Milàn #3
He blinks at me for a moment before he starts to laugh out loud. He’s got a very nice laugh. The kind of effortless laugh people have when they’re used to laughing. When it comes naturally to them.
“Not school,” he says, chuckling at, presumably, my horrified expression. “Sorry. I used to be an ambulance driver. You see some things.”
“Oh. Okay.”
We look at each other for a bit. Him with an open, friendly smile. Me with a mix of exhaustion and weariness.
“Cracked ribs from a hippo?” I say then. “Really?”
He nods, still with that amiable smile on his face.
“Those bastards are vicious. And those are only some of the milder stories. I also have a slew of R-rated ones I keep for special occasions when I don’t know anybody there and want to make friends.
Things like weddings and Christmas dinners with the in-laws. Wakes.”
“What better place to tell R-rated hospital stories.”
“I’m a hit at children’s birthday parties. You have to know your audience.”
Impossibly, I find myself smiling.
He throws me another amused look and starts to walk. With no idea what else to do, I follow him outside. We stop on the street in front of the school. It’s the kind of deceptively warm fall day that lulls you into a false sense of security and then treats you to a cold after as a reward.
I should go home and clue Aiden in on what’s happening, so he’ll have plenty of time to come up with a plan about what to do with Rory when he comes home from school. Or, you know, how to locate him when he decides to do a runner. Because there’s a decent chance that’s what he plans to do.
Instead, I want to stay here and talk to this stranger because he seems kind. He feels like a break from reality. A moment of reprieve. I want to extend it, even if it’s just for a few more minutes.
“Is this a good time to mention I know absolutely nothing about soccer?” I ask.
Jordan’s laugh is easy. It’s soft. Warm.
“Well, there’s this round object called a ball that the players have to kick into a rectangular frame called the goal.
The team with the most goals at the end of the match wins.
” His smile widens. “Oh, and unlike that other football, soccer is actually played with feet. Sometimes the head. But never with the hands.”
“What about the goalkeeper?” I raise my brows at him.
He beams at me. “See? You do know something about soccer.”
I chuckle at the victorious expression on his face. It’s the tiniest thing, but here’s this guy I don’t even know, and in his eyes, I did something right. I haven’t done anything right in forever.
“We just help out with general stuff. Help set up before practice. Help clean up the stadium after. Make sure the water bottles are filled and there are plenty of snacks for the ravenous monsters we call our kids. It’s really not rocket science, so I wouldn’t worry about it.
Stick close to me, and I’ll guide you through the most common pitfalls. ”
“I’m going to take you up on that offer.”
He grins like it’s good news. I’m not going to disabuse him of that notion. Let him find out himself—it’ll be more interesting for him that way.
“I’m also not sure if Rory knows how to play soccer,” I admit.
Jordan shrugs, unconcerned. “He’ll learn. I’m gonna let you in on a little secret. We’re not a very good team.”
I raise my brows at him, and he winks. I feel a wave of warmth. We’re coconspirators.
“It’s not really about being overly competitive. The goal is that everybody gets to play. It’s just a way for the kids to have some fun, have a hobby, run off some of their excess energy. That’s all there is to it.”
That’s a relief.
I should really get going.
“Theo seems like a good kid,” I say instead of walking away.
Jordan’s expression goes impossibly soft.
True love I think. I couldn’t even tell you if I’ve ever seen it on blatant display like this.
“He is. Even if today’s evidence points to the contrary.” Jordan frowns. “This is the first time he’s ever gotten into serious trouble, to be honest.”
I scratch the back of my neck and avoid looking at Jordan. “To be fair, I wouldn’t put it past Rory to have started this,” I mutter.
Jordan doesn’t say anything right away.
I should really shut up.
“I didn’t know I had a brother three months ago,” I say. “My father died. I went to”—I shrug helplessly—“tie up some lose ends. Got Rory as a surprise.”
Jordan tilts his head. “That’s a parting gift you don’t see every day. And you’ve been dealing with it on your own since?”
“Me and my brother, but right now I’m the go-to guy, basically.” I drag my hand through my hair and shake my head. “Honestly, I have no fucking clue what I’m doing.”
“Can I tell you a secret?” Jordan asks.
I nod, even if I’m not completely convinced what he has to say will solve anything.
“I’ve been a parent for thirteen-plus years.
None of us know what we’re doing. Mainly you just wing it, cross your fingers, and hope for the best.” He sends me a thoughtful look.
“Honestly, I think it was easier at fifteen because I was so overwhelmed I didn’t have time to have any deep thoughts about being competent.
I just had to put all my efforts into surviving. ”
I stare at him. “You had Theo at fifteen?”
That definitely explains why he looks too young to have a thirteen-year-old son. It’s because technically he is too young to have a thirteen-year-old son.
His lips twitch, but he doesn’t look offended, he just nods.
“How?” I blurt, like a fucking idiot. I’m not a hundred percent sure what I’m asking. I think the how is supposed to cover all my questions.
“I imagine the same way not-fifteen-year-olds have kids,” he says, lips still twitching, before he glances at his watch. “A story for another day. I have to get going. My lunch break ended ten minutes ago.”
“Oh. Yeah. I should probably go tell Aiden what’s going on with Rory.”
“A pair of guardians,” Jordan says. “Rory’s lucky, even if he doesn’t realize it yet.”
“That makes me sound way more competent than I actually am.”
Jordan laughs again. He stops. The smile remains. “You should probably give me your number, so I can get you the details about soccer. Our next practice is on Wednesday at five. We have them twice a week. Wednesday and Saturday. Mark your calendar.”
We both pull out our phones and exchange contacts.
Jordan slides his phone back into his pocket and sends me one more friendly smile.
“I’ll see you, Milàn.”
I nod. “Yeah. See you.”
He turns around and walks away.
And for a moment, I don’t feel so damn lost.