by Alexa Martin
“I thought you like TK?” I meant for it to be a statement, but Vonnie’s kind of scaring me right now, so it comes out as a question instead.
“So!” she booms, causing Jacqueline’s hand to flinch in mine. “He’s not my friend. He’s my husband’s co-worker. You’re my friend!”
My sinuses don’t even warn me before tears fog my vision and I have to suck in my lips so I don’t cry.
I didn’t even realize I was afraid of it until this moment, but now I know even if TK and I never get back together, I’m not going to lose my new friends.
I let go of Jacqueline’s hand and pull Vonnie in for a hug.
Then because these bitches are so extra, everyone piles on.
On a Friday afternoon, we cause a massive traffic jam on a busy sidewalk just outside Downtown Denver.
And I laugh.
Thirty-nine
Before Vonnie took Ace to her house, she entered TK’s address into the navigation app on my phone. Driving across town was the last resort. I was positive TK would answer his phone eventually.
But like always, I was wrong.
Now, parked on the street in front of his mansion—literal mansion—I don’t know if I’m grateful he moved to my tiny bungalow or pissed he didn’t push harder for me to come here. I’m pretty sure the landscaping alone costs more than a car.
I take a deep breath and turn onto his driveway, which loops around a fountain right on the verge of gaudy. I park in front of his door . . . well, doors. Two glass doors framed in wood that form an arch with an exquisite iron design decorating them. It’s all so un-TK-like I would’ve laughed if I wasn’t still raging.
I push the doorbell, which I know sends a notification to his phone and is recording me, and wait.
Then I ring it again.
Lights are on throughout the house and his Range Rover is parked uselessly in front of his garage, so I know he’s home.
Finally, I see him approaching through his door.
He’s wearing sweatpants and no shirt. His hair is tussled on the top of his head like he’s been sleeping.
And his beard is gone.
“Poppy?” He pulls open the door. “What are you doing here?”
“What happened to your beard?” I ask, momentarily forgetting the reason I’m here.
I haven’t seen him without a beard since high school, and it’s almost scary how little he’s changed with it gone.
He runs his fingers down his face, as if he forgot it was gone, too. “Needed a change, I guess,” he says, his lips turning up just enough for his dimple to show and looking more like Ace than ever.
Ace.
Focus, Poppy.
God. One meeting with a razor and he turns my brain into goo!
“What happened to you today?” I straighten to my full, still not tall height and narrow my eyes at him.
His eyebrows furrow together and he lifts his chin, not in a defensive way but in a way that conveys he has no clue what I’m talking about. “What are you talking about?”
I suck in a breath and take a step back. “You were supposed to pick Ace up from school.” I cock my head to the side, watching as he screws his eyes shut and his hands fly to his head.
“Fuck, Poppy.” He opens his eyes slowly. “I totally forgot. I’m so sorry.”
This is not how I expected the conversation to go. I didn’t expect to see the amount of remorse written all over his face or the self-loathing evident in his voice.
“TK,” I whisper. “This is not okay.”
“You think I don’t fucking know that?” he snaps, catching me off guard by the sudden change. “You think I don’t know I’m a fuckin’ screw-up? That I’m not aware Ace hates me?” He clenches his fists, his knuckles going white as his face goes red.
And God.
I want to be so mad at him.
So fucking angry for already breaking his promise to Ace. For breaking his promise to me.
But I can’t.
I can’t look at this man, alone in a house that might be big and beautiful but is so empty. I can’t stare into his eyes and ignore the pain he can’t mask as much as he tries. I can’t deny the love I’ve had for him since I was fifteen.
“TK—” I try to cut in, but he doesn’t hear me.
“You and Ace were the one good fucking thing I had and you left!” he shouts, and pulls out the hairband, letting his hair fall around his face. “Things got tough, and you left!”
I move toward him, wrapping my arms around his waist and staring into his eyes. “You aren’t okay.” I repeat the words from the hospital room, the words that have been nagging at the back of my mind for months. “Your mood swings give me whiplash. Like when I told you about Ace or when your mom showed up, you get mad to an extreme you used to not be capable of. You forget your keys or your wallet almost every day and now you forgot about Ace.” He tries to look away, but I move with him, not dropping eye contact. “And I know how much you love him. When are you going to accept that something’s not right?”
His body goes soft as he closes his eyes, the fight gone just as fast as it came, but he doesn’t say anything.
“Do you really think these concussions have nothing to do with it?”
“This is the first season I’ve gotten a bad one,” he defends himself. “Everyone forgets stuff.”
“CTE isn’t just concussions and you know that,” I say. He stays silent, but he knows. “And I know it’s scary and easier to live in denial. But even if you don’t admit it to me, you have to admit something isn’t right, even if it’s just to yourself.”
“I . . . tell Ace I’m sorry.” TK straightens, pulling away from me and stepping back inside his marble-covered floors. “I’ll call you.”
“TK.” I slump, realizing I got nowhere with him. “Please.”
“I’ll call you,” he repeats before closing the door in my face.
Crap.
I turn and walk back to my car, hating how sad I feel, wanting to feel the fury from earlier.
I start the ignition and rest my head against my steering wheel.
It’s safe to say that didn’t go as planned.
Forty
Five Weeks Later
TK didn’t call.
He sent a few text messages and on the occasions when Ace would work up the nerve to call him, he’d answer, but that was it.
There was the time, a few days after I showed up at TK’s house, that his lawyer called me to tell me he had a check for back child support and needed my bank information for future payments.
I told him to tell TK to shove the check where the sun don’t shine and hung up.
Then I told Sadie and Vonnie and they told me they’d shove something up somewhere if I didn’t call and take the “goddamn check.”
I did as they said. Mainly because I was scared they’d follow through on their promise but also because as angry as I was with TK, I knew he was trying. And money was the only way he knew how to try.
Then we got on with life. Ace focused on soccer, I focused on Ace, and we both pretended we weren’t disappointed every time the phone rang and TK wasn’t on the other end.
In the surprise of the century, Lydia Moore reached out. It wasn’t much, just a card addressed to Ace. It had a note about how excited she was to get to know him and baby pictures of TK that I hate to admit how much I enjoyed. She wrote her number inside, but Ace still hasn’t called. And with TK missing in action, I can’t say I blame him.
Oh, and Rochelle reached out. I think this is because Sadie put the fear of God into her and told her I had her and Jacob on tape going to my house and threatening me. It might’ve been because she heard from a blog that TK and I were over and she no longer hated me with the fire of three burning suns. I told her everything was fine—it wasn’t—but if she ever came arou
nd my house again, I’d open my gun safe—I don’t own a gun—and make her regret it. I haven’t heard from her since.
“You want to take the boys to Bonnie Brae after the game?” Cole asks, scooting his chair a little closer to mine.
Ugh.
And Cole became a close talker again.
I scoot my chair away. “It’s too cold for ice cream.”
“Lunch?” he keeps on.
I gotta give it to the guy, he’s a persistent little bugger.
“No thanks.” I pull my sunglasses from my purse and put them on, hoping he’ll get the point, expecting he won’t.
He keeps talking. “Ace is doing great this season.”
“Yeah,” I agree, and watch Ace as he runs down the field, waving his hand in the air to show he’s open. “He loves it.”
“I guess being an athlete runs in the family.” Cole huffs out an awkward laugh and I resist the very real urge to either roll my eyes or punch him in the throat.
He knows TK and I aren’t together—his nearness proves that—but it hasn’t stopped him from bringing TK up in conversations and subtly trying to get concrete evidence.
Luckily for him, Sadie’s cleavage-baring, no-jacket-wearing self—even though it’s nearly November and cold AF outside—materializes. I ignore his question and stand up, making my way down the sideline while still focusing on the game.
“Go go go!” I cup my hands around my mouth and yell when Ace gets the ball in the goal box. He cuts the ball left, then right, beating the defender, plants his left foot beside the ball, and strikes it with his laces, sending it soaring into the top right corner of the net. “Yes!” I jump up and down, thinking this is so much better than football.
“Go, Ace!” Sadie’s yelling as I reach her.
“You got here just in time.” I shove my hands back into my pockets, colder just from looking at Sadie.
“You know I’m the Patterson good luck charm.” She juts out her hip, the sun causing all the sparkles covering her skin and hair to wink.
“That you are.” I link my arm through hers and pull her back to where I’m sitting and point to the extra chair I brought her.
“Thank you,” she says, leaning back into the bright pink chair.
I point to the small duffel bag between us. “I brought extra blankets in case you get cold.”
She unzips the bag, pulling out the fleece blanket and draping it over her legs. “See, this is why soccer mom Poppy is my second favorite Poppy.”
“Who’s your favorite Poppy?” I ask, like there really is more than one Poppy.
She turns to me, aiming a bright smile my way that makes me regret asking. “Drunk Poppy,” she says. “She does some wild shit.”
I don’t have to look to know Cole is listening.
* * *
• • •
“A HAT TRICK!” I ruffle Ace’s hair before he climbs into the back seat. “You’re a superstar!”
“It’s not hockey.” Color creeps up his cheeks, and not from running or the cold. “Next time don’t throw your hat onto the field, and please don’t steal other parents’ hats to throw.”
“Sadie stole hats, not me!” I defend myself, aiming a dirty look at Sadie.
She doesn’t care about my glare or Ace’s embarrassment. “One hat wasn’t enough and I didn’t have one. What else was I going to do?”
“You guys are nuts,” Ace says with a hint of laughter in his voice.
“You love us.” Sadie shrugs, fully embracing that she is, in fact, nuts.
“You’re all right,” Ace says, which is nine-year-old cool guy for “You’re the best.”
I turn out of the park’s parking lot and notice out of the side of my eye that Sadie’s looking at her phone and has gone completely stiff.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the road in front of me.
“Nothing,” she answers too fast for it to be true.
“Sadie . . .” I use my mom voice on her.
“Aviana just sent a message in the group text.” She drops her phone into her rhinestone-studded purse. “That’s all.”
She is so full of shit.
Aviana sends GIFs all day, every day, in the chat among all of us. Nothing she sends has ever made my back go straight.
Even though I don’t want to, I drop it. I’ll look at the text myself when we get home.
I turn up the radio when Ace hears his new favorite song and push the pedal down a little harder than normal. I don’t even take the extra second to drive through the alley and park in the garage.
“Cool driving, Mom,” Ace says when we come to a stop in front of the house. “I’ve never seen you blow so many yellow lights.”
“I did not.”
I totally did.
“Suuuuure.” Ace slings his soccer bag over his shoulder and heads to the house.
“It’s probably nothing,” Sadie says as I dig through my purse, cursing all the receipts and unused napkins hiding my phone. “She just said to turn on ESPN.”
I find my phone and swipe at the unread message notification.
Aviana:
Poppy. ESPN. Now.
I run into the house without even locking my car doors.
“Shower,” I bark at Ace, who’s looking too cozy on my couch.
“But, Mommm,” he whines.
I’ll never understand the vendetta he seems to hold against personal hygiene.
“Now.” I take the remote from his hand and point toward the bathroom.
I don’t know what’s about to happen, but I don’t want Ace to see it with me if it’s bad.
“Fine,” he pouts, stomping away like he’s not about to be ten.
“You’re too old for that!” I shout after him, forgetting for a moment about the task at hand.
Sadie, not distracted, takes the remote from me, opens the guide (neither one of us knows the channel for ESPN off the top of our head), and scrolls.
“There!” I shout when she passes it. “Go up one!”
She does as I say.
We’re standing in the middle of my living room, holding hands. Then, with what we see, we both fall onto the couch behind us.
There’s an SC on the bottom-left-hand side of the screen, and a single man in a suit standing on what looks like a huge stage is talking. But that’s not what made my legs give out from under me.
Behind him, on a screen stretching from floor to ceiling, is a picture of TK standing on the field in his uniform. I know it’s an old picture, I saw it once or twice last year when I was flipping through channels. And it’s not even the sight of TK that does me in. It’s the words in all caps and bold print at the bottom of the screen.
TK MOORE RETIRES
“Holy shit,” I say out loud.
Sadie’s hand tightens around mine while the man in the suit keeps talking. “After a month spent in a Southern California clinic that focuses on brain injuries, Moore has decided to end his career in a move that has shaken the league. Moore is in his sixth year in the league, and only his second in his new contract. Because the NFL does not offer guaranteed contracts, he is walking away from millions of dollars. This story is just developing and we’ll report on it as we get more information.”
Sadie turns off the TV when a commercial comes on. We both sit there, saying nothing at all. The only sounds are our heavy breathing and the running water from Ace’s shower.
“Holy shit.” I stare at the blank TV screen, not knowing what to think.
“You can say that again,” Sadie says, and because I have nothing else to say, I do.
“Holy shit.” I turn to her, convinced we’re wearing matching expressions with wide eyes and open mouths. “What does this mean?”
Sadie stays quiet for a minute, biting her lip like she’s not sure
she should say what’s on her mind. “I think you need to go ask TK that.”
I nod, my hands fidgeting nonstop in my lap. “I think you’re right.”
“Now, Poppy,” she says when I don’t move to get up. “I’ll stay here with Ace.”
“Maybe I should give it a day.” I push my hands onto my knees to stop my legs from bouncing.
“No.” She uses my mom voice on me. “Now.”
“Fine,” I pout, sounding a lot like Ace did a few minutes ago.
I pick up my purse from the spot on the floor where I dropped it and check to make sure my keys didn’t fall out and end up under my couch somewhere. Same thing with my phone.
In other words, I’m procrastinating.
“You have everything!” Sadie yells, and points to the door. “Go!”
“Geeez.” I stick my tongue out at her, now definitely acting like Ace. “So bossy.”
“Poppy!” she shouts, her cheeks burning red.
“I’m gone!” I pull open the door, laughing at her as I go.
I pull the door closed, taking my key out to lock both locks.
With my keys in hand, I turn to walk to my car.
But I don’t get far, because after one step I’m toe to toe with TK Moore.
Forty-one
I don’t know if I’m more startled by him being here or that he looks even more handsome than he ever has—something for which I both thank and curse the Lord.
“Jesus, TK!” I shove his chest, acting mad, but really just wanting a reason to touch him. “You scared me!”
“Sorry.” He grins, his dimple popping out on his still-beardless face. “Didn’t mean to.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask him once my heart rate has dropped and my breathing has returned to normal.
“I came to see you and Ace.” The smile fades away and he shoves his hands in his pockets, rocking back onto his heels. “I can come back another time if you’re busy.”
Where I fidget all the time, TK does it only when he’s really nervous.
