Page 34 of Outlaw Heartstrings
He’s right. And I hate it.
13
ALBA
Jagger is chatting my ear off, and I’m doing my best to engage in my part of the conversation as we walk toward the park.
I love our conversations, so I feel bad to be missing out on whatever he’s saying to me. But the truth is, my nerves are eating at me right now and the voices in my head are screaming at full volume.
Is this the right thing to do?
Is Easton going to like Jagger?
Will he see what a special kid this little boy really is?
Could this whole thing backfire on me?
I don’t have any answers. As my nephew and I approach the park, all I can do is put one foot in front of the other and try to avoid tripping right here on the sidewalk.
Jagger obviously doesn’t know that Easton is his father. So as far as he’s concerned, all he knows is that he’s about to spend the day with his number one hockey hero, and he couldn’t be happier.
Me? I’m quietly freaking out.
I meant what I said to Easton yesterday. He’s going to beleaving town soon, and for all we know, he might never return to Fairy Bush. Once he’s back in the thick of things, back in the limelight, back on the ice surrounded by puck bunnies, he might change his mind about being tied to a kid in small town Iowa.
When you have a child, you don’t get the luxury of being a parent on your own terms. You don’t get the luxury of dropping in whenever it’s convenient for you.
I’m not sure Easton realizes that yet.
When we stroll up, Easton is sitting on the bench where I left him yesterday. He sees us coming and he rises from the bench, wiping his palms down the length of his powerful thighs. At the sight of him—all six-foot five-inches of beautiful hockey-built muscles—my breath stutters in my chest.
“Easton Raines!” Jagger shouts, running up to give him a hug.
It helps me refocus on why we’re here today. This park outing is about allowing Jagger to spend time with his father, not about ogling my childhood friend.
“Hey, buddy!” The big man extends a hand and Jagger slaps his palm against Easton’s in a high-five.
Easton gives me a nervous smile, looking about as wrecked as I feel. But as Jagger drops down on the park bench and excitedly starts telling him knock-knock jokes, most of Easton’s nerves seem to melt away.
When Easton finds a way to get a word in, he asks, “You like hockey, right?”
“Ilovehockey!”
“Well, I have a little surprise for you. Want to see?”
That’s when I notice—oh my gosh—Easton has presents for Jagger, hidden behind the park bench. He points over his shoulder and Jagger’s eyes follow the movement, widening as they land on the gifts.
“Go check it out, little man.”
Jagger hops up and runs around to the back of the bench. He finds a huge duffle bag sitting in the grass. The little boy unzips the bag and finds all the brand new hockey gear that Easton has brought him.
My nephew gasps. “Really?! A helmet!? With a full face cage?! And skates!? Mimi, look! These are the ones I’ve been asking for!”
There’s also shoulder and elbow pads, shin guards, gloves and a really expensive-looking hockey stick.
“Wow…” I mutter, surprised by how generous Easton is being.
“This is so cool,” Jagger says, completely enamored. “Thank you, Mr. Raines. Thank you!” He darts around the bench, practically throwing himself against Easton’s chest as his skinny arms wrap around the towering man in a hug.
