Jordan
Milán and Aiden make it to the stadium when halftime is almost over. I wait for them outside. There’s a small smile on Milán’s lips. It’s like a secret we both share. He holds my gaze the whole time it takes him to cross the street and make his way to me.
He’s dressed in a pair of jeans and a gray Henley with a forest green flannel shirt thrown over it.
One look at him, and my whole body leans into the space left between us, eager to erase it.
My pulse jumps into an erratic rhythm while his presence settles under my skin, warm and restless at the same time.
Terrifying, because nothing has prepared me for this, and I wasn’t planning on him. I wasn’t planning to feel this much this soon. I wasn’t planning to feel anything at all.
I stop in front of him, unwrap my scarf from around my neck and wrap it around his. He raises a brow at me, and I shrug. His lips stretch into an even bigger smile.
I’ve never had that with anybody—the ability to communicate without words. And I’m still not quite sure how we got here. It’s been a whirlwind of pieces clicking into place, leading me to this moment.
Scary as shit.
I don’t know what to do with him. How not to be scared.
How to be enough.
Because I wasn’t for Kira.
Aiden clears his throat behind Milán.
Milán ignores him for another moment until I grin and lean past Milán.
“Hey,” I say. “They let you see the sunlight on occasion? How did that happen?”
“Sunlight?” Aiden looks around. “Is that what that bright ball up there is?”
We grin at each other. I met him during Christmas, and I’ve hung out with him plenty of times by now.
And while I didn’t think we’d have much of anything in common, on account of him being a genius neurosurgeon and me being a high school dropout, I like him a lot, and by some strange twist of fate, the feeling seems to be mutual.
You’d think we’d have nothing to talk about, but somehow we always find plenty to discuss.
I lead them both to the seats I’ve been holding for us just as the second half is starting.
“How’s it going?” Milán asks as Rory jogs back onto the field.
“We’re down by one,” I say. “How was the meeting? Everything okay?”
I look between Milán and Aiden.
“The paperwork is finalized. Signed and done.”
I nod.
“Are you gonna tell Rory?”
“That once he turns twenty-one he’s getting access to a trust fund with a shitload of Gerard’s money?” He shakes his head. “Frankly, I’m still not sure we’re even doing the right thing by not putting up more obstacles to that trust. It’s a lot of money. It can really fuck people up.”
“It’s his inheritance, so there’s not much we can do,” Aiden says.
“He’s only thirteen,” I say. “So you have eight years to make sure he knows what really matters in life.”
We all glance at the field where Rory has the ball. He gets it right at the box. From the sidelines, you can see the decision happening in his mind. He wants to take the shot.
He does, and it’s a beauty, arcing, spinning.
We’re all halfway out of our seats.
It hits the crossbar with a violent clang.
Half the stadium groans.
Rory slaps his hands on top of his head and looks up into the sky. Theo jogs up to him, bumps his shoulder, and says something that makes Rory’s shoulders relax. He laughs, and Theo throws his arm across Rory’s shoulders and gives him a quick side hug before they run back into position.
“You grew up with money, and you seem to be doing fine.” I glance at Milán.
He snorts out a self-deprecating laugh. “That’s debatable.”
“I like you,” I say.
He makes a show of peering around himself. “I don’t know if you should advertise your lack of judgment so loudly. Might attract the wrong crowd.”
“According to you, I’m already in the wrong crowd.”
“What’s wrong with me?” Aiden asks with a puzzled frown.
“Oh, gosh,” Milán drawls. “Where to even begin?”
Aiden opens and closes his mouth for a bit before he raises his middle finger at Milán.
Milán widens his eyes and clutches his chest.
“In front of the children!” he says with an exaggerated gasp.
“You’re a…” Aiden seems to be lost for words to describe exactly what he thinks of Milán. “Menace,” he finishes.
“Seriously?” Milán asks. “The perfect selection of insults I have taught you over the years, and you go with menace? At least throw in a fuckface.”
“Stop being a jerk.” I roll my eyes and tug at Milán’s earlobe.
He rolls his eyes right back, but he can’t stop himself from smiling.
“Sorry,” he tells Aiden.
Aiden leans forward and stares at Milán, then at me.
“You taught him to apologize? You’re a fucking miracle worker. Does he know any other tricks?” He grabs the beanie off of Milán’s head and tosses it onto an empty seat in the next row over. “Fetch, boy!”
Milán cuffs him in the back of the head, and Aiden retaliates by twisting Milán’s ear. I push my back against the seat, so I’m blocking the two of them from each other.
“I can’t take you two anywhere, can I?” I say with a sigh.
On the field, Theo tries to dribble past the other team’s defender, a kid almost twice his size. I press my lips together while I watch. Theo ends up on the ground, rolling once, twice.
My heart stutters for a second, but then he’s on his knees and pushing himself up. He casually wipes his knees and the side of his face before he waves at the coach like he’s saying “I’m fine. All good.”
Rory doesn’t get the message though, because he sprints over, arms flailing, and snaps at the other kid. Theo tugs him away, and they jog back into position.
“Jesus Christ. Foul!” Milán yells. “Come on, that’s a red. He went straight through the kid!”
My heart is in my throat, but not because of Theo.
It’s because of him.
Because he saw Theo get hurt, and he didn’t hesitate. No pause, no questions, just immediate fire. And something inside me aches. Some hidden corner of my soul I tucked away years ago.
Milán rakes his hand through his hair, still glaring at the ref.
He sticks his thumb and forefinger between his lips and lets out a loud whistle that makes people turn their heads.
“What?” he snaps, looking around. “He’s there to protect these kids. That was dangerous!”
He’s angry, but he’s angry for all the right reasons. He’s angry for Theo.
It must be gratitude. Just some relief that someone else cares this much. Because it’s been so long. So long since someone else stood up for my son like this. Since someone got angry on Theo’s behalf. Since someone reacted instinctively, fiercely, as if Theo’s well-being is tethered to him, too.
I watch Milán and something shifts inside me.
The soft jolt of my stomach makes me blink, and I can’t quite seem to steady my breathing. There’s a sudden, impossible moment when I wonder what it’d feel like to take his hand in mine. To make this protective stance for my son a united front.
Get yourself together.
I try to look away, but my eyes keep slipping back, even after he’s sat back down and the game has continued.
I can feel it starting—whatever this even is—curling low in my chest, expanding and spreading until something opens up inside me.
Like a door I didn’t mean to unlock.
I quickly stuff my hands underneath my thighs and take a deep slow breath.
Just some errant thoughts to make life more complicated. No big deal.
Time to slam that door shut again.
I almost manage.
Almost.