any of them expected you to throw your life away. To stay home and raise your brothers. You stepped in when you had to, but don’t you dare feel guilty for moving on. Your brothers turned out fine, at least from what you say. I’d say you did more than your fair share, and you did a damn good job.”
“Yeah.” I press myself off her, rolling to her side, and she curls up against me, wrapping a long leg over me and resting her cheek on my chest. “Guess that’s one way to look at it.”
My body is washed in fatigue, weighed down with the heaviness of the day and relaxed by the lightness I feel being in Aidy’s presence. Yawning, I run my fingers through her hair and let my eyes fall closed.
“Ace?” Aidy’s light voice whispers in my ear.
“Yeah?”
“I love you,” she says. “I know I said it before, but I just wanted to say it one more time. It feels really good to say it.”
For the first time in forever, my mouth forms a real smile. “I love you too, Aidy.”
36
Aidy
My bed is empty and cold when I wake Sunday morning, but my bedroom door is slightly ajar. Flinging off the covers, I head to the bathroom to freshen up, and then I follow the trail of voices and the wafting scent of breakfast coming from the kitchen.
“What’s the oldest stadium in MLB history?” Enzo asks. When I round the corner, I see him sitting at the kitchen table, a handful of trivia cards in his hands.
“That’s easy. Fenway Park,” Ace scoffs. Peeking into the kitchen, I watch as Ace pours waffle batter into the iron and closes the lid. “Next question.”
“Name the only player ever to hit a Major League home run and score an NFL touchdown in the same week,” Enzo reads off his card.
“Psh. Deion Sanders. Give me something harder. Come on. I know you can do better than this.”
Enzo laughs, and Ace flips the waffle iron.
“Who was the all-time hits leader in 1985?”
Ace is quiet, and I think Enzo may have finally stumped him. I watch as Ace’s face twists, like he’s deep in thought, and then I realize he probably knows the answer, he’s just putting on a show for Enzo’s sake.
“I don’t know, kid. I think you got me with that one.”
“Ha!” Enzo drops the cards on the table and points to Ace. “It was Pete Rose.”
Ace smacks his forehead with his hand and pretends to be disappointed in himself. “Ah, that’s right. Pete ‘Charlie Hustle’ Rose. Didn’t think you could stump me, but you did.”
“What’s going on in here?” I strut out from the shadows of the hallway with my hand on my hip and take a seat beside my nephew, who’s grinning. It doesn’t hit me until now that having some famous ball player making him waffles is probably going to be one of the biggest highlights of Enzo’s childhood.
“Ace is cooking waffles,” Enzo says, smiling ear to ear.
“Aren’t you special. How’d you talk him into that?” I ask him, winking at Ace.
“It was his idea.” Enzo says, pointing at Ace as he carries a plate to the table. Enzo’s waffle is drenched in syrup, and he wastes no time digging in like an eight-year-old caveman.
When Ace takes the chair beside mine, he slips his hand under the table and rests it on my knee, and I slide my palm over his. He leans over, kissing my forehead.
“Thank you,” I mouth.
He nods.
He has no idea how much this means to Enzo. Wearing a warm smile, I rest my head on Ace’s shoulder.
“I hope it’s okay, but I made a phone call this morning,” he says.
Sitting up, I turn to him. “Yeah?”
“Called up the manager for Millenium Park, the Firebirds’ stadium in Baltimore,” he says. “Got us three tickets to today’s game.”
Enzo’s jaw hangs and he drops his fork mid-bite. It hits his plate with a single clink.
“You guys want to go?” Ace asks, dark brows lifted.
I turn to Enzo, who’s so elated he can’t speak, and he shakes his head up and down, side to side, and around. Silly boy.
“It’s a four-hour drive,” he says. “I’ll have to line up a rental, but we can make a day of it. I know Enzo’s got school in the morning. If that’s going to be a problem, we don’t have to go.”
I place my hand on his arm. “We’re going. We’re going to make this work. Enzo can sleep in the