Reckless (13 page)

M
aren

“
H
i boys
.” My hands rest on my steering wheel as Dash and Beck climb into my backseat Friday afternoon. “Have a good week at school? I’ve missed you.”

Dash shoots me a look. He’s not quite a teenager and is already giving me an attitude.

“Dash got detention yesterday,” Beck blurts.

“Detention? For what?” I wrinkle my nose. My Dash never gets in trouble.

“Kissing a girl during lunch. They snuck off into the library,” Beck says. Dash elbows him in the ribcage. “Ow!”

“Who were you kissing?” I’m not sure whether to be amused or to scold him. This is the beginning of the inevitable.

“Maddy Long,” Beck answers for his brother.

Dash elbows him again.

“That’s enough, Dash.” I check my mirror and pull out into traffic. “No more kissing girls at school, all right? You’re going to have plenty of time for that when you’re older. Just focus on school. And being a kid.”

I glance in my mirror again, watching Dash’s cheeks turn pink as he avoids engaging in this uncomfortable conversation with his mother.

“You have a good week, buddy?” I say, direction my attention to Beck.

“I did. Mrs. Carsten let me wash the whiteboard after recess,” he says, bouncing in his seat as if it was the greatest privilege ever.

“Why don’t you get this excited about cleaning your room?” I tease.

My phone rests in a cup holder to my right, and I catch the screen lighting up from the corner of my vision. There’s a text from Dante, telling me we’re good to go.

“Hey boys,” I say. “Got a surprise for you.”

A quick glance in the mirror tells me I’ve captured both of their attentions.

“I want you to meet someone today,” I say, “and we’re going someplace very special. Somewhere you’ve never been before.”

Beck groans. “Is it that guy? The one that was in our kitchen on Monday?”

I laugh. “Maybe . . .”

He bumps his forehead against his window and sighs.

“You’re going to love him,” I say. “I promise.”

Dash is extra quiet, and I’m not sure if it has to do with this Maddy girl or the fact that he’s about to meet his mother’s boyfriend.

“Dash, you okay back there?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says. I know my son, and I know that’s about all I’m going to get out of him, so I don’t press it. I focus on the drive to TeleStar Stadium, home of the Seattle Warhawks baseball team.

This was all Dante’s idea. He planned everything. He felt bad about the way he met Beck the other day and said we needed a good experience to replace the bad, and then he asked if I’d mind if he called his brother and phoned in some favors.

It turns out one of his older brothers is a retired baseball pitcher with connections all over the country and he was coming to town for a visit. This brother of his, Ace, made some calls, and while I’m not sure what all tonight will entail, I have a feeling it’s going to be pretty legendary. It’ll be a night my boys will never forget as long as they live.

* * *

“
M
om
.” Beck shoots forward in his seat when we pull into the parking lot, his eyes round as saucers as I shift into park. “Are we . . .? But there’s not a game . . .”

“Dante has arranged a special meet and greet,” I announce as we file out of my SUV. “Several Warhawks players will be here as well as the coach. And his brother, retired pitcher Ace Amato.”

“What?! Ace Amato?” Beck’s hands fly to his face and he jumps up and down, and then he runs toward me, tackling me almost to the ground. That kid will make a mighty fine linebacker someday. “That’s his brother?”

I nod, soaking in his contagious joy.

I glance at Dash, and I see his excitement in his dark eyes, but I know he’s trying to play it cool. I can respect that. He’s getting to the age where he’s growing more self-conscious–the age where he’s starting to care what people think of him.

“All right, Mr. Too Cool To Care,” I say, hooking my arm around Dash’s shoulders as we walk. “Let’s go meet some Warhawks.”

Dante waits by the front gates, a proud smile on his face. I’m used to him rushing up to me when we see each other, but today he’s more subdued. His gaze is trained on my boys, and he stands with his hands behind his back, almost out of respect.

“Dash, Beck, this is Dante,” I say, glancing between the three of them. “He’s my boyfriend.”

Dante extends his hand to Dash first. They shake, man-to-man, and then he turns his attention to Beck, who’s shooting daggers his way.

Crouching to his knees, Dante reaches behind his back and presents a baseball.

“This is for you,” he says. “There’s a lot of guys up there and you’re going to want to grab as many autographs as you can.” Dante turns to Dash. “I’ve got one for you too, buddy.”

Beck takes the ball hesitantly, rolling it in his hand and looking up at Dante.

“I’m sorry about Monday,” he says. “Didn’t meant to scare you.”

Beck tosses the ball up and catches it, his forehead wrinkled and his lips pressed flat, like he’s contemplating whether or not he’s going to give Dante a chance.

“It’s okay,” he finally says. “Just don’t hurt my mom and we won’t have a problem.”

I try not to laugh because in the span of a few seconds Beck sounds like he’s aged an entire decade.

“You have my word,” Dante says, hooking his hand on Beck’s shoulder. “Come on, guys. They’re waiting.”

We follow Dante in, taking an elevator to a sky box where a half dozen men are standing in a circle chatting, and beyond them is a first class view of the diamond below. Dash’s face lights and Beck’s eyes grow big.

“There they are,” a man wearing a Firebirds baseball cap proclaims when he sees us. “The men of the hour.”

My boys stand frozen, and the man comes to them. His eyes are different from Dante’s but they share the same coppery skin, thick, russet hair, and square jawline.

“Hey, guys,” he says. “I’m Ace. Nice to meet you.”

Dash and Beck stand, paralyzed, and I nudge their shoulders, silently telling them to say something.

“Nice to meet you, too, sir,” Dash says, making my heart proud.

Glancing to my left, I see an elaborate spread on one of the nearby tables. Stacked pizza boxes and liters of soda rest beside paper plates and napkins.

“How did you know baseball and pizza was the way to my kids’ hearts?” I say quietly to him.

He shrugs, leaning down and kissing my forehead when the boys aren’t paying attention.

“Let me introduce you to some of my friends, all right?” Ace says, motioning for them to follow him.

I stand back and watch my boys make the kinds of memories they’ll someday share with their own children. They look like little angels as Ace escorts them from player to player. Dash does the observing, mostly, and Beck does the question-asking, and within a matter of minutes, their baseballs are covered in black and blue ink.

“Thank you,” I say to Dante. “This is just . . . incredible.”

“Of course,” he says. He flags down Ace, stealing him away for a second. He comes our way, his height nearly matching Dante’s but his build a bit brawnier. “Alessio, this is my girlfriend, Maren.”

“I thought his name was Ace?” I ask.

“Ace is a nickname,” he says. “Nice to meet you, Maren. I’ve been in town for a whole day and already this guy won’t shut up about you. Cristiano tells me he’s borderline obsessed.”

Glancing at Dante, I shoot him a wink before turning my attention back to Ace.

“I’m sure my best friend would say the same thing,” I say.

“Obsessed, no,” Dante says. “Infatuated? Completely.”

* * *

B
y the end
of the night, my phone is full of pictures and our bellies are full of pizza, and my face hurts from laughing so much at all the adorable things Beck said to the ball players.

“Dante,” Beck’s small voice says as we board the elevator from the sky box.

“Yeah, buddy?” he responds.

“Thank you for tonight,” he says, tossing his signed ball in the air and catching it. “You’re pretty cool.”

Dante chuckles, turning his attention to Dash. “You have a good time, Dash?”

Dash nods. “Yeah. I did. Thank you. I’ll never forget this.”

“Maybe we can do a game sometime?” Dante asks.

My boys’ faces light up.

“They’d love that,” I say. I’d love it too.

The elevator drops us off at the main level, and Dante walks us to the parking lot, his hand on the small of my back when the boys aren’t looking, and when Dash and Beck climb in the car and buckle in, we walk to the rear to sneak a kiss.

“Thank you so much for this,” I say, voice low and hand over my heart. The sky is painted dark now, the clouds covering the twinkling stars that I know are there. “The boys had a blast. I did too. And your brother was so sweet to them.”

Dante kisses me, his lips warm and tasting like ball park beer.

“This was truly a once in a lifetime experience for them,” I add. “They’ll never forget it as long as they live.”

He smiles. “I don’t normally rely on gimmicks, but I thought this would be a nice way to introduce us all.”

“Absolutely.” I can’t stop staring at him, and he’s yet to release his gaze from mine. “What are you and Ace doing tonight?”

“Probably going to meet up with Cris, go have some drinks,” he says, winking. “Beat each other up like we used to do when we were kids.”

“What are you doing on Sunday?” I ask.

He shrugs.

“Beck has a flag football game at the Y,” I say, placing my hands out. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, but I just thought I’d put it out there.”

“Of course I’ll come. Just text me the time. I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it.”

D
ante

I
haven’t been
to a kid’s sporting event since . . . since I was a kid.

The sound of parents cheering, the light patter of clapping, the little kids in their oversized, logoed t-shirts. It all feels like home.

“Run, run, run, run!” Maren screams as Beck sprints across the football field, his little flags flying as another kid gains on him.

He scores a touchdown and our side of the field goes wild.

Maren slips her fingers between her lips and whistles loudly, shouting his name like he’s some hall of famer. He turns toward the sound, but only for a minute, and flashes his mom the biggest smile.

From the corner of my eye, I spot two figures moving toward us, one of them lugging collapsible chairs. Upon second glance, I realize it’s Nathan and Lauren, and they’re headed our way.

We had to get here extra early today just to find a patch of grass to set up camp, but the game started ten minutes ago, and most sections along this area are filled up with chairs and blankets and spectators.

“Incoming,” I say to Maren, keeping my voice low.

She jerks her attention to her left and sees them coming. “Oh, joy.”

“Dad!” Dash pops up from his seat next to Maren and runs to greet them. “Come sit with us, there’s plenty of room.”

Maren and I exchange looks and mutual shrugs and face forward, watching the players take their places on the line of scrimmage.

Nathan and Lauren unfold their chairs, and Maren spins around.

“Hi, Nathan,” she says. “Good to see you, Lauren. Glad you could make it.”

Lauren’s gaze snaps onto Maren’s, her expression holding shock. She doesn’t say hello back, she simply stares.

Maren turns to me and shrugs a single shoulder, leaning close. “At least I tried.”

“Ignore her,” I mutter, watching Beck sprint across the field again. “Damn, he’s good.”

“You’re telling me,” she says, cheering and clapping. “Thought I had myself a little linebacker, but now I’m thinking he might make a better quarterback.”

From the corner of my eye, I observe as Nathan cheers Beck on and Lauren buries her nose in her phone. She clearly doesn’t want to be here, and she has no interest in watching Beck play.

“You want anything to drink?” I ask Maren, rising.

“Hot chocolate would be amazing,” she says, rubbing her hands together. It’s an unusually chilly, gray-clouded September morning, and her fifty-thousand sweatshirts clearly aren’t doing enough to keep her warm.

“You’ve got it.” I leave our little area and scan the perimeter for some kind of concession stand. A few minutes later, I’m standing in line, fishing my wallet from my pocket and trying to decide on popcorn or a hot pretzel.

“Dante.” A woman’s voice breathes my name from behind.

Spinning around, I find myself face to face with Lauren. Facing the front of the line again, I take a step forward and narrow my gaze at the menu. I have nothing to say to her.

“Dante,” she says my name louder this time, and then I feel the warm sensation of her palm on my forearm. “I need to talk to you.”

Ignoring her and jerking my arm out from under her claw, I order Maren’s hot chocolate, two Gatorades for the boys, and a coffee for me. As soon as I pay, I haul off with my arms full and head back to Lawn Chair City to catch the rest of the game.

“Dante, wait,” she calls after me, following me.

Groaning, I stop. “Unless you’re going to help me carry this shit back, I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

She smirks, like she’s pleased to have captured my attention. “I just wanted to talk.”

“About?” My brows meet in the middle as I release a frustrated breath through my nose.

“This thing between you and Maren,” she says. “You’re doing it to spite me, aren’t you? You’re trying to make me jealous.”

Laughing, I almost spill my coffee. “No.”

Her face pinches. “She’s so . . . old.”

“Guess we both like ‘em older, huh?” I spit back. “She’s not that old, Lauren. Don’t be rude. She’s a few years older than me, unlike Nathan, who’s old enough to be your fucking father.”

“It’s different,” she says. “It’s different when the man is older. It’s weird when it’s the other way around.”

“I couldn’t disagree with you more on that. Now if you’ll kindly stop being a jealous whore, I’d like to return to Beck’s game. Unlike you, I actually came to watch.”

Lauren folds her lanky arms across her chest and stomps her designer sneaker into the ground. “Even Nathan thinks you two are just trying to screw with us.”

Chuckling, I say, “Well if Nathan says it, it must be true. He’s as honest as they come.”

I stride away, but she follows close behind, taking two steps for each of mine. Stopping short, she almost runs into me.

“Oh, one thing, while I have you,” I say. “Don’t be a fucking bitch to Maren, okay? She’s the mother of Nathan’s kids. She didn’t do a damn thing to you. You can say ‘hi’ and you can be cordial. It won’t kill you. And then you might realize, once you get to know her, that she’s a pretty amazing person.”

Lauren’s jaw hangs and her eyes shake. It kills her to hear me stand up for another woman, and it kills her to watch me walk away.

I continue moving, and she continues to follow.

“I’m pregnant,” she blurts, her voice quivering and her arms wrapped around her sides.

“Congratu-fucking-lations, Lauren.”

“Dante, stop.” She grabs my arm and pulls me back. I check her stomach, which is still flat as a pancake. The kid isn’t mine, that’s for damn sure. I haven’t screwed Lauren in almost a year. “I’m scared.”

I chuff. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?”

“I’m scared that I made a mistake. That I chose the wrong man,” she says. “I miss you, and I can’t help but wish this baby was ours.”

“Yeah, well, it isn’t. Thank God. And your mistake was the best damn thing that ever happened to me.”

“How could you say that?” Her eyes water, but I know it’s all an act. She’s a cold-hearted bitch, and she’s not capable of feeling real emotions like regret and sorrow and guilt. “Ever since I found out, I just keep wishing I could go back. I wish we could go back to when it was just us and things were simple and uncomplicated.”

She takes a step toward me, but I take an equal step back. I hear the crowd cheer, and my jaw sets because I’m pretty sure I missed another one of Beck’s plays.

“What are we supposed to do now?” Lauren asks. “I want you back, Dante. I never should’ve left. You were the one. I just didn’t see it until you were gone.”

As much as it pleases me to hear she’s having doubts about the saggy-balled older man she left me for, I’m not going to laugh in her face again.

I’m simply going to walk away.

“
We
aren’t going to do anything,” I say, striding back to Maren and praying her hot chocolate is still warm.

“What took you so long?” Maren asks when I return. She grabs the drinks from my arms as I sit beside her. “Long line?”

She whips around, seeing Lauren’s gone.

“Just had to set a few things straight,” I say under my breath.

“Everything good now?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Everything’s great.”

The crowd cheers as Beck’s team scores another touchdown, and Maren squeals, grabbing my hand and standing as she whistles. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and her love for her kids is selfless and unconditional.

I love that about her.

I love that about her so much.

There are a lot of things I love about Maren.

In fact, I think I could easily see myself falling in love with her . . .

Might even be halfway there already.