Page 38

LEAP OF FAITH

Dean

“Alright, here’s the deal. Uncle Lukey is going to toss the ball to Lem, and they expect us both to run after her and try to grab her flag.

But we’re not going to do that. We’re going to split up and give Lemmie a run right down the middle.

Then, once I’ve covered Luke and Ollie, you swing back around and pull Lem’s flag from behind. They’ll never see it coming. Got it?”

“Got it!”

Mellie and I high five, and we break our two-man huddle and fall into place on the line of scrimmage.

Luke whispers something in Lemmie’s ear, then winks at me before settling into position.

I give him the universal “I’m watching you” move, causing the twins to giggle at our antics.

Luke calls the play, Lemmie hikes the ball, and Mellie and I split, taking over opposite sides of the field while Luke lobs the ball to Lemmie.

I jump in front of Luke, blocking his view of the throw but not doing much else.

I can’t tackle him for three reasons—one, I don’t want to risk aggravating his knee injury.

Two, he’s got Ollie strapped to his chest in a carrier, and three, we’re playing two-on-two flag football with our kids in the park, not a playoff game at Twin Peaks Field.

A few days have passed since the night Luke and I finally yanked our heads out of our asses and gave into whatever magnetic force that seemed hellbent on pulling us together, and it’s been nothing but pure, orgasmic bliss.

Okay, that’s not completely true. We still have three kids to take care of, Luke’s transition into coaching to get through and the custody case and possibility that Joseph and Rebecca are in the city, watching and waiting to strike like panthers looming over our heads.

We’ve been so busy that we haven’t even had a chance to really talk about what exactly is happening with us.

I mean, we’re husbands who are friends who recently started having sex and are trying to hold on to custody of our kids—that’s just a little bit overwhelming.

And while I know we should talk—about us, the future, what the hell we’re doing with each other—at night, when we’re finally alone, I find it impossible to put my brain first when my body is so desperate to sink inside of Luke’s.

Really, who needs to have the “what are we” talk when your husband of all people is laying in your bed naked and willing every night—and morning?

Mellie follows my play call, zagging to the side before making a beeline down the field after her sister, her hand outstretched to try to grab the scarf tucked into Lemmie’s overalls that we’re using as a flag.

She’s almost got it, but trips up on her own feet at the last second while Lemmie goes flying past the lamp post we designated as the end zone.

“I did it! Uncle Lukey, I got a touchdown!” Lemmie yells, jumping up and down and causing the pigtails I meticulously French-braided this morning to bounce with her, loosening the strands.

“Heck yeah you did, Lem!” Luke says, jogging up to give her a high-five.

He shows her how to spike the football, and then the two of them do a silly touchdown dance that looks like it’s part Macarena, part rump-shaker.

I plop down on the grass next to a pouting Mellie and mirror her criss cross applesauce position.

“We didn’t win,” she says gloomily, picking at a patch of grass between us .

“You’re right, we didn’t win. That’s a bummer, isn’t it?”

“It’s a total bummer.”

“But even if we didn’t win, we can still be happy for Lemmie and Uncle Lukey, can’t we?”

Mellie gives me a side-eye that has me chuckling.

“Did you know that me and your uncle didn’t always play football on the same team?”

“You didn’t?”

“Nope. And sometimes, our teams had to play against each other. Just like we’re playing against Uncle Lukey and Lemmie today.”

“Did you win or did Uncle Lukey win?”

“Both. My team won sometimes, and other times Luke’s team won. It’s hard playing against your friends, but even when I lost, I was always happy. Do you know why?”

She shakes her head, and I press on.

“Because I love him, and even if it isn’t fun to lose, watching someone that you love win feels so good. Look at Lemmie,” I say, pointing to where her sister is still celebrating her touchdown. “Doesn’t she look happy?”

“Yes,” Mellie grumbles.

“And don’t you love your sister very much?”

She gives me a long, dramatic sigh, but I can see the corners of her mouth turning up into a smile .

“Yes, I love Lemmie the most.”

“That’s what I thought. So why don’t we go congratulate her? And I bet the next time we play a game and you win, Lemmie will be so happy for you because she loves you, too.”

I help Mellie up off the grass and she runs over to hug her sister and congratulate her on her touchdown.

I can tell she’s faking her excitement, but that’s fine.

She’s giving graceful defeat her best shot, and that’s all that I can ask from her.

Their hug turns into a game of tag, and the two of them go sprinting off across the sprawling grass field.

“Those kids are fast as hell. Maybe we should get them into some kind of camp this summer, they have a chance at making a solid pair of running backs with that speed,” I say as Luke and I watch the girls run laps around a large palm tree.

Ollie starts to babble, squirming to be let down.

Luke unbuckles her and sets her in the grass where she starts to toddle after her sisters.

“No football. Gigi always said that while she was okay with me letting my brains get scrambled by linebackers, she didn’t want that for her daughters.”

“Fair,” I agree with a laugh. “Maybe soccer or something, then. And now that Ollie Bug is moving around on two feet, we can sign her up for the Baby Ninja gymnastics class at the rec center after her birthday.”

The mention of Ollie’s first birthday has Luke’s spine stiffening, the way it always does.

I almost regret bringing it up, but it’s not something we can avoid forever.

Ollie will be turning one in two weeks, the same week that we’re set to face Joseph and Rebecca in court.

Thankfully, our baby girl is blissfully unaware of the dark shadow being cast over the milestone.

“Sorry,” I say, reaching down to grab Luke’s hand.

He intertwines his fingers with mine, and I give his palm three good squeezes.

I didn’t realize it the first time I did it, but the way I squeeze Luke’s hand when we’re connected has come to mean something to me.

It’s how I show him I’m here, that we’re in this together, that I am his strength.

He can put his pain in my hands and let me carry it for him.

It’s how I tell him that I love him.

Fuck.

I love him.

I’m in love with my husband.

The realization hits me like a ton of bricks, and I feel both relieved to have finally put a name to the insufferable tightness in my chest and stupid as hell for not noticing it sooner.

Of course I’m in love with Luke, it makes perfect sense.

That’s why I’ve always clung to him. Why I’ve jumped at every opportunity to spend time with him, laugh with him, heal with him.

Why I’m so quick to inconvenience myself if it means making his life a little bit easier.

Why I never feel completely settled until I’ve got my eyes locked on him.

Hell, it’s been here the whole time. Everywhere I look, my love for Luke shines like a disco ball, casting my life in a shining, iridescent glow.

I feel like I’ve had the wind knocked out of me, the weight of everything I’ve ever felt for the man next to me sitting heavy on my shoulders. And I need to tell him. It’s not the best timing, but fuck it. I can’t hold it in any longer. It’s time to take a leap of faith.

“Luke, I—” I start, but I’m cut off by the simultaneous buzz of our cellphones.

The likelihood of both of our phones being pinged with notifications at the exact same time is extremely low, so I whip my phone out of my pocket expecting an earthquake alert or some other event that would require us to quickly get ourselves and the kids to safety.

Instead, staring back at me on my screen is a text message from our lawyer, Lori. There’s a link to an article accompanied by a row of ten question marks. I look at Luke, who is staring down at his own phone as another message comes in.

Lori

Neither of you thought it was important to loop me in on this?

I click the link to the article, and Luke mutters an angry curse.

Fuck, indeed.

““America’s Golden Boy Leaves Cheerleader Alone and Penniless”.

I mean, for fuck’s sake, the clickbait is out of fucking hand,” Lori says for the fifteenth time in as many minutes as she paces around her office.

After we got her message, Luke and I dropped the kids off at my sister’s house and rushed across town to meet with Lori.

“Honestly, is anyone going to buy this shit?” I ask, my tone incredulous even though my insides are twisted in a knot of nerves.

Throughout the last few months, I thought I’d run through every scenario in my head of how this custody battle could go sideways.

Wanting to be the good man in the storm, I prepared for everything I thought could happen.

I waded through the dirt Luke’s parents could try to dig up on him, every hot mic that caught him being less-than-sportsmanlike during a game.

I even had him tell me about any hookups that could be dragged out and used to make him look like an unfit guardian.

But in all that preparation, I never stopped to think that it could be my past that puts our family in jeopardy.

“Tell me it’s not true, Dean. Tell me you didn’t knock some girl up and leave her all alone to deal with the pregnancy. Tell me you didn’t conveniently leave out a big fucking piece of this puzzle and that I’ve been working on your husband’s case for nothing.”