“Isn’t it?” Connor joked, sitting up straighter and looking down his nose at her with a fake stern expression. “I would have bet my left scone it was.”
This time Angelina gave up and laughed along. “You’re a goof, you know that?”
He hugged her closer. “But I’m your goof.”
“Yes, you are.” They kissed briefly then turned back to the field just in time to see Whitney score a goal. Everything else was temporarily forgotten as they cheered.
When they settled back to their seats, Angelina realized her hand was still laced with Connors and she smiled. This was really happening. She and Connor were a thing. When he’d first said he wanted to teach Whitney how to play soccer, she’d imagined him doing it once. He’d said it was a ploy to impress her, but all it had taken was watching him on the field once with her son to see that it was about so much more. Connor invested in people and, in turn, they tended to invest in him.
Despite her protests that she wanted to pay, Clay Landon had flown in Ronaldo Torres. Three times a week, Angelina, Connor, and Whitney had attended his after-school boot camp.
Together they’d struggled.
Failed.
Laughed.
Tried again.
Grown.
Connor had been at her side in the stands the day Whitney had tried out for the team. Afterward, they had had celebrated with pizza and the Fetters in Queens.
And just like that the three of them had become a family.
“I love you,” Angelina said spontaneously.
He grinned down at her. “Of course you do. I’m fucking amazing.”
She socked him in the arm. “Jerk. You’re supposed to say you feel the same.”
“So bossy.” He brought a hand to his upper arm as if she’d hurt him and turned to Aly and Joanna. “Did you see that smack? And now she says she wants me to tell her I love her. She wants to see me get all sappy and say that before her I didn’t know what love was. Hell, that I didn’t know who I was. She’s looking for me to proclaim that I can’t imagine my life without her in it.”
Aly and Joanna were all smiles. Aly said, “You might want to say it then, before she kicks your ass.”
Joanna brought her hands to her heart. “If she doesn’t know how you feel by now, dump her and marry me. I’d never smack those beautiful, perfectly sculpted arms of yours.” When Aly’s eyebrows shot up, Joanna announced, “Kidding. Unless it doesn’t work out between you, then after an appropriate grace period . . .”
With a laugh, Angelina jumped in, “He’d still be off-limits.”
“Even his calendar?” Joanna asked with a grin.
“Yes,” Angelina, Aly, and Connor said in unison.
“Damn.” Joanna was such a little shit. No one took her seriously. “Well, back to the drawing board. Can I have his brother?”
Connor snapped his fingers. “I’m glad you said that. I forgot that Dylan wanted to see the game.” He brought his brother up on video chat. “Dylan, say hi to everyone.” He turned the phone to those sitting around the bench. “Everyone, say hi to Dylan.”
“Hi, Dylan,” the group said in unison.
“Hi, everyone. Has the game started?”
“Yes, and you missed a score by Whitney, but he’s on fire out there. He’ll score again.”
“Awesome. Angelina, you must be so proud of him.”
“I am,” Angelina said. Although she had yet to meet Dylan in person, Connor had included her in on so many phone conversations with him that she felt as if she had. “He’ll be thrilled when I tell him you watched the game as well.”
“Looking forward to meeting him next week.”
“Next week?” Angelina asked. “I didn’t know you were coming for a visit. Connor, you didn’t say anything.”
Connor turned the phone toward his face. “Because it’s a secret and the key to a secret remaining one is to not blurt it out the first chance you get.”
“Oh, fuck,” Dylan said. “I forgot. Sorry, Connor.”
“Shut up and watch the game.” Connor turned the phone toward the field and propped it up against Angelina’s handbag. “Can you see?”
“Yep. What number is he?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“That was your football number.”
“Cool coincidence, huh?” Connor asked.
Angelina leaned forward so Dylan could hear her as well. “Actually, Whitney looked up old photos of Connor playing football and requested the same number.”
“He did?” Connor’s mouth dropped open.
“He looks up to you.” It was true. Connor had an easy-going confidence that Whitney was drawn to. Since meeting him, her son had begun to stand taller, speak louder, and laugh more. Angelina had fought to hold back happy tears the day he’d told her that he no longer felt invisible.
Invisible?
I never knew he felt that way. There was so much he never felt he could tell me that he shares with Connor.
Two weeks after meeting Connor, Whitney had told him that an upperclassman had started shoving him in the hallways of the school. Angelina had wanted to call the school, but Whitney had asked Connor what he’d do.
Connor had asked Angelina for permission to show Whitney how to handle it. Since it had been important to Whitney, she hadn’t felt she could say no.
“Does the kid pick on anyone else?” Connor had asked.
“Yeah, Travis, a boy in my history class. He gets teased a lot because he’s ridiculously tall and still close to a hundred pounds.”
“Invite him to come over Saturday morning. I’ll invite Bradford. We’ll show you what to do.”
That Saturday would forever stand out as the day she knew Connor was the one for her. They’d gathered at Joanna’s house for privacy and Connor asked Bradford to kick his ass. “Just don’t mess with the face in case I need it for my next movie,” had been his only stipulation.
Although Bradford had seemed reluctant at first, Connor had encouraged him until—Ouch, the first punch he’d given him had sent Connor stumbling back and hunching over. Winded, Connor had turned to the boys and said, “What do you do when you get knocked down?”
Wide-eyed, they’d shaken their heads.
Angelina hadn’t known what he’d expected them to say either.
Connor had added, “You get back up. That’s how you win.” Then he’d said, “Bradford, hit me again.”
The second hit had come as a roundoff kick that had sent Connor to the ground. He shook his head and rose back to his feet. “Again.”
Each time he was hit, he stood. When he became shaky on his feet, Bradford stopped. “I think they get the point.”
Connor turned to the boys and said, “I don’t have to punch Bradford for him to know he hasn’t beaten me. I’m not suggesting you let anyone hit you. I just want you to see that fear hurts more than pain. That’s what I learned from football. If you’re afraid of the hit, you’ve already lost. Now, Travis, shove Whitney to the ground. Then Whitney, shove Travis to the ground. Do it like you mean it. Punch like you have something to defend. It’s going to hurt like hell, but not as bad as that dick thinking he can scare you feels.”