Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
“Twenty dollars for a photo?”
“It’s for charity.”
“Can I have one for free?”
“No.” I grab the photo from him and put it back on the pile.
He looks at the rest of my table—a few signed pucks, a signed jersey, and a signed pair of gloves—with complete disdain before he wanders away.
I drop my head and sigh.
This is so embarrassing.
“Oh great,” I mumble as another kid—about five years old—approaches my table. He’s got wild black hair, huge Coke bottle glasses, and he’s staring right at me.
We don’t break eye contact as he walks right up to my table and stares at me.
“Hello,” I say.
He tilts his head as he scrutinizes my face. “Hi.”
There’s no way this kid knows who I am. There aren’t a lot of five-year-old Harris Sutton fans in the world.
“Are you lost? Are you looking for the bathroom or something?”
He shakes his head and pushes his glasses up his nose.
“Where are your parents?” I ask as I look around. He’s too young to be on his own.
“My mom is here,” he says. “And you’re my dad.”
I snort out a laugh. “That’s a good one. Did Reggie put you up to this?”
“Who’s Reggie?”
“Seriously, kid,” I say as I look at him funny. “You shouldn’t be walking around here all by yourself. Where are your parents?”
“You’re my dad,” he says. “I’m Lucas.”
“Okay, kid,” I say, starting to get annoyed. “The joke is over. Move along.”
“You’re Harris Sutton, right?” he asks as he stares at me. “The Flamethrower. You play on the San Antonio Hyenas.”
My stomach sinks as I stare at him. Those eyes… They’re hauntingly familiar.
“How do you know my name?” I ask with my body going still.
“Because you’re my dad.”
“Kid, I—”
And then I see her.
She bursts out of the crowd, huffing and puffing as she runs right to the little guy and drops to her knee. She grabs his arms and spins him around. “Why did you run away from me?” she asks with panic in her eyes. “You never run away from Mommy! Ever!”
She suddenly remembers where she is and her blue eyes flit over to mine. Her cheeks go bright red as she looks up at me.
It’s her. It’s really her.
Fiona.
My jaw is hanging open as I stare at her in shock.
I… I always hoped I’d see her again. I’ve played the scenario so many times in my head, but now that I’m finally seeing her for real, I’m left stunned. I’m having difficulty focusing and processing all of this.
“I found Dad,” the little kid says as he points right at me.
She laughs nervously and somehow gets even redder.
“Dad?” I whisper as I turn back to the kid.
My heart starts racing as I do the mental math. About five or six years ago… He’s about five or six…
Holy. Shit.
Fiona stands up and grips the kid’s hand so hard he winces.
“Is there somewhere private we can talk?” she asks as she looks around shyly.
I’m too stunned to answer as I turn back to the kid.
Is he… mine?
It can’t be. But those eyes… That face… I looked just like that when I was a kid.
“Yeah,” I say as I stand up from the table. “There’s a room in the back.”
They follow behind me as I walk with my back straight and my mind swirling. This is crazy. This has to be a joke. A kid? I have a kid??
Maria the organizer brings us to a private room with a leather couch and some snacks and drinks set up on a table.
Lucas goes right for the bags of chips. “Can I have one, Mom? Please?”
“Sure, honey,” she says with a tight smile. “Just don’t spill it on the couch.”
We both watch as he sits on the couch, rips open the bag, and accidentally spills half of the chips on the couch.
“Oops,” he says as he looks at us.
We both rush over and scoop up the spilled chips like we’ve been doing this for years.
“Thanks,” Fiona says as we walk over to the garbage and dump the chips in.
She turns to walk back over, but I grab her forearm, stopping her.
“He’s… my son?”
She smiles nervously at me. “Surprise.”
I swallow hard as I slowly turn back to him. He’s munching on the chips while smacking his shoes together. He’s so beautiful. He’s the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen.
My eyes get hot as I try to process all of these swirling emotions.
Seeing my dream girl again, seeing my son for the first time, I don’t know what to think.
“Are you mad?” she whispers as I let go of her arm.
“Mad?” I repeat as I look at her. “Fiona, I’m the opposite of mad. I’m still trying to process all of this, but I am not mad.”
She smiles shyly as her eyes drop to the floor. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to remember me.”