Page 41 of Needing You

I grinned at the phone as I tapped my response.

Me: Wouldn’t miss it. Can’t wait.

And it hit me then, clear as the glass between my office and the kitchen. I couldn’t wait to see him again. I couldn’t wait to see Kate. And the frustrations here—with the professionalandpersonal side of things with Eric—they didn’t take over. This small interaction with my son held them at bay.

Maybe it showed what a dense fuckwit I’d always been, but the reality of having a family to talk with and anticipate seeing made all the shitty realities of life seem a little less overwhelming. It made everything notably… better.

19

KATE

“These Friday night lights look a lot different from this angle,” Will said as we settled into our seats on the cold metal bleachers.

“What do you mean? Did you play after I left?”

He snorted. “I wanted to, sure. But I caused a little too much trouble, and they booted my ass off the team.”

I slid him a look, and he shrugged with a sardonic smile. As we turned back to watch Jackson’s scrimmage, thoughts of teenage Will were quickly replaced by the teenager on the field who looked just like him.

Jackson had taken this whole thing so well I could hardly believe it. His grades hadn’t suffered, he’d continued to excel in football, and he wasn’t acting out with his friends. I swear, if it weren’t for the cold shoulder I was still getting from him, I’d think none of it had even happened.

Will must have noticed something in my expression because he leaned down and kissed my temple. “Fifty bucks for your thoughts?”

“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes,” I deadpanned.

“Yeah, well, you didn’t look like you’d be eager to share, so I figured I’d sweeten the pot.”

I allowed a small smile but kept my gaze on Jackson as he took direction from the coach. “It’s nothing. I was just thinking about Jackson.”

“Are things any better between you guys?”

I shrugged. “He said a very clear and notunfriendly ‘no, thank you’ when I asked if he wanted me to make him something special for breakfast this morning. So that’s something.”

“Uh… even if he’s pissed, he should probably still say ‘no, thank you,’” he replied, his spine as straight as a board as he stared down his son.

I bumped his knee with mine. “He still did before. It was just more of a mumble. So the clear pronunciation and a little eye contact was a big improvement.” I risked a glance at Will’s profile and found his jaw clenched and his brow furrowed like he was deep in thought, and whatever he was thinking clearly upset him. Nudging him again, I said, “It’s fine. We’ll work it out. I’m still his mom, so he can’t hate me forever.”

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“I’m pretty sure he does, but it’s fine. Let’s just enjoy the scrimmage.”

Will opened his mouth as if he wanted to say more, but then movement on caught his eye, and we watched as Jackson took the field along with the rest of the offense. He’d be happy they were up first and even happier the opposing team looked downright scrawny compared to theirs.

Jackson was tall and lean, but many of the seniors on the team had to weigh well over two hundred pounds. From what Will had said, Jackson would likely start to pack on muscle in the next few years. He was already so big. I could hardly imagine what that’d be like.

“So, at the risk of talking about something else that doesn’t qualify asenjoying the scrimmage,can I just vent for like two seconds about what an annoying dickwad my brother is?”

I laughed heartily at that, then narrowed my eyes at the stern glare I caught from the middle-aged woman sitting on the row of bleachers behind Will. “Which brother?”

“Eric. He’s seriously such a twat.”

I cleared my throat, aching to tell him to watch his mouth. We were on school property, after all, and I’d spent the last fifteen years biting back curses because I had either young ears or teachers or customers or employers around me every second of every day.

In fact, I’d never become close enough to the other moms I saw at birthday parties to be informal with my speech like mom-friends appeared to do. They were always at least five years older than me, which meant they seemed to be waiting for me to act like their version of a teen mom. And I couldn’t give them that, now could I?

But I held back my commentary to the man beside me, knowing the last thing a ranty Will Walker needed was for me to scold him for his language. Eric had this way of making him feel small, or at least not as big as his britches, and I didn’t want to add to that vibe by acting high-and-mighty about his word choice.

“What did he do?” I asked carefully.

---