Page 7 of Every Beat of My Heart

“You want to throw the football around?” Jameson asked him.

Owen raised a brow. “You play?”

“Sure do.”

Owen tossed him the ball, and Jameson said, “Go long.”

Owen grinned, then took off a few feet. Jameson easily threw the ball to him, and Owen caught it, jumping up and yelling, “Touchdown,” while they both laughed.

My heart squeezed at the easy way they lobbed the ball back and forth. I couldn’t remember a time that Eric played ball with him. He wasn’t into sports.

Jameson’s lip curled up on one side, making my heart flip-flop. “You don’t mind if we play, do you?”

“Of course not,” I managed to say even though my mouth was dry.

Jameson paused, the ball in his hands. “You can go do whatever you have to do. I’ve got this.” Then to Owen, he yelled, “Go long again. This time to the right. Remember to run, then turn and look for the pass.”

Owen took off down the sidewalk, and Jameson released the ball, looking so much like those quarterbacks on TV. Owen leaped in the air, caught the ball, and cradled it against his chest.

“Good catch. You play for a team?” Jameson asked him.

Owen looked away. “I’m thinking about it.”

“You should. You have a natural talent.”

My heart squeezed as I turned to go inside. I wanted Owen to have this moment with a male figure. I couldn’t throw the ball like that or be the man in his life. When I played catch with him, I only lasted a few passes because the sting of the ball hurt when I caught it.

Jameson didn’t seem to have that problem. I couldn’t believe a single man wanted to spend his spare time throwing a ball with a random kid. But it meant a lot to me.

Inside, I went into my office that faced the front yard and tried to focus on the papers in front of me. I’d asked the students to write a letter to a friend, explaining how they’d survived the sinking of the Titanic. But it was difficult to get engrossed in any of them. I kept hearing the thud of the ball, the occasional yell, or laughter. My heart filled with longing.

What would it be like if Owen had a father who was home in the evenings and played catch with him? Instead, Eric worked a lot and had no shared interests with his son. But he didn’t try to connect with him either.

I kept hoping it would change as they got older, but the divide only grew bigger. Eric didn’t like the idea of Owen playing sports. He wanted him to focus on academics, but I knew kids needed an outlet for all the energy inside them.

I finally focused on the letters and was able to grade all of them before the front door opened. Owen came inside, his cheeks red from the cold. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Yeah, okay,” I said a little surprised. He never took a shower unless I asked him to a million times.

Jameson came inside and shut the door.

Owen paused at the base of the stairs. “Will you throw with me again?”

Jameson inclined his head toward me. “If it’s okay with your mother.”

“I’m sure Jameson has other things to do.”

“Please, Mom,” Owen whined.

“I really don’t mind. I love playing. Besides, I’m going to be coaching football this season, and I need to figure out what skills I need to work on.”

“If you’re sure?” I asked him, hesitant to request anything of him.

Jameson grinned, and my body flushed with heat. “Absolutely.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Owen said as he threw the ball at Jameson who caught it easily. Then he turned and jogged up the stairs two at a time.

I resisted reminding him to use soap on his body and his hair because I didn’t want to embarrass him in front of Jameson.

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