She flashed him one of those fake Mrs. Kramer smiles. “That probably wouldn’t come as such a surprise if you’d been around before this.”
Noah pointed to Cade. “Are we going to do this now, in front of the kid?”
“The kid was thinking the same thing,” Cade interjected defiantly.
Both Noah and his mom looked over at him. Cade braced himself for the lecture—no sassing, always be respectful to adults—but none came. Instead, she nodded. “Well. I’ll let you two talk.”
With a wink of encouragement at Cade, she left them alone. A moment later, he heard the clinking of bowls in the kitchen.
Noah shifted awkwardly. “Talk. Right.” He gestured to the couch. “Maybe we could sit down? I bet you have a lot of questions for me.” He laughed at that, like this was so funny.
Cade followed Noah to the couch, thinking that his mom should’ve mentioned a fourth thing last night—that his father was a douchebag.
He sat on the opposite end of the couch, determined to look tough. He had lots of questions, all right, starting with one in particular. “Why haven’t you come to see me before this?”
Noah blinked. “Sure. Okay. I respect a man who says what’s on his mind.” Another laugh.
Cade glared.
Noah cleared his throat. “Um, well, it’s complicated, Cade. I was just a kid when your mother had you.”
“She was the same age, but she still wanted me.”
Noah flinched. “Christ, you don’t pull any punches, do you?” He sighed. “I needed to figure things out with my life, I guess.” He glanced over. “I know you don’t understand that, but maybe someday when you’re older, you will.”
“Is that why you’re here now? Because you figured things out?”
“You’re like a lawyer with all these questions.” Noah smiled. “Your mom told me last night how smart you are. You get that from her, you know.”
Cade thought it was best to keep silent on that one. But duh, obviously. “You didn’t answer my question,” he pointed out.
“I’m trying to figure things out, Cade. I’m really trying.”
There was another long silence.
“I heard you like football,” Noah finally said. “You know, I used to play myself.”
Cade tried to seem disinterested. “Were you any good?”
Noah cocked his head and took him in, sizing him up. “How about I show you?”
Startled by the offer, Cade looked around. “Right now?”
“Yep. Go grab your football. I’ll meet you in the front yard.” As if that was settled, he got up from the couch and headed out the door.
Not sure what else he was supposed to do, Cade went into his room and got his football. He stepped outside and saw Noah waiting on the sidewalk, smoking a cigarette.
He exhaled, then nodded at Cade. “What position do they got you at?”
“Quarterback.”
He took one last drag, and then tossed the cigarette into the gutter. “Let me see you throw.” He positioned himself at the far end of the lawn, only about ten yards away.
Cade stepped back to the driveway and threw. Without having to move an inch, Noah caught the ball neatly at his chest.
“Not bad,” he said. “Now hit me again while I’m running.”
“Mrs. Kramer says we’re not supposed to run across her lawn.”
“Is that right? Well, let’s see if I can get her to make an exception.” Football tucked under his arm, Noah walked up the path to Mrs. Kramer’s front door and rang the bell. A few moments later, she answered.
Cade watched from his driveway as Noah said something, then gestured to the football. Then there was some smiling, and more talking, and to Cade’s shock, Mrs. Kramer actually laughed. He didn’t even know that was possible.
Shortly after that, Noah walked off with a wave. He moved fast and fired the ball at Cade.
“We’re good to go,” Noah said after Cade caught it.
And with those four simple words, Cade found himself playing football with his father on a crisp, fall afternoon. A moment that was so simple—two people just tossing a ball around—and yet so perfect he thought his face might crack from smiling so much.
He didn’t want to like Noah—well, not mostly—but the guy was really good at football. Sure, his mom tried to help him practice, and sometimes Grandpa Morgan, too, but both of them missed his passes so much they spent half of the time digging around in Mrs. Kramer’s bushes for the ball. And neither of them could ever keep his calls straight, so the other half of the time his mom would be standing on the sidewalk for a skinny post when she was supposed to be running up the middle after a handoff. But Noah . . . well, he got it just right.
A couple of times, Cade saw his mom peeking out the window to check on them, and he waved to let her know he was fine. He figured she was probably secretly relieved seeing them—now that his dad was back she didn’t have to worry about doing football duty anymore. Probably, there were other things Noah could teach him, like how to fix cars and leaky dishwashers and furnaces so they didn’t always have to call a repairman every time something went on the fritz. He bet Noah knew a lot of things like that.
After a couple of hours, when they both were so tired they could barely walk, Cade collapsed on the ground next to Noah. Noah pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of the back pocket of his jeans and lit one up.