Page 16 of Claiming My Grumpy Ex

“Mom!” Jake’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts as he climbed into the car, his backpack bouncing on his shoulder. He was grinning, his energy practically bursting from the passenger seat. “Think I’ll be able to play at tomorrow’s practice?”

I laughed, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder. “We’ll see what the doctor says, alright? No promises until we know for sure.”

He nodded, a serious expression crossing his face as if he were prepping himself for a major league game. “I’ve been really careful, Mom. No lifting, no roughhousing… I even skipped gym last week.”

“Good. I’m glad you followed the doctor’s orders,” I replied, though his determination tugged at my heart. “Let’s hope it pays off. I know how much you miss being out there.”

He nodded again, gazing out the window as I drove to the clinic. Jake was so much like me—dedicated, stubborn, and sometimes too quiet about the things that really mattered.

The waiting room was busier than usual, with a steady sound of the voices of parents and kids filling the space. Jake was sitting beside me, flipping through a comic book he’d snagged from the rack by the door, his good hand propping up his chin as he devoured every panel. I watched him, a pang of pride mixed with a bit of guilt running through me. He’d been such a trooper through all this, never complaining about the wrist brace or missing practice.

I settled into my chair, crossing one leg over the other, letting myself relax for the first time today. The clock on the wallticked steadily, and I found myself absently scrolling through my phone, looking for anything to pass the time. But my mind kept drifting to the last few days, to that unsettling thought that Cory had been out there, watching.

I bit my lip, fighting the urge to shake it off. If he had been sitting out on the lake, what was he waiting for? Why hadn’t he just come in again if he wanted to talk to me? The questions felt ridiculous, and yet… I couldn’t deny the nagging thought that something was left unresolved.

Maybe it was time to stop dancing around the truth. I glanced over at Jake, still buried in his comic book, oblivious to the whirlwind of thoughts rattling around in my head.

I typed “Cory Harrison Dallas” into my search bar, and a few results popped up almost immediately. I tapped the top link, which led me to a website for The Horizon Foundation. Right there on the homepage was his name—Cory J. Harrison, Executive Director. I wasn’t surprised, really. He’d always been ambitious, even back in high school.

The page showed photos of charitable events and community initiatives and a link to his bio. I skimmed through the text, noting the usual nonprofit language: “supporting local communities,” “empowering youth,” and “partnering with organizations across Texas.” It was mostly about outreach, mentorship, and youth development programs, which seemed to be funded through donations. Nothing too flashy—just a straightforward foundation doing good work—but nothing about his personal life.

Still, something about it felt… fitting. Cory had always been driven, and seeing him here, leading a foundation made sense in a way I couldn’t quite explain. But it tugged at me, too, stirring an uneasy feeling in my chest. Here he was, seemingly doing so well, making a difference in people’s lives, while I’d been back here, holding everything together on my own.

I noticed a phone number listed under the “Contact Us” section. My thumb hovered over it, my mind racing. I could call. It wouldn’t be that strange to reach out, would it? But then I looked over at Jake, catching his eye for a split second as he looked up from his comics, and I quickly locked my phone, shoving it back into my bag. Not here. Not now.

I took a slow breath, calming the urge to dig deeper, to know more. Right then, the receptionist called Jake’s name, snapping me back to reality.

Jake’s name echoed through the waiting room as the nurse called us back, and he practically leaped out of his chair. I chuckled, watching him hustle down the hallway as if this appointment determined his entire future. For him, maybe it did.

We settled into the exam room, and Jake was bouncing with excitement, barely sitting still as he waited for the doctor. I’d never seen him this animated for a check-up, and I couldn’t help but smile; his energy was contagious.

When the doctor finally entered, Jake straightened, his eyes wide with hope. After a quick exam and a set of X-rays, the doctor glanced between us, smiling. “Good news, Jake. Everything’s healed up just fine. You’re good to play ball again.”

Jake punched the air in celebration, grinning from ear to ear. “Yes!” He turned to me, face alight with pride. “Mom, did you hear that?”

I laughed, reaching over to ruffle his hair. “I heard it loud and clear. But remember, just because you’re cleared doesn’t mean you get to push yourself too hard. Start slow, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, nodding vigorously, already lost in the thrill of getting back to the game. He barely stayed put long enough for the doctor to finish his instructions, and as soon as we were given the all-clear, he was bounding out of the room and down the hallway.

As we headed out of the clinic, Jake was on his phone, eagerly texting his friends the good news. His fingers flew over the screen, no doubt arranging an impromptu practice session after lunch tomorrow. I couldn’t help but smile as I watched him—this was his world, and I loved seeing him so happy, even if I worried every time he slid into a base or sprinted after a ball.

When we got home, I watered my flowers and slipped into the familiar rhythm of dinner prep, letting the warmth of the kitchen settle my nerves. I set the cutting board on the counter, chopped a handful of vegetables, and started the pasta boiling. Jake was still bubbling over with excitement, narrating his friends’ replies as he hovered near the kitchen.

“Mom, they’re all so happy I can play again!” he announced, practically vibrating with excitement. He leaned on the counter, watching as I stirred the sauce.

I looked over at him, trying to keep my voice casual. “I bet they are. You’re one of the star players.”

As Jake darted off to the living room, his excitement bubbling over, I leaned against the counter, letting my thoughts wander. Seeing Cory’s face on that website had stirred up so much more than I’d expected. How did he look so… put together? How was he out there leading this impressive foundation with what looked like a picture-perfect life in Dallas? And here I was, scraping through most days, just doing my best to make ends meet and be a good mom to Jake. The two lives we’d ended up in felt worlds apart.

A sense of pride flickered beneath the irritation—pride that he’d built something meaningful. But right on its heels was resentment. I had stayed in this small town, raising Jake on my own while he was out there thriving, unaware of the life he’d left behind. Had he ever thought about me? About us? Or was I just a part of his past he’d long buried?

I pulled up the website again, my eyes lingering on his photo. He looked older, sure, but the intensity in his gaze was exactly how I remembered it. The foundation sounded like a well-oiled machine—something bigger than just him, funded by grants and donors, its mission polished and professional. And Cory, at the helm, was making a difference. I had to admit, it was impressive.

My thumb hovered over the phone number listed on the site. The impulse to call was strong, fueled by an urge to confront him. But what would I even say? That he had a son? That he’d missed out on a lifetime of memories? Would he even care? I tucked my phone back into my pocket as I heard Jake’s footsteps approaching.

He came barreling into the kitchen, asking if dinner was ready, and I quickly pushed down my emotions, focusing instead on plating our meal. We settled into our usual spots at the table, and Jake chattered away about baseball practice, his friends, and a new move he was eager to try.

Just as I started to relax, he looked up at me, serious and quiet. “Mom, is Cory my dad?”

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