Chapter 39
Kelly
Evan runs.
One second he’s standing there listening to Gladys explain what his father did, and the next he’s gone. Just gone.
My heart lurches.
“Evan,” I call softly, already moving.
I leave Gladys where she stands, wringing her hands and crying apologies that don’t matter right now. Because my son just got his heart broken.
Again.
And the worst part? I can’t fix it.
God, I wish Mike were here right now.
Not to apologize.
Not to explain.
No, I wish he was here so I could punch him right in his stupid, wayward dick.
“Evan!” I call again as I move past the bleachers.
A few people have started looking over.
Parents whispering. Kids glancing up from their gloves and bats.
I ignore them. Right now, the only thing that matters is finding my son.
I spot him near the edge of the parking lot, standing beside a big old maple tree that’s been here longer than the baseball field itself.
He’s staring out toward the mountains.
Still.
Quiet.
And that scares me more than if he’d been crying. I slow as I approach. Helplessness washes over me again.
Because there are moments in parenting where you realize there’s no magic fix. No words that can erase the hurt.
“Evan,” I keep my voice even, gentle.
But before I can take another step he turns around. Relief floods me, and I start toward him—but his eyes aren’t on me.
They’re looking past me.
Behind me.
Of course they are.
I don’t even need to turn to know J.T. followed us.
Because that’s who he is.
Solid.
Steady.
Always there.
Evan shifts his weight and looks up at him.
“Will you play?”
J.T. pauses behind me.
“Are you sure you want me to?” he asks carefully.
Evan nods immediately.
“Well, you are my stepdad.”
The word lands softly in the air.
My breath catches.
“And that counts,” Evan continues matter-of-factly. “Tommy Joyce’s stepdad is playing with him.”
My throat tightens so hard it almost hurts.
These two.
My boys.
Sometimes love just hits so hard, and you’re just not ready. Like now.
My son is opening himself up to a man after what his father did, and that man is answering. He is showing up.
And I don’t know what to do with it.
J.T.’s hand comes down gently on the back of my neck, giving it a reassuring squeeze before he steps around me.
He crouches down in front of Evan, big frame folding easily so they’re eye level.
“You want me to play,” he says, voice warm, “then I’ll play.”
Evan brightens instantly.
“But,” J.T. adds, lifting a finger, “don’t get mad when the dads and stepdads kick your little butts.”
Evan’s mouth drops open.
Then he laughs.
“Yeah right!”
He grabs his glove again, already backing away.
“Old people can’t win!”
J.T. snorts.
“Keep talking, kid.”
Evan turns and takes off running back toward the field, his disappointment already fading under the excitement of the game.
I stand there for a moment watching him go.
Then I turn back to my husband.
“You sure you don’t mind?” I ask quietly.
J.T. raises an eyebrow.
“Mind?”
He shakes his head and smiles.
“Woman, that kid just made my day.”
His eyes soften.
“What I want to know is…”
He leans a little closer.
“…if I’m a real good boy out there, will you make my night?”
Heat floods my cheeks. But I smile.
“Count on it,” I tell him.
And I mean it so fucking much.