Page 25 of Mr. Charming

She made it easy for me to open up because she didn’t make me listen to bullshit excuses or platitudes about why my dad never chose me over drugs, how addiction is a disease, and so on and so forth. When you’re a kid and your dad constantly disappoints you and puts you last, none of that matters.

“My dad was a drug-addicted asshole who weaved in and out of my life at his own convenience. He only ever thought about himself and never cared if we had food or a roof over our heads. He’d tell us he was coming to visit, coming to one of my games, whatever, and almost always left us disappointed. Then he’d show up out of the blue and ruin a perfectly good day. I love my mom, and she was trying to save us from him in her own way, but she never denied him a visit whenever the urge struck him, even when he was strung out.”

She scooted a little closer, and her knees brushed my ribs. I slid my hand out of hers and wrapped my arm around her, wanting her close. She was my future, and I was no longer that kid looking for love or validation from him.

“You know how I only go by my initials on the rare times anyone calls me anything other than Tweetie?”

She stiffened and lifted her head. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Honestly.”

I stared at the woman who held my entire heart in her hands. I had no idea if kids were in our future, but if they were, I didn’t want any secrets between us. “I want you to know.”

She nodded.

“My dad was adamant that I was named after him. My mom said when he found out I was a boy, he really wanted a junior. Mom got to name Georgia, so she felt it was only fair. But good ol’ Dad wasn’t around when she went into labor. He was off on a bender or something, and she couldn’t get a hold of him. When it came time to fill out the birth certificate, rather than putting in the full name, she just filled it out as JD Sorenson. Sure, the J stands for his name, but no one has ever called me that but him.”

She kisses my shoulder. “And now everyone calls you Tweetie.”

“Which I made sure of. As soon as I was given that nickname, I started introducing myself as Tweetie to get rid of JD altogether.”

She picked up her head. “And what do you want me to call you?”

“Anything but…” I told her what the initials stood for. The name I shared with my dad. “Please don’t ever call me that.”

She nodded. “Okay. I promise.” She sat up, straddled my lap, and placed my head in her hands. “I’m not pitying you, but I am sorry you had a shitty role model for a father. Thank you for trusting me with that knowledge. I’ll never betray that. Your secret is mine to hold just as close as you do.”

My hands rose from her hips and up her back, urging her to come down and hug me. As she sat on top of me, I buried my head in the crook of her neck and tried to center myself. I’d moved on from him, and he had been dead to me long before his heart stopped.

Tedi was my future. She represented everything good I’d done after I’d freed myself from him. And a huge weight was lifted off me from sharing it with her.

“If there’s a funeral, will you come with me?” I whispered.

“You don’t even have to ask. You know I’ll be there.” She kissed my cheek, and we went back to hugging.

After I demanded that we didn’t give my dad any more room in our happy life, we went back to eating, and Tedi told me about her own upbringing with a mother who’d left her family in search of another one.

We already had a fucking great relationship, but that morning, it turned and shifted, making me even more afraid to ever lose her.

Thirteen

Tedi

“You what?” Saige asks me, the sound of chaos behind her.

“You’re the one who gave me the idea.” This really is all her fault. The boyfriend thing wouldn’t have been in my head in the first place while I was all tongue-tied, trying to act as if his protectiveness over me wasn’t as endearing as I thought it was.

“I meant you should actually find a boyfriend. Go on dates and get Tweetie out of your head. Not lie and tell him you’re seeing someone.” I hear a knife chopping, and Saige sighs. “God, I hate cooking.”

“Um… you’re married to one of the best centers in the league, hire a damn chef.”

“One of the best?”

“Way to protect your man.”

She sighs again. “You know I didn’t grow up like that, and I don’t want my girls thinking that life just hands them everything.”

“So listening to their mom whine about cutting up vegetables is better?”

“They need to learn that suffering makes you grow. Yes.”

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