table in the back and peers out the window into the parking lot. He claps his hands at us as he turns around. “Places, people, places! Get behind that corner so she can’t see us. Lila, fix that balloon—it looks wonky. Also, it needs to be said, do not pull out your weed. We’re in public. Colette, open the cupcakes so she’ll see them. June, where did you put my gift? It’s a framed picture of us.”
“I have it, don’t worry,” June says as she stands up and follows us as we move to a doorway in the back that hides us from the entrance.
June still lives in Carl’s RV and keeps an eye out for spaceships for him. She isn’t big on crowds, but her counseling has helped. Anastasia arranged that for her, found someone who’d come to her RV. When Carl asked June if she wanted to come to the bar for the surprise, she said, I’d do anything for Anastasia.
During the offseason, we fly down and hang out at Carl’s house for a couple of weeks. Then, we head out to whatever beach destination Crew and Hollis have cooked up for our annual vacay with them. Crew is still a mother hen; Hollis still says his abs are prettier than mine. They aren’t.
I glance around at the bar. I miss this place, the Sundays when I’d hang out with my brothers and watch Anastasia. We arrived yesterday, and I went to the Kappa house. I mean, I didn’t know any of the new guys, but my photos are still on the wall. They knew who I was. A good president. A footballer. Not a king or a god, but a regular guy who cared about his brothers.
After I left Braxton, I was drafted by the New York Pythons. Houston went with the wide receiver from Alabama, leaving the door open for New York, and they scooped me up in the second round. It’s a familiar franchise, and several of the staff knew my father. It feels like home, and my jersey number is number three. For Dad.
I didn’t get a big payday like a first-round pick does, but in the past few years, I’ve worked my way up to first string and adjusted my contract.
Wearing a red mini dress and tall boots, Anastasia walks into the bar, my mom next to her. Their heads are tilted close to each other as they laugh about something.
My heart stutters as I take them in. Damn. I’m a lucky man.
Mom’s clinical trial and new treatment put a pause on her cancer. She’s in remission, takes smaller doses of her medication, and gets regular checkups. Her last scans were clear. She’s still here, with us, experiencing my life with Anastasia.
Anastasia smiles, one of her soft ones, and I smile back even though she doesn’t see us yet.
She’s…
I sigh.
Gorgeous.
Breathtaking.
Kind.
Mine.
Anastasia moved in with us four years ago and the transition was seamless, as if she’d always been part of the family. She helped take care of Mom while I went to training camp after the draft. That fall she picked out an apartment for us in Brooklyn, one close to Brooklyn Law and the stadium. The way things worked out, she didn’t have to take a gap year, and I insisted on paying for her tuition. Yeah. That was some good angry sex. I smile to myself.
Mom refused to move with us. Thankfully, by then she was feeling better. We’re about five hours from her, and we see her as much as we can, or she comes to stay with us. Her favorite thing is to fly to the away games with Anastasia.
My girl brushes lavender hair out of her face, and I catch the gleam of the amethyst and diamond engagement ring I gave her six months after she moved in. It was summer, right before training camp, and that ring had been burning a hole in my pocket. I was nervous, wondering if she’d think it was too soon. I knew, oh, I knew I wanted her forever. A love like ours only comes around once. It’s soulful, consuming, and meant to last.
The plan for the proposal was to go for a walk under the stars at Mom’s then get down on one knee, but my ADHD kicked in, and I ended up blurting it out during dinner in front of Mom, Rae, Jagger, and Callie.
I know this is fast, okay, it is, but my mom and dad did it fast.