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“Sure?”
“Yeah, man, I’m not hurting for it at the moment.”
“Hey, thanks.” I take the key and pull out a couple bills from my wallet.
“Neighbors are pretty cool. Mrs. Abbot is a widow and travels nine months out of the year to see her kids, and to the right, we have Clarissa and Dante. She’s a single mom.”
Hiding my cringe, I nod.
“Dante is five. He’s a cool kid.”
Father’s pride runs through me at his statement. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, hilarious but a handful. She’s a teacher, so we need to be mindful of them both. But she’s pretty laid back.” He turns to me. “Easy on the eyes. But don’t go there.” He’s only half-joking, and it’s apparent my reputation precedes me. I make no move to correct him because there’s no point. I take advantage of my position on and off the field when it suits me, which is too often to play innocent. I’m no saint.
“I think I can handle it.”
“I’m not much for yard work…” he trails off as we head downstairs. “But I cook a mean pancake.”
“I’ve got the yard,” I offer. “And I’ve been known to fuck up some pancakes.”
“This’ll work out perfect.” He pulls an instrument case from the floor. “I’m off. Make sure you lock up when you leave every time. Non-negotiable. I have a shit load of expensive equipment downstairs.”
“Got it.”
“Welcome to casa de la Houseman.”
“Thanks, man.”
He leaves me to my own devices, and I spend a few minutes looking around. I have little in the way of possessions, a few in my truck due to the demand of my old roommate and his girlfriend for some immediate space. He all but threw me on my ass the minute she accepted his proposal under the Era Tree and gave me until the weekend to get the rest of my shit out. I make quick work of unloading the few boxes I have when Clarissa pulls up. Nerves of the unknown shoot straight up my spine. Bracing myself for impact, I set my box on the porch steps as she hops out of her SUV in a sundress, her auburn hair catching the light as Dante bursts from the back door. She grabs him by his backpack just as he runs past the hood of the car.
“Dante, I’ve told you a thousand times not to do that. You need to look before you leap. You never know what’s going on around you.”
“Gah, Mom, we’re home. Duh.”
“I’ve got your duh,” she grumbles before circling her SUV and pulling a bag of groceries from the floorboard. “I said, don’t do it, so don’t do it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He runs up the porch steps and opens the screen door. “I’ll get the door for you, m’lady.”
Shaking my head, I watch from the yard as she shakes her own head in amusement while trailing behind him. I’ve been waiting for this moment for almost six years, but fear paralyzes me where I stand openly gaping at them both. I’m so close in distance but so very far away. It’s surreal to have dreamt of this day for so long and have it here. It’s a bold move, but the only one to take. I’m about to meet my son for the first time. And ironically, Dante is the first to notice me when he gets the door open for her.
“Who are you?”
Clarissa follows his line of sight over to me, the smile disappearing from her face as the bag slips from her hands.
“MOM! You broke my sunny-sides!” Dante says in a huff, before bending over to gawk at the open carton of eggs.
“Dante,” she chokes out. “G-g-get in the house.”
She grips his shoulders in protective mode, eyes widening when I begin to cross the lawn. I need to play it cool, but years of pent-up longing pound against my chest as I make my way toward my son.
“Hey, little man. I’m your new neighbor,” I introduce myself as I slowly approach the house. Dante moves to greet me stopped short by the iron grip of his mother. “I said, get in the house now.”
“Mom, he’s not a bad guy. He doesn’t even have tattoos.”
“Now, Dante!”
“Fine.” He turns back to look at me with his hand on the doorknob. “What’s your name?”
