PARIS
THIRTY-ONE
“Are you sure about this?” I ask Austin as we make our way toward the entrance to Gladiators field.
My brother stopped by the Renegades facility earlier today and begged me to bring the boys to tonight’s game, since they’re putting on a giant fireworks display.
Initially, I told him no because Oakley has a work function this evening, and I didn’t feel comfortable bringing three children—two of whom are rowdy boys who like to run ahead—into a crowded place where alcohol was being served.
But in true Austin fashion, he stepped in and offered to help, so the four of us could catch one last night game before the school year begins. And here we are.
“Of course,” he replies, taking Lennon from my arms the moment she reaches out for him.
They’ve become besties over the last few weeks, and as much as I’ve enjoyed being her go-to person to cuddle with, it’s nice to see that she’s comfortable with him.
“I’ve been wanting to hit up a game, anyway. Why not do it with my favorite people?”
I glance down at the boys, who are barely even paying attention to where they’re going as they stare at the screen of their handheld gaming console.
Austin’s eyes are glued to them, only lifting to scan our surroundings every now and then.
He’s in full protective mode, ready to pounce on anyone who gets too close.
“Are you worried about people seeing us and making assumptions?” I ask quietly, speaking out of the corner of my mouth. He turns his head toward me, dropping his chin as one brow quirks upward.
“No, I’m not.”
I sigh, noticing the way people whisper and point as we walk by.
I’m used to it in a sense, considering my brother is also a celebrity here in Cleveland, but this is different.
I’m not related to Austin, and we’re walking toward the baseball stadium looking like a proper family.
My daughter is currently resting her head on his shoulder while her chubby little hand runs along the scruff on his chin, and he’s looming over my sons with a look that says Stay back at least ten feet, or I’ll tear your arms off plastered on his face.
There’s no way it isn’t stirring up some gossip, especially since he’s such a private guy.
“You don’t care if they think you’re my b—”
“No.” He cuts me off, keeping his voice subdued.
“As a matter of fact, I kind of hope they do think that. The only reason I’m not wearing a T-shirt with your face on it right now is because I respect that you want to go slow, for your sake and theirs.
” His eyes slide down to the boys, then back up to mine.
“But I’m right where I want to be, Paris.
And I’m sure everyone around us can see that. ”
I smile softly, my heart so incredibly full as I fall into the moment.
This is something I always wanted but never got to experience during my marriage, and even though Austin and I haven’t gone public with the fact that we’re seeing one another, that doesn’t take away from it.
We feel like a real family, out doing a fun activity to celebrate the end of summer.
Everyone is happy, and there are smiles all around, even from Rowan, who’s been doing a lot of that recently.
If I had to guess what’s changed, I’d say it has a lot to do with the man standing beside me right now.
Austin has become a constant in my children’s lives, first as a coach, and now as someone they see regularly off the field.
I’m grateful every day for the light he’s brought into their world… and into mine, as well.
Surprisingly, the line to get through the gates moves fast, with only a few fans asking Austin for autographs.
He impressively signs each one without jostling Lennon, who’s nodding off on his shoulder with her brown bunny tucked into the crook of her elbow.
Every time the backs of our hands brush as we weave through the crowd, sparks of electricity run up my arm, the urge to grab on and link my fingers with his becoming harder to ignore.
I look up at him. “My brother arranged for seating right behind home plate, but there’s also the family suite if you’d rather go up there”
Rhys overhears, his shoulders immediately dropping as he frowns. “No, Mom!” he whines. “I don’t like it up there! I want Uncle Memphis to be able to hear me, and he can’t when we’re way up in the sky.”
Lennon lifts her head, her lids still heavy as she adds her request. “Moo Moo.”
Austin slides his gaze over to Rowan. “What about you, champ? You want to be down here, too?” My oldest raises one corner of his mouth in a half-smile, nodding before Austin brings his attention up to me.
“Looks like we’re staying close to the action…
unless you want to go to the suite. You’re the boss. ”
I shake my head, smirking because I love the way that sounds. It’s nice of him to give me the final say, but we both know that my children run the show. “Nope. I just didn’t know if you’d want to get away from the crowd.”
He raises a brow. “And miss an opportunity to flip Memphis the bird when he’s playing?
Absolutely not.” I roll my eyes playfully, and he winks, the sight nearly causing my panties to melt clear off.
I can’t stop my eyes from lowering to his mouth for a split second, immediately tearing them away before I do something stupid like ask him for a kiss.
“Plus, everybody knows the best snacks are right down here.”
“Let’s get nachos!” Rhys shouts excitedly. “They come in an upside-down helmet!”
Austin’s jaw drops in faux shock. “Well, we can’t leave without one of those!”
“We have about fifteen at home,” I mumble under my breath. “But what’s one more? Let’s go.”
We make our way toward the closest snack window, my eyes glued to the boys the entire way.
I try to let them be independent in public, but also, I stay as close as possible because you never know.
It only takes a second for someone to grab them and run.
Maybe being on high alert all the time makes me paranoid, but their safety is my main priority.
That’s why I insist on having another adult with me in places like this, where I could blink and lose one of them.
We fall into line behind the last customer, the boys looking at the menu board and making their final decisions in about three seconds. I’m just pulling my bank card out of my stadium bag when Rhys stops in his tracks, his tiny frame perking right up. “Daddy!”
My brows furrow in confusion, and I follow the line of his raised pointer finger, my gaze landing right on Braxton as he stands with a group of men and women across the walkway.
I don’t recognize any of them, but then again, he never introduced me to a single one of his friends—aside from people we went to school with—for the entirety of our marriage.
Rhys cups his hands around his mouth. “Daddy! Over here!”
Braxton’s head snaps up, his eyes widening for a beat before he immediately looks away.
At first, I can’t believe what I’m witnessing because there’s no fucking way he just saw his children for the first time in months and can’t be bothered to at least come say hello.
It’s one thing not to call when they’re a few towns over, but to be right here and ignore them?
What a piece of shit.
My jaw clenches as Rhys shouts for him again, and this time, the asshole actually has the nerve to twist his body so that his back is facing us.
My sweet, innocent boy deflates, his head tilting to one side.
“Maybe he didn’t recognize me. I’ve grown a little bit since the last time he saw me.
” He looks up at me over his shoulder. “Can we go see him, Mom?”
Anger and sadness mingle, my chest pulling tight as I do everything I can not to let either of those emotions show. I’d never keep my children from their father. But I also can’t set them up for the kind of disappointment that would come from walking over there right now.
Words elude me, my throat tightening as I attempt to find a way to tell him that it’s not a good idea.
My entire body is burning up, my fists clenched around the strap of my bag so tightly that my knuckles ache.
A moment later, I feel Austin’s hand press gently to my back, a silent reminder that I’m not alone.
But still, I don’t know how to break my son’s heart when all I’ve ever tried to do is keep it safe.
“Hey, Rhys!” Rowan says, his voice full of an excitement we rarely get to hear. Rhys turns toward his brother, and immediately, Rowan points toward the far end of the walkway. “Isn’t that Homer?”
Distracted, my youngest boy’s eyes light up, and he whips his attention toward where the Gladiators’ mascot stands, taking photos with a group of children. “Hey! It is!” he exclaims, a big, bright smile stretched across his face. “Mom! Can we get a picture with him before he leaves?”
I clear my throat, trying my best to keep my smile from wobbling as I nod. I don’t trust myself to speak without the words breaking and giving away how much this whole exchange has torn me apart.
Seemingly happy with my response, Rhys pumps his tiny fist, turning to Austin and animatedly telling him all about his previous interactions with Homer.
I find Rowan’s eyes, expressing without words how grateful I am for what he just did.
I hate that, at only eight years old, he knows his father wouldn’t be nearly as excited to see any of them as Rhys is to see him.
I feel like a shit mom almost once a day for silly reasons like forgetting their favorite snack at the grocery store or not having the right color football socks clean on game day, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt like more of a failure to them than I do right now.
They deserve a dad who wants to spend as much time with them as he can, experiencing every milestone and teaching them new things.
Instead, they have someone who won’t even acknowledge their existence in a public setting and has missed almost every big moment in their lives so far because he was busy living his own.
Maybe I need to consider finally giving him a piece of my mind and stop allowing him to treat our children like anything less than the priorities they are.