Page 5 of More Than A Game

Murphy

As I pull my car to a stop in my mother’s circular driveway, I can’t believe the conversation I’m about to have with her. How did this happen? Well, I guess I know how it happened.

What the fuck?

I don’t know what I’m going to say or how my mom is going to react.

“Hey, Mom. Congrats. You’re going to be a grandma.”

“Umm... Mom. I fucked up.”

“Mommy, can you fix my life?”

I am not ashamed to admit I’m a bit of a momma’s boy, and I can and will kick anyone’s ass who has a problem with it. Dumb fucks don’t have a clue how good being a momma’s boy is. I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m going to do and need my mom to tell me everything is going to be okay, even if it’s not. Letting myself in the side door, I kick my shoes off in the mudroom and head into the kitchen.

What I see next can never be erased from my eyes. My mom is half-naked and bent over the kitchen table. And it gets worse. Coach Sinclair’s bare ass is between her legs.

Oh. Fuck. No.

“Oh! My God! My eyes!”

I turn away, not wanting to see what’s happening right in front of me. My mom, my perfectly sweet, sweater-and-pearls-wearing momma, has her skirt shoved up to her waist, and her top is lying on the floor by her feet. She’s making a noise I could have gone my entire life without hearing, and Coach Sinclair—Nat and Coop’s dad—has his pants around his knees and his hands on her hips as he pumps away.

Fucking gross.

My mother shrieks, “Oh my God, Aiden! Close your eyes.”

Refusing to turn my head and risk a chance of seeing them, I yell back, “Bleach my eyes is more like it. What the hell, Mom? Is there something wrong with your bedroom?”

I hear movements behind me.

Hurried breaths.

The rustle of pants being pulled up.

A belt being buckled.

The legs of the table scraping against the floor.

“Now listen, Murphy—” Coach Sinclair starts to speak, but I cut him off.

“How about you listen to me, Coach? I just walked into my house to see you doing my mom. Can you give me a minute to have the fucking freak-out I deserve?” Storming out the door I just entered, I let it slam behind me and walk around the neighborhood while trying to get myself under control.

Once I make it to the end of the block, I really wish I’d grabbed my shoes.

* * *

When I finally pull my shit together enough to enter my mother’s house for the second time today, I make sure that it’s through the front door. And I knock...loudly. When my mother opens the door, I can tell she’s been crying.

I seem to have that effect on women lately.

My mother’s sparkling green eyes that were passed down to my sister and me are rimmed red, and that’s my fault. She’s changed into tan pants and a dark pink sleeveless blouse. Still has those damn pearls on though.

I’m enveloped in her delicate arms as she starts to apologize.

Pulling back, I look down at her curly, strawberry blonde hair. I definitely didn’t get my height from her. She barely comes up to my shoulder. I force the next words out of my mouth. “Mom. Don’t. I should have knocked or at least told you I was coming by earlier. It was just a shock to see that. And with Coach.” My brows scrunch, and my lips pinch tight.

I’ll never be able to purge that fucking image from my brain.

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