Page 54

Robyn

Fifteen Years Later

Y ou know who doesn't give a shit that you’re an Olympic medalist, TV show host, and model for major brands? Your own kids.

“Thanks, Mom,” our nine year old son, Rain, says as I hand him his soccer cleats two minutes before his game starts.

“Hold up,” I say, my hand circling his wrist. “There’s a hug tax.”

I know he’s right on the cusp of thinking he’s too old for such blatant displays of parental affection, but today is not that day, and he squeezes me in a quick hug.

That was worth the traffic.

I rushed home to get his cleats and made it back in just in time. Dell stayed back with our other son, River, who just turned seven yesterday. He’s sitting in his own bag chair with Queen Charlotte, our pet hedgehog, and is reading one of the books we gave him for his birthday. We can’t get this boy to like sports no matter how hard we try, so until he shows us interest one day, we’re not going to push. My parents have already started making dumb remarks, but I’m right there with my husbands, defending our boy.

Regardless of what my parents think, our kids don’t owe us shit .

While River is a quieter type who’s into books and bugs and music, Rain is all sports and rough-housing. He’s going to make a great rugby player one day—just as soon as he’s old enough to play. For now, he’s in soccer and trying to make it much more of a contact sport than it is.

Rain darts away to join his team, but the coach is heading straight for me and a little zap of lust sparks. When he stands before me, he’s way closer than personal space should allow. “Thanks, baby,” he murmurs and leans in for a kiss.

“Coach Isaiah,” I giggle. “How inappropriate. There are children here.”

“That’s Coach Cassidy to you. I’ll put another one in you if you keep looking that sexy.”

All these years later and he can still make me blush.

And yes, they both took my last name.

“Enjoy the game,” he says with a knowing waggle to his eyebrows and a quick kiss. He’s a totally different man out there and he knows it gets me hot and bothered to watch him coach our son.

Here, with a dozen kids in red uniforms zipping by him, I’m reduced to nothing but hormones and desire. Heaven forbid one of the kids scrapes their knee—I’m toast—because he’s there to wipe their tears and reassure them that they will, in fact, live to see another day.

“Thinking about reversing our vasectomies?” Dell chuckles as I take a seat next to him. He’s been holding our primo spot amongst the other families in the sea of canvas bag chairs and metal bleachers.

I level him with pout under the bill of my ball cap.

After a pretty scary back injury when I was thirty-four, I decided it was time to retire from professional rugby. Thankfully I had great doctors and an incredible personal trainer at my disposal, so I’m mostly put back together, but playing rugby is not in the cards for me anymore. Now I spend my days being a mother, hosting my third season of Poly Island (a Love Island spin-off featuring only polyamorous people), working various red carpet events as an anchor, modeling, and working alongside Isaiah with his training program.

Dell is still running his business, but it’s grown just like his platforms. Personal Best Training has four locations and a staff of twenty, which means he has more free time to spend with our family.

And 1 what a family we have—our “maybe someday” family.

“If I said ‘yes, get your vasectomy reversed,’ what would you do?”

With that boyish grin that makes me weak and a complete disregard for my age, he leans over and plants the sweetest kiss on me. “I’d dive right in, darlin’.”

THE END