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And if he takes a shot with it, you know he’s going to score.
I’ve seen him at practice and at games countless times to know that.
And I have to say that I missed it.
Watching him play.
I missed the electric feeling that I’d get, that I’d gotten the very first time that I’d seen him play at Bardstown High. The euphoria, the thrill. The awe that I’m in the presence of something great, something otherworldly and majestic.
That I’m in the presence of the Angry Thorn.
Only he never was and never will be that to me.
To me, he’s my Beautiful Thorn.
And I can’t take my eyes off him.
But I have to when a couple of minutes later I hear someone say, “He’s good, isn’t he?”
Startled, I turn and find that the voice belongs to Conrad Thorne.
The oldest Thorne brother and the head coach of New York City FC.
When I’d left the restaurant, all I wanted to do was take a walk through the city. A slow and leisurely walk. Even though I wanted to run and run and never stop. But these days I get dizzy so quickly and since I’m prone to falling, I took it easy. Because I’m not alone anymore, am I? I have these two little birdies inside of me, these two little butterflies, my cute companions.
I have them to think about.
And I have him.
He’d lose his shit if something happened to me or to them. So much so that I’ve quit wearing heels. Just for his peace of mind and mine.
But anyway, I took slow and measured paces before flagging down a cab and ended up here.
At New York City FC’s stadium.
Where I knew I’d find him, practicing for his comeback game next week. Something he’s been really hard at work for. Although I forgot that there may be a chance that I might run into his brother. Not Shepard or Stellan, both of whom I can see through this wall-to-wall window that I’m standing at, Shepard running on the field and Stellan on the sidelines, directing the players.
But him.
Con, their oldest brother.
“He’s more than good,” I say to him. “He’s fantastic.”
His eyes, blue and completely different than Ledger’s dark ones, take me in and his lips stretch up into a very faint smile. “He is.” Then turning to look at the game, he adds, “And he always has been. Pure and unadulterated talent. Better and stronger than anyone else I’ve come across.”
I turn back to the game as well.
Completely in agreement with him.
Stellan blows on his whistle and calls a halt before going to Ledger and another guy, whose jersey says Rivera, and having a chat with them. I watch Ledger listening to Stellan but at one point his jaw clenches and I know whatever he’s hearing is not something he likes.
I can see the annoyance flickering on his features and for a second or two I think he’s going to snap at Stellan.
But then he gives him a curt nod and the game resumes.
I breathe out a quiet sigh of relief.
Not because I think he’s his namesake, Angry Thorn, but because if he had gotten angry, people would think he was.
His brothers would think he was, and he’s so much more than that.
I hear Conrad shift on his feet then. “But he’s his own enemy.”
I snap my gaze back at him. “Excuse me?”
Again, he turns away from the window and thrusts his hands down his pockets. “How are you?”
Abandoning the game once again, I turn to him as well.
Because I think this — whatever it is that’s going to happen now — requires my full attention. “How am I?”
He glances down at my belly and I palm it in a blatantly possessive gesture.
I’m not showing a lot yet; although my old dresses, because they were so tight, don’t fit me anymore and so I’ve taken to wearing things that are slightly looser in the waist. But I do feel the expanded curve when I touch my stomach.
“Yes. I hear you’ve been having a hard time. I apologize that I haven’t come to see you or talk to you directly. I know that you’ve been friends with Callie for a long time and of course, you’re family. Because of Reed, and now… this. It’s just that…” He sighs then, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s been a shock. Which is not an excuse, but I want you to know that I’m here for you. I know we haven’t had much of a chance to interact in the past but if the need should arise, you can count on the fact that I’ll be —”
“It won’t,” I cut him off.
He looks at me for a second, and even though with his dirty blond hair and blue eyes he looks nothing like my dark-haired and dark-eyed Ledger, I can still see the similarities in them. I can still see that they have the same body language, the same demeanor, the same dominating aura.
