The Guy on the Left (The Underdogs 2)
Page 162
“I wanted you to know me first before I told you. We both did.”
Dante looks lost and again looks to his mother as fat tears spill down his cheeks. He’s so incredibly raw, so vulnerable, my heart drops when his tone turns accusatory. “Mommy, did you know before?”
“Yes, baby.”
“How long?”
“As long as you’ve been alive.”
He draws his brows. “How?”
“That’s another talk we’ll have one day,” I say, unable to help the upward tilt to my lips, which disappears the minute I hear Dante’s voice crack.
“You both didn’t tell me!”
“Look at me, Dante,” I say, shooting Clarissa a reassuring look before facing him. Dante finally gives me his undivided attention, and I see the hurt, along with a little wonder that sparks some hope inside me. “There’s a play in football called fourth and inches. And what that means is that it’s your last chance to reach the goal line. You have to make your very best play to reach it, or the chance is gone. When you get to this point, you’re so close that you can taste it, touch it, feel it, but you have a way to get to the goal. You have to work really, really hard to get there. Do your absolute best. And that’s what I’ve been doing since the day you were born.”
His voice shakes with his question. “I’m the goal?”
“You’re the goal.”
His face crumbles, and relief washes over me as he collides with my chest and cries into my shirt. I run a soothing hand down his back as his little body shakes. Surprised by his response, a little sob erupts out of Clarissa from where she stands. “It’s okay, buddy, I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. I’m your daddy from today on, okay?”
He nods into my shirt, his unexpected emotion causing my eyes to well. Clarissa wipes her eyes as ours connect over his shoulder, and she gives me a teary smile. Dante cries for a few minutes as I continue to tell him how I love him, of how bad I want to be his daddy. Of how I’ve always loved him. Of how I couldn’t wait to tell him. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever done. And if you’ll let me have this job, I’ll be so happy.”
“You make me happy,” he sniffs as he pulls away and looks at his mom. “That’s okay, right, Mommy?”
“Of course,” she says, clearing her face with her palms.
Dante looks back to me with apprehension on his features.
“You can still be the man of the house.”
“I know.”
Clarissa and I chuckle as his face crumbles again. I’ve never seen him so emotional, and I wonder if Clarissa has either.
“So, what’s wrong then? Whatcha thinking?”
“It’s just…” He puts a consoling hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Troy.”
“For what? You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“You must be really bad at football.”
I draw my brows. “Why do you say that?”
“I’m six!” His eyes widen. “You took a long, looong time to get to the goal. That’s not good. You are really, really, bad at football.”
I throw my head back and laugh, and Clarissa joins us both on the porch, laughter bursting out of her. “I’m serious. This is serious,” Dante squeaks as we collectively gather him into our arms.
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