Page 132 of Maximum Dare
“Wearing shoes is an option.”
“I was playing football at her age.” He wandered over to me. “This is how the best players train.”
I glanced out the large glass window and saw Ava kicking a ball—with her shoes on, at least.
Max wrapped an arm around me. “Maybe we can switch out her Legos for a puzzle.”
“She takes after you.”
He wagged a finger in my face. “Being artsy comes from you.”
“What’s she wearing?” I looked closer. “Is that a Manchester United T-shirt?”
“Nick sent it.”
“How’s he doing?”
“He’s never been better, he says.”
Max looked me up and down. “You look extra pretty today.”
“You say that to me every day.”
“That’s because—” His lips found mine and we shared a passionate kiss.
Ava ran in. “Mummy!”
She looked adorable in her football shorts and T-shirt.
Leaning low, I dragged her in for a hug. “Ava, you’re a professional player now.”
Max and I shared a smile, a look of pride. I rested my hands protectively on my swollen belly.
Ava gripped Max’s leg. “Daddy, let’s play again!
I followed them outside, sitting in my usual spot in one of the wicker chairs. On the other side of the veranda, the spectacular view of the city was like a painting. Our five-bedroom home was perfect for Max to work from when he took a break from the office. His career as one of the most distinguished civil rights attorneys in the country continued to flourish. He’d have made his father proud.
We also loved this location for its accessibility to the beach. Every weekend we were swimming, building sandcastles, or watching Ava’s daddy surf. We savored our time together as a family.
Max was kicking a football around the garden and Ava was trying to intercept it. I cheered her on as she grabbed the ball and then kicked it into the goal. Again, Ava dribbled the ball toward the net, moving around Max who was trying to defend it. She threw a goal in the center.
We cheered like she’d won the World Cup—like she hadn’t used her hands, either.
Max looked ecstatic. “It’s in her blood.”
I wasn’t surprised.
Afterward, we settled in the sitting room.
Max and I huddled close together on the couch while Ava ran around the living room, mimicking her Uncle Nick playing football as she watched him on the big screen.
Nick’s match was live on TV. He was playing with the talent that had earned him fame and fortune, his old knee injury never once obvious.
We’d have been there in person, but with me heavily pregnant and about to pop any moment, I wasn’t allowed to fly—which was as good an excuse as any not to do my least favorite thing.
I’d flown since that first flight on Max’s private jet all those years ago, but if it was possible to find another way to travel, I preferred it.
Ava was doing her favorite thing in the world—watching her uncle’s team, Manchester United, play Liverpool F.C.
