Chapter 36
THIRTY-SIX
REED
“Ree-Ree. Cake?”
Jesus, this kid has issues. So many fucking issues, I think she needs therapy. Already.
“Ree, cake!” She points again toward the cake. She’s like a broken record.
My phone buzzes in my hand, and I stare down at the response from Tate.
Tate: Exactly. You always moan about this, and Bryce said I’m a better coach than you, so …
Better coach? Who the hell is he kidding?
My gaze slices over to Tate, and he holds his arms stretched out to catch the ball.
I shake my head. He’s holding them out incorrectly, for starters, and how the hell is he standing?
Better coach, my ass. I need to get over there and undo his errors before there’s no coming back from the crap he’s telling Bryce.
I glance around the patio area and notice Ava has hold of her and Tate’s son, Sonny. Typical, he left her with holding the baby while he opts to attempt to teach my son how to play soccer. I don’t know how she deals with his lazy ass.
“Ree-Ree.” I want to snap at her to shut up, but I exhale and will my patience to make an appearance. Or someone to take her and the donkey from me.
My fingers work quickly as I stab the keys to send another message.
Reed: You don’t know what you’re doing.
He has no clue, and I don’t think he realizes the impact it will have on my son. He thinks this is a game.
Tate: Bryce seems to think I do.
Anger like no other flashes through me.
Tate: Apparently, I’m the best.
“Ree-Reed. Cake.” For fuck’s sake. “Cake!” she screeches, the tone so high-pitched my eardrums are bound to be damaged.
“Cake!”
“Yes! You’re the best, Tate.” Bryce jumps up and down with glee, pumping his fist in the air.
That’s it. I’m done. D. O. N. E. Done.
“The greatest!” Bryce cheers.
Is he fucking kidding me right now?
I pinch the bridge of my nose, then drop my head back with an almighty groan. “That’s it! I’m fucking done!” I throw my arms up in the air.
Eleanor giggles. Fucking giggles. “Cake, Ree.”
Slowly, I turn to face the animal and the little girl with the cute pigtails and make a snap decision. Ignoring Eleanor and her ridiculous repetitiveness, I head toward the pool fence and tie the rein around the post. There, that’ll do it.
I’m going to drag Shaw out here and demand he look after his child, then I’m going to show Tate how to play soccer because the poor man clearly has no clue.
I bet he’s never read a soccer handbook in his life.
It’s about time my friends step up and take control of their responsibilities. I snort and shake my head. They thought I was the clueless one. Idiots.