Epilogue
MASON
6 YEARS LATER
L ights flash from the cameras, a room full of reporters here to see my son declare his intent to play football and attend Blackstone University in the fall. Colleges around the country had traveled to see him play, and we’d visited a fair number of those campuses too.
But his heart was nestled deep in the place that had become his home.
“Good morning,” Beck says into the microphone, a chorus of greetings going up around the room. His smile is easy, charisma oozing from every pore—a quality his mother swears he learned from me. The thought makes me grin because he’s always felt like mine. He and Holland are the greatest joys of my life, aside from being married to their mother.
“Beck has agreed to take a few questions before the formal signing,” Coach Knox Turner, athletic director for Blackstone University says, the man beaming just as hard as we are, before nodding to the first reporter.
Beck is thoughtful as he answers each question, shutting down anything he’d rather not answer with grace as he woos the entire room in the process.
“He definitely didn’t get that from me,” Lana murmurs beside me, her eyes alight with mischief.
“You’re joking,” I tease. “You love people and attention.”
She snorts, not taking the bait, and wraps her arms around my waist, resting her cheek on my chest as we stand off to the side.
“Beck,” Arden calls out, and he smiles as he nods at her, “who would you attribute your success in football to? Who made the difference for you?”
Beck’s eyes find mine, holding them for a beat before turning back to the crowd. “First, I’d have to say my ma. Her unwavering support and unconditional love have guided me through every moment of my life.” He looks over at us and grins. “Love you, Ma.”
“Love you, baby,” she whispers and he sends her a wink before turning back toward the room.
“The answer to your other question requires a little more explanation.” Beck swallows hard, and my heart starts to beat a little faster. “I heard this quote not long ago that anyone can be a father, but it takes someone special to be a dad—and I can say without a doubt that it’s true.”
“Tell us more!” someone shouts, making chuckles erupt around us.
“My mom divorced my father when I was eleven and moved my sister and me to Blackstone Falls, and even though it was hard at the time, it was the best thing that could’ve happened to us. When Mom started dating my dad, I didn’t know what to think other than I wanted her to be happy.”
Lana sniffs and I hold her tighter against me.
“Arguably, my dad isn’t a lot older than I am, and we dealt with more than our fair share of negativity because of it,”—he pauses and looks at me and I see so much of the boy he’d been when I’d first met him—“but what they didn’t know, besides everything, is that he’d never had the opportunity to play football, growing up in the foster care system, and when he found out that I hadn’t made the team that year, he trained me. With me. Watching videos and going to my uncles for help to make sure he was doing everything he could to help me succeed.”
My heart is lodged in my chest as I blink away the tears, his words pulling me under like being caught in a rip current of emotion.
“Ma raised me to be a gentleman, but my dad taught me how to be a man. He taught me the importance of listening— really listening— and how to be a good partner and friend. A role model. And I wouldn’t be here without him.”
Beck nods to Coach Turner who places two folders on the table in front of my son.
“Beckham Richards, please state your intention,” Coach Turner says with an expression I can’t quite read.
“I’d like to formally accept the offer to attend Blackstone University and play football in my hometown.” The crowd goes wild, cameras snap pictures, reporters shout questions, but Beck doesn’t move the pen.
“What’s he doing?” Lana whispers, and I shake my head as I watch Beck open the folder and lean in toward the mic.
“Coach Turner has been gracious enough to help me today, because while I can’t wait to sign my name on the dotted line,”—he pauses—“I can’t in good faith sign as Beckham Richards.” Lana gasps, her hand covering her mouth as Beck looks over at me and stands. “Dad? Can you come out here?”
“Go,” Lana hisses as I walk on shaky legs across the stage.
“I turned eighteen not long ago,” he says with a wry grin.
“I remember,” I reply with one of my own. Everyone chuckles as Beck slides the folder in front of me.
It takes me only a second to figure out what I’m looking at.
Adoption papers.
“What do you think?” Beck asks. “Think it’s about time we made it official? I already signed it.”
“You’ve always been mine,” I say, scrawling my name across the tabbed line and unable to wipe the smile from my face.
Lana and Holland stand together hand in hand as tears stream down their faces.
“We’ll get this filed with the court,” Beck says to Coach Turner who nods and brushes his finger under his eye.
“Your intention, son?”
“I, Beckham Amato, am signing my letter of intent to Blackstone University!”
It’s deafening, the noise around us as Beck wraps me in a hug, his arms locked tight, and I’m not sure which of us is holding up the other.
“I’m so damn proud of you,” I say, my throat clogged with emotion.
“I love you, Dad.”
“I love you too, Son.”
THE END