Seven and a half years later . . .
“Huddle up.” I braced my hands on my knees as thirteen six-year-old boys circled around me.
Across the huddle, Isaiah slid in beside his son, Asher. Like the other boys’, Asher’s eyes were on the grass. The whole huddle had slumped shoulders and pouting mouths.
“It’s okay,” I assured them. “We have time for one more play.”
The other team had just scored a touchdown to take the lead as the ref had given us the one-minute warning.
We were in the first- and second-grade boys’ flag football championship game. These kids wanted to win so badly, but the other team was bigger and faster. Hell, it was a miracle we’d kept the game close because at the beginning, when they’d scored back-to-back touchdowns, I’d been sure we’d get crushed.
But we’d clawed our way to a tie.
“Here’s what we’re going to do. Asher.” I pointed to him. He was lean like Isaiah and damn fast. “You’re gonna take the snap. Fake to the left, then hand it off to Nico. Got it?”
“Got it,” Asher said, then looked up to his dad, who gave him a sure nod.
“You boys on the line, block.” I pounded a fist into my palm. “Hard. Don’t let those bigger kids get through.”
Cheaters, more like. I’d been eyeing the defensive line on the other team. There were a couple kids who stood head and shoulders over our kids. More like third or fourth graders. And our team was predominately first graders.
“Nico.” I turned to my son, who was standing at my side. His face was set and serious, the same look that Presley gave me whenever she was determined. “You’ll have the ball. You’re going to have to run all the way to the end zone. Do. Not. Stop. If you see a kid going for your flag, stick your hand out and block. Be aggressive.”
“But Dad, Mom said not to do that anymore after the last game when I gave that kid a bloody—”
“Forget what your mother said. She’s not the coach. I am. And we can win this game.” I put my hand into the huddle. “Panthers on three. One. Two—”
“Panthers!” the boys yelled.
A few kids ran to the sidelines while the rest followed me and Isaiah to the line of scrimmage. Isaiah shifted the linemen into the right place while I did the same with those in the backfield. Once everyone was set on both teams, I nodded to the ref, whose whistle was pinched between his teeth.
Isaiah joined me downfield, watching as the boys waited for the play.
“Shit, I hope we win,” I muttered.
He nodded. “I’m so fucking nervous right now.”
Neither of us had expected to end up as coaches for our sons’ football team, but when the youth association had asked for volunteers, it had made sense to step up. We both would have been here anyway watching practice, since Nico and Asher were the same age.
Officially, I was the head coach and Isaiah my assistant. But that was to save him from getting bombarded with parent texts, something he refused to handle and I didn’t mind.
We’d been playing games every Saturday morning for the past six weeks against teams from nearby towns. One weekend, we’d played in the pouring rain. The next, there’d been an inch of snow on the ground.
But we’d lucked out for the championship. The October sun was shining, there wasn’t a cloud in the blue sky, and the spectators along the sidelines only needed a coat to stay warm.
That hadn’t stopped Presley from bundling up Noah like he was going skiing in Aspen. Our four-year-old son had shucked his coat five minutes into the game and was currently racing around in the open space beside the field, chasing Genevieve and Isaiah’s seven-year-old daughter, Amelia.
Noah was obsessed with Amelia. She was the big sister he didn’t have but desperately wanted. Lucky for him, we shared life with our friends. We went camping each summer with the Reynolds crew. We had Thanksgiving with the Slaters.
When our baby girl, Natasha, had been born in August, one month early, we hadn’t had to worry about what to do with the boys. Our family had been there to watch them while we went to the hospital, staying an extra four days longer than we’d planned.
And they were all here to watch Nico and Asher’s football game.
Bryce and Genevieve stood on Presley’s right. Dash stood on the left with his arms crossed. Xander and Zeke stood beside him in the row, their postures mimicking their father’s as they focused on the play. The boys had streaked black face paint under their eyes this morning to show their support.
Not all that long ago, we’d been on the sidelines watching their flag football games.
The whistle blew and the kids scattered, boys pushing boys as Asher caught the snap.
“Fake,” Isaiah said, watching as his son did just that.
Then Asher handed it off and Nico had the ball.
I bit my lip, taking one step forward as he ran wide, skirting the line to the right. “Run, buddy.”
Nico’s legs pumped. He had the ball cradled under his right arm so that as a defender came up on his left, he could give him the strong arm.
The other kid tripped, falling into the grass as Nico kept running.
He broke free.
Asher was fast.
But Nico was faster.
“Go,” I chanted. “Go. Go.”
“Go!” Presley’s shout carried through the air. “Run, Nico!”
She was a tiny thing, but damn when she wanted to cheer for her kids, you’d need a megaphone to drown her out.
“Run!” she screamed, covering Natasha’s ears in the baby sling strapped across her chest.
“He’s gonna make it.” Isaiah’s hand shot out, grabbing my arm.
“He’s gonna make it.” I grabbed his arm too.
Time was up but the play was still good and Nico’s blond hair streaked down the field, past the orange pylon.
“Touchdown,” the ref yelled, blowing his whistle.
“Yes!” I fist-pumped, then clapped loud and fast. I grinned at Isaiah as we jogged down the field to meet our team.
Parents cheered as the kids screamed, all of them jumping up and down around Nico.
We regrouped the kids, getting them into a line to shake hands with the other team. We sent the boys to the refs to say their thank-yous. Then Isaiah and I talked to parents—most of whom wanted to make sure we’d be back to coach next year’s team. Finally, the crowd dispersed, and Nico and I joined Presley.
“Good game, bud.” She bent to kiss his cheek.
“Thanks, Mom. Can I go play with Noah?”
“For a couple of minutes.”
Natasha was zonked in her sling. The coat Presley had put on her made her look more like a caterpillar than a baby.
“How’s she doing?” I bent and kissed the baby’s beanie-covered head, then dropped a kiss on Presley’s mouth.
“We’re good.” She smiled at our daughter, then looked up at me. “Good game, Coach.”
I beamed with pride. “Thanks.”
I’d won an Oscar for my performance in Dark Paradise, Cameron had been nominated for best director, and the film had been nominated for picture of the year. That movie had catapulted Valance Pictures to the next level, giving us a name to build upon. Investors had come in droves and our staff had doubled in less than a year. It had all come with growing pains, but after the past five years, it had become a huge source of pride.
Watching my son’s success was far more satisfying than any I’d earned on my own. It wasn’t on the same level as the day I’d married Presley or the days we’d welcomed our kids into the world, but today was a damn good day.
“This is better than any football game I’ve ever played myself,” I told her, picking up the diaper bag.
“This is better than any football game you’ve made me watch on Sundays.”
“Very true.” I chuckled as we started toward the car.
Dash waved as he climbed into his truck, his crew already loaded. Isaiah kissed Genevieve before he closed the door to her car. She’d drive herself and the kids home while he’d ride behind on his bike.
“Let’s go, boys,” I called to Nico and Noah as we walked.
Nico picked up his brother’s coat, carrying it for him as they ran to catch up.
We buckled the kids into their seats and got in, driving across town to our home, the one we’d built on the property where I’d proposed to Presley.
A month after I’d proposed, Presley and I had gotten married in Las Vegas.
She hadn’t wanted to plan a wedding again, so we’d flown to Nevada one weekend, just the two of us, and gotten married. Then we’d gone to California and spent two weeks with my family.
As I’d expected, they’d all fallen in love with my wife.
We’d returned home and lived in my yellow house for nine months while our place in the country was being built. There were times when I missed that little place because it was where our life had started. Every once in a while, when I was in the neighborhood, I’d drive by. But as far as I knew, the day we left Quaker’s Court was the last time Presley had been on that cul-de-sac.
There were too many ghosts for her on that street.
For a while, Jeremiah’s death had nearly ripped Presley and her sister apart, but they’d hung tight and fought for each other.
Scarlett would probably be over later today because her Saturday afternoons were normally spent in our living room, where she and Presley would drink wine and talk.
Mostly their conversations were light. Sometimes, they delved into the past and their parents.
After I’d learned about their father’s abuse, I’d wanted to ruin the man. It wouldn’t have taken much to get him blacklisted in his community and shamed for his actions. I’d hoped for it, planned it even, but in the end, I’d talked myself out of it. Hurting him would only hurt Presley’s mother and that woman was already living in her own personal hell.
Presley’s parents still lived in Chicago and as long as they stayed away from my family, I was content to leave the subject untouched.
There were certain things we didn’t talk about these days. Like her childhood. Like what had happened to Scarlett after Jeremiah’s death.
And the Warriors because, well . . .
That was a different movie.
“So I got an interesting email today,” Presley said.
“From who?”
“Ginny.”
I’d be having a call with Ginny on Monday about boundaries. “Why would my agent be emailing you?”
“She said you shot her down and she’s desperate, so she’s asking me to ask you to reconsider.”
“I’m not changing my mind.”
Cameron had approached Ginny a few months ago, asking if I’d be interested in doing another movie similar to Dark Paradise. He’d come across a script that had spoken to him and he thought I’d be perfect for the part.
I’d given Ginny a flat no. She had other clients to represent these days, but she came to me once or twice a year, hoping I’d changed my mind about retirement.
Dark Paradise was the last film I’d done as an actor, though I’d been part of many since—behind the scenes. I preferred a more active role in Valance Pictures to acting. It worked better with the eight-to-five lifestyle we wanted in Clifton Forge. And I sure as fuck didn’t miss the goddamn paparazzi.
“Are you sure?” Presley asked. “We could make it work. I can bring Natasha to the garage with me during the day. Noah can go to preschool and Nico has school. We’d be fine for a few months.”
I reached across the console to take her hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I had no desire to spend weeks on location or leave home for a press tour. Presley had survived two movie premieres, but the flashing lights and the screaming fans weren’t for her.
They weren’t for me these days either.
My legacy wasn’t fame or fortune.
It was in this car, the smiles on my children’s faces and the happiness in my wife’s heart.
This was my legacy.
I intended to nurture it by Presley’s side for the rest of my life.
The Tin Gypsy series continues with Noble Prince.