Page 100 of Elevator Pitch

Of course, on a literal level, I have no idea what it’s like, but figuratively, I imagine it’s difficult at times. Kids can be cruel and when your dad coaches a beloved professional team that loses occasionally, kids have mouths that hurt. Then again, if your dad is a success, kids only want to be your friend because they think you have pull. Free shit, game tickets, special passes.

That bullshit I understand, and I’ve apologized over the years for other people’s children.

However, I don’t think Landon is specifically talking about how others react to him being my son. Rather, he’s asking if I understand what it’s like to be the child of Ross Davis.

“Lonely,” I admit because I’ve been as present as I can but not present enough. Rena used to tell me I was doing the best I could. However, Patty had complaints before she passed.

Landon stares at me.

“Look.” I brush my forefinger and thumb around my mouth. “I know I haven’t always been the best dad. Maybe you think I’m the worst. But I am really hopeful moving here will be a positive change for all of us.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Landon mumbles referring to our original move to Philadelphia after Patty died. I had thought the change would be good for all of us. My sister was there to help. I could continue with baseball on a new level. My boys could have a fresh start. Chicago . . . hurt.

However, they did not need a new beginning back then. They’d needed me, and guilt eats at me that I hadn’t been present often enough. With them both in the Midwest now, coaching for the Anchors was the fresh start I needed with them. The location keeps us relatively close to each other, at least geographically.

“Dad came to my play,” Harley reminds Landon, his voice low, but defending me. “Vee brought him.”

I sigh. “I brought Vee.” It isn’t that Vee wouldn’t have willingly gone to see the play, if I’d told her beforehand where we were going. It’s just . . . I asked her to attend. I wanted to see my son. That date was all me. “Because I wanted to be there for you.”

“You haven’t—” Landon starts but is quickly stopped when Harley raises a hand.

“But he is here now,” Harley defends me again. My sweeter boy is becoming a stronger man.

I force my shoulders lower, but my back remains tight. One step doesn’t give me a free pass to father of the year, but it’s a start on the climb to building a better relationship with my boys. A start I need.

And Vee in my life is helping me do that.

I’ve never purposely brought a woman to my home. Never purposely introduced my boys to a woman I’m dating. Vee and I need to clarify that vocabulary.

Harley interrupts my thought when he says, “Mom is gone. And I miss her all the time.”

My chest squeezes tight. Fuck, the ache for Patty runs deep sometimes.

“But we can’t bring her back.” Harley pointedly looks at his brother, sharing some secret conversation between them as siblings. Siblings who lost their mother too young and have had a relatively absent father. “And we can’t live in the past either. We can’t change if Dad had a game or not. If he was present or not.”

Ouch. The truth hurts. It always hurts.

“But he’s here now.”

Jesus. Again. This kid will be my undoing as he sticks up for me with my other boy.

“And I like Vee.” Harley turns his head, inspecting me. “She’s good for you.”

My face heats. My heart hammers. How does he know me so well?

“She is good for me. I like her,” I openly admit. “She makes me laugh.” I mean, what the hell was with that outstretched hand like she wanted to shake mine? I wanted to pin her to the wall and kiss her senseless right before our kids’ eyes.

Fuck dating. Fuck defining us. Vee is mine and I am hers.

“She makes me smile.” My face heats. “I like her quirks and her kindness. And she gets me.”

I glance from Landon to Harley and back. “Maybe she is older than other women I’ve dated.”

“In the past eight years,” Landon mutters his correction, his gaze lowered.

“But.” I exhale, setting my hands on my hips. “That makes her better.” Wiser. Compassionate on a different level. A finer thing in my life. “She understands me.”

That I need reader glasses and my knees creak when I stand upright, like after kneeling on the floor between her legs last night.