Page 71 of A Wild Card Kiss
I tuck that thought away. I’ll hold on to it until the moment is right to bring it up.
***
On Thursday after our team workout, I do one of my favorite things—I pick Abby up from school.
She bounds down the front steps of the school building, alongside a curly-haired blond, and barely gives me a chance to say hello.
“Hello—”
“Can we go to the playground around the corner? Audrey and I want to do the rock-climbing wall, and it’ll be so fun,” Abby says, then wraps an arm around her friend, who flashes me a gap-toothed smile.
“Please, Mister Taylor,” Audrey puts in. “My mom said it’s okay and you can drop me off in an hour,” Audrey adds quickly, gesturing to her mom who’s talking to another parent by the school entrance.
“And she only lives four blocks away,” Abby says at the speed of light.
Laughing, I finally get a word in edgewise. “Well, it seems you two have already plotted this whole playground playdate.”
“We did,” Abby says. “So, it’s a yes?”
“I’ll just check with Audrey’s mom.” I make my way to the school entrance, and once I confirm Audrey’s mom is cool with the plan, I return to the girls. “Rock-climbing time,” I say, grateful my life and my job allow me this sort of flexibility in the middle of the week.
But there’s only so much flexibility I have.
The next day is alsotechnicallymy day with Abby, but I won’t be able to spend it with her. I don’t spend any weekends with her during football season. I’m either flying to another city or we’re in the team hotel, deliberately away from family. That’s just how it goes in the league.
In the morning, we grab the two most excellent apple pies we baked last night, then I take her to Danielle’s house around seven, since we have a 9:00 a.m. flight to Seattle for our game this weekend.
Danielle lets us in, and I step into the foyer.
“Thanks again for taking her to school. And having her this weekend and all the other weekends,” I say with a smile, and a little bit of sadness too.
“Easy-peasy,” Danielle says, and that’s my reminder to sweep away the pang of longing for weekends. Truly, I’m damn lucky to share this kid with a mom who’s so chill about, well, everything.
“And we made you two pies,” Abby announces, thrusting the pink boxes at her mom. “One’s for us to take to the gymnastics showcase on Saturday, and one is for you and Jamie to take to the hospital.”
Danielle’s eyes light up with culinary delight. “The parents will love it at Gym Buddies. And I guarantee the nurses will love this one too.” She turns to me. “They seriously appreciate it when doctors bring them pies baked by their favorite player.”
“You’re famous at Mommy’s hospital,” Abby says.
“Especially since you’ve been playing like you’re about toownthe heck out of free agency,” Jamie calls from the kitchen, then pops his head in the doorway, waiting expectantly.
Like now is when I’m going to decide my off-season plans.
My entire career plans.
Truth is—I still don’t know what I’ll do in January.
No clue whatsoever. Maybe I’m waiting for a sign. Is my good health—knock on wood—a sign to keep playing? Or is it a sign to quit while I’m ahead?
I wish I knew.
Danielle rolls her eyes. “Jamie. He’s not going to just tell us one morning in the entryway.”
“A man can dream,” Jamie says with an easy shrug.
“And the answer is—I’ll keep making you pies,” I tell him, like that’s a satisfying answer.
But it’s the only one I can legitimately give.
