The Girl He Loves: A Second Chance Romantic Comedy Page 6

“That’s called dating. Or a relationship.”

  “And you have no room for that?”

  I shake my head. “Not right now. And what about you? I heard on talk radio you’re being courted by a handful of NFL teams who want to add you to their coaching staff. Do you even know where you’ll land when this is over?” I point to his bike.

  He sighs and shifts his weight. “Well, hell, Heather, I can see your point. I’ll be honest. This isn’t how I saw this morning going.”

  I smile while telling myself I'm doing the right thing.

  He picks up his helmet. “I guess I should get going. You all doing that restaurant thing tonight?”

  I shake my head.

  He plays with the strap. “You sure I can’t convince you to go to dinner with me tonight at the very least?”

  I hold firm to my resolve. “We had a no-strings-attached night, Dax. Isn’t that what every guy wants? I truly don’t expect anything more from you.”

  He blows out a sigh. “Okay.” He meets my gaze.

  Yeah, I’m sad he’s going to leave and that’ll be the last of him. But it truly is for the best. And the sooner he leaves, the sooner I can start looking for a lawyer and get to the bottom of expunging my record.

  Behind me, the front door opens. I know this because the hinges need to be oiled and have a distinctive creak.

  “Oh, my word. Is that you, Dax Griffin?” my mother calls from the front of the house.

  Dax smiles and lifts a hand. “How are you, Mrs. Lowell?”

  Mom comes outside and crosses the yard to Dax. “It’s so good to see you. I watched you get that second concussion against that other California team and, Lord, it scared me. I wanted to email your momma because I knew she must be worried something fierce.” She holds out her arms for a hug. Dax complies.

  “Yeah,” he says when they’re done hugging. “She didn’t like it much. She’s part of the reason I left early. Kept showing me facts about concussions and brain integrity.”

  “As any good momma would do.” She pats his cheek. Then gives a start as if she’s struck by the best idea ever. “Dax, weren’t you real good with fixing things? Mechanical things like dishwashers?”

  “No, Mom.” I leap out of the back of my van and rush toward them. “I said I’d take care of it.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Heather’s dishwasher is broken. She won’t let me buy her a new one.” Mom’s got her sing-song happy voice going. “But if you’re still good with things like that and can tell me what parts to get, I’ll go get them. She’s busy enough with finishing college and raising Tyler, seeing to his medical needs, and with Justin always delinquent with child support….” She gives me a sidelong look. “You thought I didn’t know about that, but I do. And when I see his momma I’m gonna give her an earful about her deadbeat son.”

  I slap my hand over my face. Heat from embarrassment rushes up my neck and flushes my face. I groan, “Mom.”

  “What?” She smacks her hand against her thigh. “It's not a sin to ask people for help. And you need help.”

  “I don’t need help. I told you I’d take care of it.” I dare not look at Dax, too mortified.

  “So, Dax, care to give it a look?” Mom sings. She’s like a dog with a bone. This is how she cons people. Like a siren with a song. Only she’s a mom siren, and the lure is guilt.

  “Sure. I still love to take things apart. Take me to this misbehaving dishwasher.” He sets his helmet on his bike seat, gives me a sassy smirk, then follows my mom into my house.

  I really want to kick over his bike. Then maybe kick my mom’s SUV, too.

  I didn’t want Dax to know where I live.

  I don’t want Dax to know about my life.

  And I certainly don’t want him in my house.

  Tyler comes running out, his eyes huge. “Momma, did you see who Mimi brought in the house? Dax Griffin. He used to play for—”

  “Yes, I know. Remember how I told you that a long time ago your mom and Dax were friends? He popped by to say hi, and Mimi convinced him to take a look at the dishwasher.”

  Tyler loves football. He doesn’t fully understand the game, but something about it appeals to him. Lord knows, I’ve tried to figure out what. Maybe it's because they play rough, and he can’t? Or maybe it’s because he used to watch it with his dad, and that's how he keeps the bond. Tyler knows about Dax because the local sportscasters always talk about the local guys who made it big. That, and the fact that I went to college with Dax impresses Ty.

  “Do you think he’ll give me his writing?” He makes like he’s scribbling.

  Sometimes Tyler has a hard time finding the right words. Or even understanding what’s being said. It’s called a language processing disorder. What the doctors can’t tell me is whether this processing disorder happened because of the seizures or alongside them. “His autograph? Yeah, I’m sure he will.”

  Tyler beams. “I’m gonna go watch.”

  “You stay out of his way,” I say, but Tyler’s already back in the house.

  With a last look of longing toward the road as an escape from this mess, I head back inside.

  Dax has stripped off his flannel shirt and pulled out the dishwasher. Mom is laying out the machine’s ailments.

  “And you cleaned out the trap?” he asks me.

  I slap myself upside the head. “Duh, why didn’t I think of that? You are so smart, Dax. Thanks for fixing the problem.” I pick up his shirt and thrust it toward him. “Have a good day.”

  “Okay, I get it. You cleaned the trap. I had to ask.” He starts the dishwasher.

  “It’s just going to fill up and not drain or run. Then when you open the door it will magically clean my kitchen floor.” I reach across him and turn the dishwasher off. “I don’t feel like mopping.”

  “It could be one of three things. The float switch isn’t telling the machine when to shut off, the timer might be stuck, which again doesn’t tell the machine to stop filling—”

  “Or the inlet valve itself is stuck. I know. I researched it. But the YouTube videos on how to fix it are more than I can take on right now.” I cross my arms, making my displeasure known.

  “And a handyman costs too much,” Tyler adds. “My medicine is more important, and that’s where we put the money.”

  I hate that he’s heard me say this. I rush to him, wrap him in a silly hug, and rock him back and forth while lifting him off the ground. He loves this. “That’s because you can grow up to be my dishwasher so I’m investing in you. And your medicine is more important than a machine to do our dishes. You are what’s most important. We don’t need no stinking dishwasher. We have hugs.” I squeeze him tighter, and he squeals.

  I pepper him with kisses, and in between them say in a baby voice, “Mommy loves you.”

  Tyler simultaneously loves and hates this. He loved it as a smaller kid, but as he gets older, he says it’s too babyish. But there's no mistaking the hug he gives me back.

  “Stop, Momma. I’m not a baby.” He’s grinning.

  I let him go just as quickly as I scooped him up. I pretend to wipe a tear. “You’ll always be my baby.”

  He presses his forehead into my side, a sign of affection. “Can I help Dax fix the dishwasher?”

  I meet Dax’s eyes over Tyler’s head. He gives a nod.

  He says, “Dude, I totally need help. We need tools. You have those around here?”

  Tyler rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but they’re Mom’s and they’re pink.”

  Dax says, “Pink tools are still tools.”

  Tyler rushes out of the room to get the tools.

  My mom says, “I’ll go to the store and get the parts.”

  I groan. “No need. I bought them a while ago when I thought I might try to fix it myself.” I reach under the kitchen sink and pull out some boxes from the back. “You have everything for any of the scenarios I thought it might be.” My plan for buying all the options was to take back what I didn't need. Then time got away from me, and
now I have a box of money spent that I could have saved.

  Dax and my mom award me with big smiles. Like they’ve won or something.

  “I’m going to take a shower,” I say. I consider making a break for it by going out the bathroom window.

  I lean close to Dax and say, “After this, you can’t come back. Get on your bike and ride into the sunset.”

  He pats me on the shoulder. “You can thank me later.”

  Chapter 9

  Saturday

  My mother is gone, pleased to leave me in good hands. Her words. Not mine. She was kinda right. Not only did Dax fix the dishwasher, but he also oiled the front door hinges and had lunch delivered to the house. Good food, too. Italian. A luxury I rarely allow myself. My kid loves it as well, so telling Dax no when Tyler was so excited to do something as extravagant as getting food delivered to the house would have made me the evilest mommy in all the land.

  “Tyler.” Dax pushes back slightly from the kitchen table. He rubs his belly as if to say he’s stuffed. [

  Tyler imitates him. “I’m gonna guess that you’re a football fan.”

  I laugh. “What gives you that idea? Is it the football-themed jammies he had on earlier, the footballs all over this room and the house, or the incessant questions he’s been asking you since you’ve been here?” I wink at Ty.

  Dax clasps his hands behind his head and leans back. Tyler does the same.

  Dax says, “None of the above. It was his knowledge about the game.” He faces Tyler. “Talking football with you is like talking to one of the guys on my team. You know your stuff, kiddo. You gonna play?”

  Tyler’s hands drop to his lap, and he casts me a look filled with sadness. “No, Mom won’t let me.”

  Dax, looking shocked, says, “What? Why?”

  I don’t want to go into my reasons because they’re none of Dax’s business. So instead, I shrug. “I have my reasons.”

  Tyler grunts with dissatisfaction. “It’s because she’s afraid I’ll have a seizure.”

  Understanding crosses Dax's face. “That’s what you need medicine for?” He cuts his eyes to me, and I nod.

  How silly of me to think a kid could hold back information. Kids are, if nothing else, honest by default.

  I say to Tyler, “It’s not that I think football will cause a seizure. We’ve had this talk before. What if you have a seizure on the field while people are rushing after you? Or you’re trying to catch the ball? And what about the collisions? Ask Dax here why he doesn’t play anymore. It’s because he’s taken too many hits to the brain.”

  Tyler bows his head sadly. “And my brain already has problems.”

  How do you tell your kid that epilepsy is okay? Or that being smart enough to know you’re slower than the other kids but don’t know why is okay, too? I drop to the floor next to Tyler’s chair and pull him around to face me.

  “There is so much that you can do. You’re smart and funny, and like Dax said, you know your football. Look at him, he’s not even playing anymore. But he can use his football knowledge to do so many other jobs in the football field. He can coach or run a team, or with such a pretty face, he can be a sportscaster. Now they use computer guys to run analytics even. And you have those options, too. Remember, we talked about that? And there are people who help rehab the injured players. There are so many jobs in the field of football. And you can do any of them.”

  “Except play.” His eyes are moist.

  Oh, my heart, this kid. Am I being worked over a little? Yep. But I have to give him credit, he’s persistent. And I know where this conversation is going. He wants to play flag football. Tyler may have epilepsy and a processing disorder, but he’s clever. This little scene, while he’s sad about not being able to play contact football, is about getting to play any type of football. He’s been working me for a while now.

  I say, “Maybe we can look into the flag football team.”

  His face lights up like I just handed him the keys to Disney World. “Really?”

  “We can talk to Uncle Doug and the coach and see what they say.” I make a silent prayer that the league rules wouldn’t automatically exclude Tyler because of his medical condition.

  Dax slaps his hand on one knee. “Well, if that’s the case, we should go out in the yard and practice some plays.”

  Tyler leaps up. “Seriously? I’ll go get my shoes.” He dashes from the room.

  Still squatting on the floor, I say, “Shouldn’t you be leaving?”

  He shakes his head. “No way. I like it here.”

  I roll my eyes. “But you have no reason to be here.”

  He gestures to the surrounding space. “I’ve helped with fixing stuff, and now I get to play with your kid. I think that’s reason enough. It’s not like I’m a burden.”

  I stand to stare at him, crossing my arms over my chest. “Why are you here, Dax? What do you want?”

  He looks around the room then meets my stare. “This. I want this. I want to just chill and hang out. Yeah, I could hang out with the boys from the team and get rowdy. I could talk about the good old days, which were just a few months ago, oddly enough. I could do a million other things, but none of them are things I want to do. I want to relax. I want to play a little toss in the yard and not have anything or anyone pressing me to do more or be better.”

  He seems a little sad, and my resolve cracks. “And hanging with the guys causes you a lot of pressure?”

  He gives an incredulous grunt. “Are you kidding? Those guys are trouble magnets, and it’s like I’m the only adult. Keeping those guys out of trouble is a full-time job. Coming with them was stupid. I don’t want to be a babysitter for grown men.”

  Tyler’s closet door bangs as it slams against the wall. Like he slid it open in his haste to dress and find a football. Dax playing toss in the yard with him will be a memory Tyler will have forever. Another large crack in my resolve is created. I glance over my shoulder in the direction of Tyler’s room.

  Dax says, “He’s a good kid.”

  I glance at Dax. “The best.”

  “Can I ask a personal question?”

  “If I say no, will you not ask it?”

  He ducks his head. “Nah, I’d just wait and ask it another time.”

  This I knew, because I knew Dax. He's nothing if not persistent. And patient. And even though we’ve gone several years without contact, he's still the same Dax.

  “Ask then. Let’s get it over with.” I sit in my chair.

  “How often does he see his dad?”

  “Not very. Tyler had a bad seizure. Well, no seizure is good, but this was a big one. A grand mal. Usually I’m the one that handles those, but Tyler was at his dad’s house when it happened. Justin didn’t know what to do. He freaked out. I think it made him feel helpless. After that, he started missing his weekends. Always with an excuse, like work or something.”

  Dax sits in thought a moment. “Why do you make excuses for him?”

  “For Justin?”

  Dax nods. “Don’t Tyler’s seizures freak you out?”

  I give a bitter smile. “Every time. I used to sit in the bathroom and cry afterward. But I’m getting better at not doing that.” I don’t want to say I was getting used to the seizures because I never will get used to that.

  “If I was Tyler’s dad, I’d find a way to learn how to handle my kid’s seizures, and fast. It wouldn’t cost me time with my kid.”

  And therein lies the difference between Justin and Dax. “Justin wasn’t the best father before the seizures started, to be honest.”

  “If you’ll let me, I’d like to spend the day with your kid. Play a little ball. You got a Madden or anything sports like? A gaming device?”

  I hold my arms out, gesturing to my kitchen. “Do I look like I have the budget for a gaming device?” I hadn’t meant to disclose my financial issues, but the conversation was so honest that I’d forgotten to keep my guard up with him. “Tyler plays Minecraft on his Kindle Fire.”


  Dax inspects me, though not in the obvious derisive way a person inspects someone he thinks isn’t worthy. This is more like he’s seeing me, Heather the mom, instead of Heather the college girl who used to lick whipped cream off of him.

  “You’re pretty amazing,” he says.

  “I already said you can stay and play ball with Tyler. You don’t have to butter me up.”

  “Yeah, but you’re letting me stay because you love him, not because you like my company.” He smiles.

  I give a one-shoulder shrug. “Might be true. You’re leaving afterward, right?”

  It’s his turn to give a one-shoulder shrug. “Maybe. But afterward, Tyler and I might need to watch some football, or maybe we’ll have to go out to dinner. Then there are football movies to watch.”

  I roll my eyes. This is not how I planned on spending my Saturday.

  With that thought, the alarming realization that I was supposed to be investigating lawyers and ways to get my record expunged but hadn’t sends a panic through me. A quick glance at the clock says I have a few hours left and I cross my fingers that Josie will have good news for me. If not, I hope some law offices work late on Saturdays.

  I stand quickly. “Okay, well make sure he doesn’t get too overheated. If his face gets flushed, you need to take a break. I need to make a few phone calls. I’ll be in my room.” I point down the hallway. “If you’re going to explain things, don’t be too wordy. He can only process small chunks at a time.” I give him a thumbs up. “Got it?”

  He smiles. “Got it. Are you sure we'll be okay together?” he teases.

  I point to the smartwatch on my wrist. “Tyler is wearing a watch similar to this. If he has a seizure, I’ll be alerted. Probably before you even realize it.”

  “So, it’s not that you fully trust me. I get it. Go do your thing.” He waves me off.

  I hesitate for only a second. Yeah, Dax's got it. But how would he be in a real-time event? Hopefully, we won’t find out. Hopefully, Tyler will have a blast and be left with nothing but wonderful memories.

  With the guys outside, I call Josie. She tells me she’s connected with a prominent lawyer known to handle these cases and will do so in a timely manner. After Josie’s review of my record, she thinks getting it expunged will be easy. The real obstacle tis time. She’s waiting to hear back from the other lawyer with an estimate.