I’ve been avoiding calling him.
“Don’t you dare,” he snarls. “I can’t believe you’d pull this shit. I know I have to deal with accusations like this, it comes with the territory. And for six fuckin’ years I have. I let them roll off my back. I don’t let people get too close and I keep my eyes wide open. Do you know how hard it is to never open up, to never trust someone? Then I see you again and I think I can let my guard down for a night . . . one night! And then you pull this? You?” He points a shaky finger at me. “You find me and think what? That you found your meal ticket? That you can pin some kid on me?”
“What?” Now I’m the one pulling away. “Pinning a kid on you? Ace is yours. Just because I didn’t go through with the abortion you wanted doesn’t mean you get to act clueless in all of this.”
I had a lot of scenarios in my head. Most of them did not end well. But not once did I think TK wouldn’t believe Ace was his.
“Abortion? You’re so full of shit.” He’s still leaning over the table, trying to intimidate me with his size. “You work at a fuckin’ club, Poppy. It’s clear you’re not living your best life. I’m back and you see your chance.” He smiles, but there’s nothing friendly about it. “What? You get knocked up when I left for school knowing I’d find somebody better than you?”
It would’ve hurt less if he’d punched me in the face.
I blink more times than is normal and try to pick my jaw up from the table where it is no doubt resting.
I don’t even know this person in front of me. When we dated, TK was the calm, even-tempered one in our relationship. Where I would jump to conclusions and occasionally—maybe more than occasionally—lose my ever-loving mind, TK always measured his responses. Every word that passed through his lips was well thought out and calculated. And on the rare occasions when we did fight, he would walk away before he ever said anything that would hurt me. So this TK, the one who seems to let every mean, hurtful, spiteful thought fly out of his mouth, is a stranger.
“Now you’re just trying to be mean, TK. I get you’re upset I didn’t tell you I changed my mind, but you’re pissing me off. I’m not gonna sit here so you can insult me all night.”
“Then go.” He points toward the entrance we came in through. “Get out of my face with this bullshit.”
I try to tell myself that something isn’t right, that something else is going on, but it doesn’t work. I feel the burning behind my eyes start to build, which only makes me angrier.
Do not cry. Do not cry. I hold eye contact with him until the tears evaporate, no doubt from the heat of the rage boiling beneath my skin.
“Screw you, TK. I didn’t even want to tell you about Ace. I was giving you the benefit of the doubt of being young and dumb. And even though it was fucked up, you deserve to know you have a son almost as much as he deserves to have a dad.” He opens his mouth to say something, but I keep going. “But let me be clear: In no way will you be allowed around my son like this. He is pure and he is loved and he is untouched by bullshit. We’re fine without you. If you don’t want him, it’s your loss.”
“I can’t believe you’re keeping this shit up right now.” He sits back down, raking his fingers through his hair. “My mom told me not to meet up with you.”
My jaw falls to the floor. Lydia Moore. The bane of my existence.
“Yeah, I lied when I told you she liked you,” TK says, reading me all the way wrong.
“Like I give a single shit if your awful mother likes me.” I grab my purse from beside me and throw it over my head. “But it’s good to know you’re finally big enough to make a decision on your own.”
“You’re so full of shit right now, I can’t even believe it. Find some other sucker to pin your kid on.” The asshole laughs.
I scoot out of the booth and stand next to TK, ignoring the crowd around us. Even though I’m standing and he’s sitting, we’re still eye level. I block him into his seat and keep my voice low and even. No way is he getting me to act out in public. “Screw you, TK. You didn’t want him. I went to your house after you were too chickenshit to even respond to the text I sent you saying I was pregnant. I went to your house. I called you, pregnant and heartbroken, and you had some other girl answering your phone. I was sixteen. Sixteen, scared, and alone at a clinic with your mom’s money.” I don’t let go of the eye contact. He can choose not to believe me if he wants, but he’s going to have to work hard to convince himself I’m lying. “You wanted to know why I moved? It’s because my parents kicked me out when I told them I was pregnant. You went off to college, living your fairy tale, not even thinking about me or even trying to find out if you had a kid. Now you act like I’m the one in the wrong? This is why I ran when I saw you. I didn’t want to see you. I didn’t want to tell you.”
“What are you even talking about right now?” He shuts his eyes and brings his fingers to his temples, pushing on his pressure points like his head is the one about to explode.
I ignore his question and point a finger in his face, just wanting to say what I need to say so I can get the hell out of here. “You’re going to think on this and one day you’ll realize what a massive asshole you’re being. But before you come apologizing, think really hard. If you want to be a dad, I won’t stop you. But you come to fucking stay.” I wait for him to acknowledge anything I’ve said, and when he doesn’t, I prompt him, “Got me, Moore?”
“I . . .” He lifts his palms and tilts his head to the side. Maybe he had more to drink than I realized. “What?”
I don’t respond. I turn on my heel and walk straight to the door. I hit Broadway with my shoulders back and my head held high and walk until I can’t see Punch Bowl Social anymore. There’s a group of teenage boys messing around next to a bus bench, and the mom in me wants to ask them about curfew, but the woman who just had her heart stomped on ignores them. I sit down on the bench and dig out my phone, hoping there’s an Uber nearby.
The bus comes before Sam, my Uber driver, does. And sitting on the bus bench, again. After being rejected by TK, again. I let the tears I’ve been holding in for ten years fall. For me. For my sweet boy. For the family I’ve always wanted but will never have.
On a cold metal bench on Broadway, I give up all hope.
Eight
By the time Sam drops me off at my well-lit bungalow, I’ve realized one thing.
TK’s rejection means nothing.
I’ve been doing this alone and I still will. I don’t need his support or money or love. I don’t need shit. Ace is a fantastic kid and I did that. Not TK. Not his mom or my parents. Me. And when he comes home in a few hours, he’ll still have me.
And one day, when Ace is old enough and he asks about his dad, I’ll be able to tell him I told TK. My conscience is clear. TK gets to live with this, not me.
Not one thing changed.
So screw TK and the Mustang he rode in on.
I kick off my flats and grab my phone before dropping my p
urse on the floor. I drag my ass to my room and collapse on my bed, still in my clothes. This is why I don’t cry, this is why I don’t feel. I feel like I’ve run a marathon, it’s freaking exhausting.
I unlock my phone and pull up the one contact I know will answer my call no matter the hour.
“Chello.” Sadie yawns into the phone after the third ring.
“I told him.” I waste no time with preamble, there’s no point.
“No shit?” she says, sounding much more awake. Apparently life drama is the gossip equivalent to caffeine for Sadie. “How’d it go?”
“Well, I had to hike down Broadway and catch an Uber home, if that tells you anything.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Understatement of the century,” I say, swiping the stupid tears falling down my stupid face.
“Was he pissed you changed your mind or that you didn’t tell him? Is he getting lawyers?” Her voice rises from curious to panicked in a matter of seconds. “When is he going to meet him? Are you going to need a lawyer too? I have a little in savings to help pay for one.”
“No.” I don’t know why I didn’t wait to call her. I have not recharged my emotional stability batteries enough to deal with this conversation.
“No what?” I hear her sheets rustling. “He isn’t going to try any custody stuff?”
“Well, since he thinks I’m lying about Ace being his so I can get some of his money, I’m going to assume he’s not interested in a shared custody agreement.”
She gasps into the phone and is silent for about ten seconds. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she screams. I have to pull the phone away from my ear, afraid she might’ve ruptured my eardrum. “Why would you lie about that? And he found you and asked you out, not the other way around!” She’s still screaming.
“I mean, I understand him having questions. You don’t see someone in ten years and then they say they have your kid, who wouldn’t have some? But he straight up called me a gold digger. He didn’t ask to see a picture. He didn’t ask when his birthday was. Nothing.” I take a deep breath, willing myself not to get worked up again. “I guess it’s good. He’s not who I remember him being, and if this angry man is who he turned into, I don’t want him in Ace’s life. It’s better he doesn’t want in from the go.”
