Page 31 of The New York Nighthawks, Vol. 2

ROAN

“Did you forget to tell me that football practice was canceled?” I asked Lucas and Foster as I glanced around the empty field. The parking lot was also empty.

My eight-year-old boys played in a youth flag football league, and their team was pretty big, so the place was usually pretty packed.

Lucas shook his head. “No.”

I frowned, second guessing my choice not to coach the team myself. Ava had talked me into giving the boys some experience playing for someone else, and for the most part, I liked their coach–he was also their P.E. teacher at school. But if this was how he was going to run things…

“Let’s go boys,” I said, softening my tone so they wouldn’t think I was frustrated with them. We walked back to my SUV and piled inside, then I waited until they were buckled before backing out of the space and heading home.

Ava was in the kitchen making cookies with our three girls when we arrived. “Hey, baby,” I greeted her as I slipped my arms around her waist and kissed her neck. She shivered, making me grin. Even after all these years, and five kids, the spark between us burned even hotter.

“You’re home early,” she said, her voice sounding a little breathless.

I huffed and told her what had happened. “I’m gonna call that coach and give him a piece of my mind. I–”

Ava turned in my arms and placed a finger over my lips, giving me a stern frown. “I love you, babe, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

My eyes narrowed, and I mumbled against her lips, “Why the fu”–-I glanced at my daughters who were staring up at us in curiosity–-“nnel cake not?”

“Because when it comes to our kids, you can be a little…um…aggressive.” She patted my chest and smiled softly. “I love how much you protect our babies, but…”

I sighed, knowing she was right. The only time I let anything ruffle me was if it involved Ava or our children.

I nodded, and she beamed at me, earring herself a slow, sweet kiss. That ended when we heard a gagging noise. Tuning our heads, we saw Lucas and Foster watching us with matching expressions of disgust.

“Do you have to do that?” Foster complained.

“It’s gross!” Lucas added.

I grinned and winked at them. “Yep. I really have to. You’ll understand someday.”

My gaze drifted to my sweet baby girls. “You won’t understand until I’m dead,” I muttered.

Twelve-year-old Cassidy rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry, Dad. Boys are dumb.”

“Hey!” Lucas and Foster both protested in unison.

Cassidy looked at them over her shoulder, then shrugged. I expected her to make some comment about how her brothers were the exception, so I had to bury my face in my wife’s neck to keep from laughing when she said haughtily, “I stand by my statement.”

Ava cleared her throat, clearly struggling with her own amusement, but her voice was calm when she said, “Cassidy.”

No one in this family liked to disappoint or anger Ava, so that was all my wife had to say to have Cassidy’s head hanging. “Sorry, Mom.”

I raised my head in time to see Ava lift an eyebrow at our oldest daughter.

Cassidy sighed and looked at her brothers again. “Sorry.”

Neither boy was paying any attention though, having brushed the insult off the way boys do.

Ava pecked my lips, then wiggled out of my embrace to continue helping the girls with the cookies.

Warmth filled my chest as I leaned back against the counter and looked around at my family. How the hell had I gotten so damn lucky?

Lucas and Foster wandered over to steal some cookie dough, and Ava kissed both their foreheads, making them huff in mock protest. They’d informed her recently that they were too old for kisses, but they never stopped her.

“Make sure you tell Coach Benton that we were the only ones who showed up to practice,” she told them and they both nodded.

The following week, we once again showed up to practice only to find the field and parking lot empty once more.

Ava and the girls had come to watch, and my wife looked just as perplexed. She must have seen the steam coming out of my ears because she grabbed my arm, drawing my attention to her face.

“I’ll call Coach Benton and find out why no one is showing up to practice,” my wife said firmly. I pressed my lips together to contain my desire to argue with her. I wanted to call the jackass myself, but again, I knew she was right. She’d be much more diplomatic.

Foster rolled his eyes. “He’s just going to tell you the same thing he told us.”

Ava and I both turned and looked down at the boys in surprise. “Which was what?” she asked.

Lucas answered, “Practice is on Tuesdays now, not Wednesdays.”