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I hold up my hand. “Stitches. Nearly cut a finger off. Do you care?”
She’s just about to say something when the game ends. “Callan will be happy you at least made it.”
Do you sense the sarcasm in her voice?
I do.
Madison makes her way over to the cooler where I assume she has the snack for the kids surrounding her. Callan comes over to me, smiling, his hair sticking up in odd directions from the sweat rolling down his temples. “Hey, bud, you looked great out there.”
He gives me this blank stare like he’s not sure what the fuck I’m talking about. “I didn’t do anything, Dad. I just stood there.”
“Yeah, but good effort standing there.” I feel like a damn idiot now.
Noah hugs Callan, his tiny arms wrapped around his older brother’s waist. “Cake.”
“Cake?” I mouth at Madison who chuckles, shaking her head at our son.
“I think he’s trying to say Callan, but I’m not sure.”
Callan unwraps Noah’s arms from around him and then hands him his shin guard he’s taking off.
“Can you hold this?” Madison asks and then she looks at my hand. “Crap, you’re probably not supposed to hold anything, are you?”
Is that concern I sense in her tone? Let’s just go ahead and mark a point down for me here because I think it’s necessary. She’s actually concerned. Look at her! Her eyes are darting from the cooler to me and then to my hand.
Noah hits my hand right then with his, like he’s high-fiving me—if punching someone in the hand was high-fiving them. I want to scream in pain, but I don’t and smile at him. “Don’t do that.”
“Why?” He stares up at me.
“Because my hand hurts.”
What does he do?
Hits it again.
It’s illegal to hit your kids. I know this, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to.
Madison lets out a heavy sigh and picks Noah up so he can’t hit me. “Noah, don’t hit Daddy’s hand. I can see if Kip will move it.”
I glare, not intentionally, but it’s my natural reaction whenever another man is mentioned. “I got it.”
Madison shrugs. “Thanks.” And bends down to close the lid before I pick it up.
Check out what happens when she bends down. Yeah, I didn’t miss it either. The coach is staring at her tits again. At first I’m thinking, hey, that’s okay. They’re nice to look at. I get it but looking is as far as it goes. But I don’t react that way at all. My blood begins to boil and my heart races. It’s like I can’t control any of my reactions these days.
Remember when Madison said, and I quote, “Kip warned be you’d react this way”? You didn’t really think that little bit of information would slip by a man like me, did you?
Didn’t think so.
I have a feeling this douche is Kip.
The guy must feel my burning stare of “you will die if you keep looking at her like that” because he straightens his posture and clears his throat. “Hey, Madison, what did you think of the game?” he asks her, smiling like he’s waiting for her to glance his direction.
What did she think of the game?It’s a bunch of seven-year-olds chasing a ball around a field until one of them by chance kicks it in the right direction and gets it into the net. What the hell could she think about the game?
To my surprise, Madison smiles and nods enthusiastically. “I thought it was great! The boys are really starting to come around out there. Your great coaching is really paying off.”
My stomach twists and suddenly I have that acid reflux crap Brantley’s always complaining about after we get tacos from Sonora Taco Shop. You know that feeling where the bile rises in your throat, and you’re not sure if the contents of your stomach are coming up or not?