Page 38 of Single Dad Dilemma
Maggie stood on a step stool, a megaphone to her mouth.
My entire defensive line was practicing dance moves while she instructed them on what to do next.
“No, no, everyone on the left, you need topirouette,” she said in exasperation. “Look at Keshawn; his is so good.”
I covered my mouth with my hand as one of our team captains, an absolutely massive guy, one of the stalwarts of our defense at six five and with inked arms the size of tree trunks, executed a perfectly graceful ballet move, his hands arched above his head.
The other guys clapped and whistled. “How can you do that so well, man?” someone asked.
Keshawn shrugged. “My daughter is in ballet. I help her practice sometimes. You gottafeelthe move.”
Wren was off to the right, directing the intern who was filming every bit of this, and I could only imagine what would end up on the team’s social media.
I cleared my throat, and Maggie whipped around. “Dad! We’re making content. They’re gonna give me my ownshow.”
I raised an eyebrow. “So I heard. Are you keeping these guys from doing their work?”
“Aww, come on, Coach,” Keshawn said. “Five more minutes? We almost got it that time.”
“Yeah, Dad, can we have five more minutes?” Maggie asked, bouncing slightly on her toes.
“Five more minutes,” I told her, my lips curving into a helpless smile. “Then make your way back to my office, okay?”
She held her hand out, and Keshawn gave her a high five. Then she brought the megaphone to her mouth. “You heard the man. We have five minutes, so let’s do two more takes.” She swiveled in my direction, still speaking into the amplifier. “Dad, can we watch a Christmas movie and eat cookies when we get home?”
Every eye on the field was on me. “Uh, yeah, that’s fine.”
“Can we come, too, Coach?” someone asked.
I smiled wryly. “Not tonight, no.”
Maggie turned again, pointing at one of the tackles at the end of a line, megaphone to her mouth. “Justice, if you can’t get that pirouette on beat, you’re off the video.”
“I’ll get it,” Justice promised. He gave me a meaningful look. “She’s scary, Coach.”
“Trust me, I’m aware.”
“Christmas break is the best,” Bryce sighed. “No school for two weeks.”
“Totally the best,” Maggie agreed. We were halfway throughHome Alone, Maggie lying on the floor with a pile of pillows from her bed, her legs kicking back and forth in the air. We’d finally taken some time to put up a tree when we got home from the facility, though the kids lost interest in hanging the ornaments about halfway through the process. Bridget assured me that all their presents were wrapped and ready to put under the tree—hidden in the storage room in the back of the extra garage stall. She’d snuck them in earlier that day while I was in a meeting.
Bryce’s chest was covered with cookie crumbs, leftovers from the most recent batch brought home with them from Lily’s. The best cookies in the entire world, according to my children.
I’d yet to try one. Knowing her, she’d slipped a camera into the takeout container and the entire thing would self-destruct if I took a single bite.
“Christmas Eve tomorrow,” I said quietly. “What should we do?”
“Eat sugar all day,” Bryce insisted.
“Part of the day.” I nudged his leg. “We could play a couple games.”
He gave me a shy look. “And you don’t have to work ... at all? Not even a little?”
“None,” I promised. “Film can wait until after the holiday.”
He tried to smother his pleased smile, but it broke free anyway. “Maybe we could play Monopoly or something? You don’t usually have time for a long game like that.”
It was almost impossible to speak over the guilt screaming in my head. “Monopoly would be perfect.”
