He always—and I mean, always—replied with, “I’m not sure yet. I like them all.”
The stakes grew as the weeks went on. My very athletically gifted son—who, for the record, loved both sports—was being wooed by professional athletes with private training sessions and signed paraphernalia from various teams around the world, because my husband and my brother would never be able to settle the debate about which football was better.
The irony wasn’t lost on me, given how Jude and I met.
I gave Jude a kiss while we waited for Gabriel to run back into the kitchen with his brand new Denver jersey on. He sighed against my lips, settling his hands low on my hips in the way he always did.
“I know, you think I’m cracked,” he whispered.
My arms wound around his neck. “I think,” I said quietly, “that you and my brother are the two most competitive men I’ve ever met in my entire life.”
“True,” he conceded with a grin.
Jude’s hands slid down over the curves of my backside, and he nibbled along my jawline. I exhaled a breathy laugh.
I tilted my head to the side, giving him better access to the side of my neck. “I also think our son is playing you both horribly.”
That had Jude pulling back. “You what?”
At his dumbfounded facial expression, I laughed. “Oh come on, he’s a bright kid. If he picks a favorite, all this awesome stuff you two chumps keep handing him will stop.”
Jude blinked. “Bloody hell, that is evil genius, isn’t it?”
I hummed. “Indeed.”
My husband swatted my ass and walked to the fridge. “He gets that from you, make no mistake.”
I pinched Jude’s side, and he yelped.
Gabriel ran back into the kitchen, the orange jersey about three sizes too big on him. “Look, Mom,” he gushed. “Isn’t it awesome?”
“Totally awesome.”
Jude shook his head, but still smiled. “So is football your favorite sport then?”
Gabriel didn’t answer at first, too enamored with the scrawled signature of his current favorite player. “What?”
“Your favorite sport,” Jude repeated. “Is it football?”
“Or soccer,” I added.
Jude rolled his eyes. He’d lived in the states for years, and he still hated calling it that.
Gabriel shrugged. “I don’t know. I like them all.”
Then he was off, running back out to the backyard, so he could toss his football into the air and pretend like he was catching the game winning touchdown. My heart always did strange little flips when I realized just how old he seemed. Likes and dislikes and hobbies that could become a lifelong passion if fostered correctly.
Jude wrapped his arms around me, settling his chin on my shoulder while we watched our son play quarterback and receiver and then the placekicker, running around with his arms raised, reacting to imaginary cheers that only he could hear.
“Did you do that when you were young?” I asked.
Jude hummed. “Oh yes. If I had a dollar for every time I raised the trophy on the pitch of my schoolyard growing up, all the practice I did there after the school day was done … I’d be able to buy out your betting pool quite quickly, my wife.”
If I closed my eyes, I could see it as clearly as if it happened in front of me. He didn’t have parents who fostered his love of sports growing up, but he damn well made sure that Gabriel would never experience that.
Anything Gabriel showed an interest in, Jude threw himself into immediately. When Pok?mon was the obsession, he watched endless YouTube videos about how to draw the characters, opened dozens of collectors card packages so the two of them could sort the piles. When reading Harry Potter began earlier than either of us anticipated, Jude bought the box set and took over bedtime reading—complete with voices for each character.
Our son—even if he chose American football as his favorite—would have the most supportive father in the entire world.
But this, it was about beating Logan more than anything.
I turned my head and popped a kiss on his cheek. “I still think you should split the winnings with me.”
Jude said nothing, simply watched our son play the other football with a small, proud smile on his face.
Another week went by, a few more Wolves players added their names in the pot—and offered up conditioning sessions with Gabriel. Jude roped in a former Golden Boot winner from the Premier League to send Gabriel a video showing him some dribbling tips.
We arrived to Logan and Paige’s house for a family dinner, and Gabriel shot straight out of the car, running through the garage so he could rifle through the giant lockers full of sports equipment.
A volleyball went sailing out of the corner, followed closely by a badminton birdie.
“Whatcha looking for?” I asked.
Gabriel yanked something out with a mighty tug, whooping with excitement at the sight of the dusty skateboard. My eyebrows shot up on my forehead.
“Do you know how to ride that?”
He rolled his eyes. “Yes.”
“Grab a helmet,” I yelled to his retreating back.
Jude did a double take when Gabriel sped past him on the board. “Is this something we’re doing now?”
I shrugged. “Apparently.”
Neither of us thought anything of it.
Until Gabriel asked for a trip to the skate park about five minutes from our house.
Then two visits the week after that.
He left his signed jersey untouched for an unprecedented three days, the same went for the new soccer ball and cleats that Jude got for him. Gabriel pulled money from his own piggy bank to buy the cool kind of helmet and asked if he could get a board for Christmas.
But it was when we managed to schedule a visit up to Whistler to stay at Claire and Bauer’s Vancouver house that my deep-seated suspicions of this new hobby were proven true.
I watched from their kitchen window, flanked on either side by my twin sister and my husband, as Bauer crouched next to Gabriel and showed him different tips on how to flip the board, how to take the curves on a skate park in a faster way.
“So it’s his fault,” I murmured.
Claire laughed. “Apparently.”
It was so close to what I’d said when Gabriel first pulled the skateboard out that Jude shook his head.
“Never thought to keep my eye on the snowboarder,” he said. “That man loves to keep us on our toes, doesn’t he?”
When Gabriel took a tumble off the board, I sucked in a breath, ready to go outside to check on him. Jude settled a hand low on my back.
“Just wait, love.” He was watching with keen interest.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.