Roman (Raleigh Raptors #2) - Samantha Whiskey Page 0,64
the thing with my bare hands to get at her. She’d moved out two weeks ago, and though I’d spent half my nights with her, I missed her like hell.
It only made it that much sweeter in the moments I saw her.
“Hey!” Mom yelled into the living room as Dad switched on a game. “No football!” She launched into rapid-fire Spanish about how this was the one day-a-year she didn’t let that fly, and if he wanted any of this pie, he’d shut it off.
Elena and I grinned but quickly schooled our faces when Mom caught us.
“Uncle Roman!” Celia shouted, racing in from the back yard with mud covering her Chucks and a football under her arm. “The Davidsons are beating us!”
Slowly, both Elena and I looked toward our mother.
She shook her head.
Celia used those big brown eyes on Mom. “Please? They brought their brother in, and he plays for the high school. It’s not fair.”
I lifted my eyebrows at Mom.
She sighed. “Well, we can’t have that. Get out there and show the Davidson boy how it’s done, Roman.”
My grin was instant. “Yes, ma’am.”
I chased my nine-year-old niece outside and reveled in the groan of the neighborhood kids who had gathered in the small field behind the houses that served as a community yard. To include one very tall high school kid on the opposition.
The kids on my side were ecstatic.
“Got our seventh!” Celia announced, her head held high.
“Yes!” My seven-year-old nephew, Alex, jumped to give me a high five. I’d always been a sucker for Elena’s kids. Figured they were the closest to having kids I was ever really going to get.
“Isn’t this against your contract or something?” The high-schooler called across the line.
“Why don’t you let me worry about my contract. You concentrate on the scoreboard.” I took the quarterback position—it was already unfair to be playing, but putting me at running back was just too cruel, even for the smartass across the street.
Half-an-hour later, our side of the street was decidedly up by a handful of touchdowns, and that high school kid wasn’t looking as cocky.
“That’s the game!” One mom called from the back porch a few houses down.
“Guess time’s up,” I told Celia and Alex before swinging Alex up onto my shoulders.
“Thanks for playing with us, Uncle Roman.” Celia tucked her ball under her arm—uncaring that it had been autographed by both Hendrix and Nixon because to her, they were just family.
“Anytime.” I barely stopped myself from ruffling her hair—she’d decided she was too old for that now, so I wrapped my arm around her shoulder instead.
When I glanced toward Teagan’s back porch, I saw her leaned up against the railing, and nearly stopped breathing. She was so fucking magnificent. It wasn’t her face or that killer body. There was a light that had come back to her eyes, a fullness in her smile that hadn’t been there for years.
I’d get to put that smile on her for the rest of our lives. How fucking lucky was I?
“You look good with a few kids hanging off you,” she remarked with a smile, coming down her back steps in painted-on jeans and a green blouse.
“Do I?” I hadn’t realized just how many colors she’d forsaken over the past few years until she’d started wearing them again. Every time I saw Baker, I wanted to shred him into tiny little pieces for what he’d done to her, but I knew she’d flip out if I did anything resembling vengeance, and in the end, it was only Teagan’s happiness that mattered.
In a flash, I realized this could be our future. Thanksgiving with the parents, carrying our kids off the field. I loved Alex and Celia like they were my own. There was no reason to think it would be any different when Teagan and I decided we were ready to start a family. I understood that adoption wasn’t an option for some guys, and I didn’t judge them for it, but maybe that was because I’d never been able to have kids of my own, anyway.
I just hoped Teagan didn’t regret choosing me, because I knew how important having kids was to her, and I wasn’t fully convinced that her, “we can adopt,” speech had been the full truth. She’d been looking forward to the whole pregnancy, labor, newborn baby thing our entire lives. For fuck’s sake, she’d shoved a pillow under her shirt and ordered me to play house when we were seven.