12. Chapter 12
“Is the pizza yummy, Jamie?”
Ella's voice pulls me from my thoughts as I stare at the barely touched slice of cheese pizza on my plate despite having been at this table for fifteen minutes. The silence around us is so thick it's practically another guest at the dinner table.
“It's great,” I manage, taking an overdue bite to prove it. “Best pizza I've had in Hope.”
I still can’t believe I’m sitting here, having dinner in Zach’s not-so-humble house because my daughter asked if I could come over after her football practice.
“It's the only pizza you've had in Hope,” Zach mutters, reaching for his third slice. He’s still pissed, which isn’t surprising. One groveling attempt at teaching my daughter how to kick a football won’t be enough to win him over, and it shouldn’t be. Ella deserves more than that.
“You’d be surprised at how much I get through at the hotel,” I remark, lifting the slice. “Still the best.” Then I take another bite.
Zach narrows his eyes, unimpressed by that answer.
Again, not surprising. I’m horrendously unimpressive these days.
Zach, on the other hand, is more impressive than I’d like to admit.
He made his own future and is now living it large with his NIL deal and endorsements.
Meanwhile, I’m a few months away from washing dishes to pay rent.
Still, in all this man-made happiness, there’s one thing that’s glaringly absent.
Honey.
She’s not here—physically, or otherwise, it would seem. There aren’t any pictures of her, and no one has mentioned her since we got here.
Has something happened between them?
Surely not. The dude is rocking a honeycomb tattoo on his forearm.
Although, she could be dating that guy I saw her in the diner with last week.
The thought almost makes me smile like the sadistic bitch I am, but then I remember the other guy that was at the diner with them—Reese.
The same guy who was coaching Ella today.
I don’t know who he is to Tiff, but I know an overeager asshole who wants her attention when I see one.
I am one.
Well, that’s at least one thing that the Scholarship Kid and I have in common: we’re both having trouble with women.
“More juice, Ella?” Tiff asks, already reaching for the carton.
“Yes, please!” Ella sings, the only one at the table blissfully unaware of the tension. She's been talking nonstop since we got home, filling me in on essential information like which color crayon tastes the worst (orange) and how many somersaults she can do in a row (three and a half, apparently).
I watch Tiff with Ella, and the easy way she wipes sauce from her daughter's chin, how she automatically cuts the crust off her second slice without being asked. It's a well-practiced dance, one I've never been part of. The thought hits me hard, knowing I haven’t been there for either of them.
“So,” Zach breaks the silence, his voice artificially casual, “When's your flight back to Southern Collegiate, Nicks?”
Tiff shoots him a warning glance.
“Already told you. I'm not going back,” I say, meeting his gaze directly. “I transferred to St. Michael's. I'm here for the long haul.”
Zach's hand hits the table, and his eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. “You're shitting me.”
“Zach!” Tiff hisses, nodding toward Ella, who perks up immediately.
“That's a bad word, Uncle Zach,” she announces solemnly. “You gotta put a dollar in the jar.”
Zach sighs, reaching for his wallet without argument. “Sorry, princess.” He turns back to me. “I thought you said that earlier to taunt me.”
“No, I'm very serious,” I continue, watching as he extracts a crisp dollar bill from his wallet and hands it to Ella, who scampers off to deposit it in what I assume is a swear jar. “I've enrolled for the semester. Started classes this week.”
“And your daddy's money made that happen, I'm sure.” The bitterness in his voice is unmistakable.
I take a sip of water, choosing my words carefully. “My father cut me off, but I managed to get a few things paid for before he blocked my trust funds. I also have a little backup account from high school that he doesn’t know about.”
“And what are you going to do when the money runs out?” Zach asks calmly.
“I’ll get a job like everyone else,” I say confidently, but inside it scares the ever-loving shit out of me. Jamie Nicks getting a job that his father didn’t set up… pfft. I’m fucking screwed and I know it.
Zach leans back, one arm thrown casually over the chair like this is a friendly chat and not a slow, verbal execution. “You should coach football. You’re way better at teaching four-year-olds than you ever were riding the bench.”
“Zach!” Tiff says sharply, but I don’t take offense. He’s right.
“Yeah,” I mutter, a bitter smile curving my mouth. “I only played because my father believed a Nicks belonged on a field with his name engraved on every brick and bathroom stall.”
Zach snorts. “Sounds like a real warm family dynamic.”
“Only the warmest,” I deadpan. “Hugs were for poor people. We specialized in legacy and champagne-fueled control issues.”
Ella bounces back to the table and climbs onto her chair. “Can we watch the movie now? Iced Out is waiting!”
Tiff glances at the clock. “It's getting close to your bedtime, baby. Maybe we should save the movie for another night.”
“But you promised!” Ella juts her bottom lip out. “Jamie hasn't seen it yet! He needs to meet Princess Blanca!”
Tiff looks at me, then at Zach, clearly torn. “I did promise,” she says finally.
“I'm actually heading out,” Zach announces, standing abruptly. “I’ve got a meeting in twenty.”
“You sure?” Tiff asks, but I can tell she's not disappointed. “I thought Coach canceled because of the away game prep.”
“Different meeting,” Zach says vaguely, already clearing his plate. “NIL stuff. Boring.” He turns to Ella. “Sorry, princess. Save me some popcorn for next time?”
“Kay.” She's too excited about the movie to be disappointed, already wiggling in her seat. “Mommy, can we have popcorn too?”
“Yes, but a small bowl.”
As Tiff gets up to make the popcorn, Zach passes behind me, pausing just long enough to speak in a voice only I can hear.
“Hurt either of them, and I'll end you. Understood?”
I nod once, not bothering to look up. It's a fair warning. One I'd give if I were in his position.
“Good.” He squeezes my shoulder hard enough to make his point, then moves on, pressing a kiss to Ella's head. “Be good for your mom, princess.”
“Always am!” she says, full of the confidence of someone who’s never spent a second in time-out. Unlike me—who’s lived there my whole damn life.
Zach leaves without another word, and the atmosphere shifts immediately, the tension easing from the room.
Tiff returns with a small bowl of popcorn dotted with rainbow sprinkles, and Ella claps in delight. “Living room's through there,” she tells me, nodding toward an archway. “Make yourself comfortable. We'll be right in.”
The living room is as ridiculously modern as the rest of the house is. There’s a massive sectional facing an equally massive television, and the walls are decorated with Zach’s framed jerseys.
This guy really thinks he’s the shit, doesn’t he?
I settle onto the end of the sectional, accidentally knocking the little unicorn slippers beside the coffee table.
I bend down, trying to rearrange them when Ella races in.
With a popcorn bowl clutched in both of her hands, she makes a beeline straight for me.
Before I can react, she's climbed onto the couch and settled herself right next to me, thrusting the bowl into my lap.
“Hold this,” she instructs, then snuggles in like we've done this a hundred times before.
I freeze, terrified of doing something wrong, of moving too suddenly, of somehow ruining the moment.
Tiff appears in the doorway, her expression softening at the sight of us. Something passes across her face too quickly for me to identify.
“Mommy, hurry! We have to show Jamie the Mr. Nibbles dance before the movie!”
“I’ll set up. You can dance.” Tiff moves to the TV, and navigates through streaming services, knowing exactly where she needs to go, all the while Ella is dancing, giving me her best snow fox impression.
As the familiar Iced Out logo fills the screen, Ella moves back beside me, bouncing with excitement.
“This is the best movie ever,” she informs me solemnly.
“Princess Blanca has ice powers and she's lonely but then she meets Princess Isla and they become best friends and there's a magic snowstorm and a talking fox named Nibbles and—”
“Ella,” Tiff cuts in gently, “Let Jamie watch and see for himself, okay?”
“Kay.” She pops a piece of popcorn in her mouth, still vibrating with excitement.
Tiff settles on Ella’s other side, and this warm feeling settles deep in my chest, filling a hole I didn’t know was there.
This is where I should be.
That’s my only thought as I sit with my daughter tucked into my side.
Funny, I’ve been places and done things that most people only dream about, but none of it compares to this—being here, with them is by far the best place I’ve ever been.
The movie begins, and Ella provides running commentary despite Tiff's attempts to shush her. I don't mind. Every word and reaction is a glimpse into my daughter’s mind. I want to catalog every preference, every little quirk, to make up for all the years I've missed.
“This is my favorite part,” Ella whispers loudly as Princess Blanca conjures a sparkling home for Mr. Nibbles from nothing. “She's making everything beautiful with her magic.”
I’m not watching the movie. I’m watching her. Ella’s beaming bright eyes watch the TV in wonder, and it’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. She catches me looking and grins, all baby teeth and dimples.
“Do you like it?” she asks, her whole body leaning toward me in anticipation of my answer.
“It's amazing,” I tell her honestly. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”