Tears instantly filled my eyes. “No,” I breathed while working to keep the tears at bay.

Tate’s eyes held mine. “Yeah, baby,” he said quietly.

“Oh honey.”

He didn’t reply at first.

Then he said, still speaking quietly, “Stell’s right. I should let it go. But I can’t. Dad was all I had and Wood actin’ stupid took that all away. It was about a year after that tackle took out my knee. I was fit, but the knee… it healed right but it didn’t heal right enough for me to play pro ball. My life was f**ked. I had no clue where I was goin’ because I was certain where my life was leadin’ me and it sure as f**k wasn’t back to Carnal. I was back with Neeta and those times were good ‘cause I was on her road, I could see the good in bein’ aimless, not givin’ a shit, we had a f**kin’ blast. Not proud of it because it was stupid but at the time, I didn’t care. Gettin’ drunk, gettin’ laid, doin’ whatever the f**k I wanted when I wanted and screw the consequences, that was the place I needed to be. That’s the last my Dad ever knew of me.”

“Tate –” I murmured.

“He didn’t see me get my shit together. Go into the Academy,” Tate said. “He didn’t see Neeta and me do one thing good together, makin’ Jonas.”

“Tate –”

“He was worried about me. Died worried about me. He was thinkin’ I’d end up like Blake, Neeta’s old man. Sittin’ in front of the TV with a beer in my hand gettin’ smashed every night and the only gumption I’d get was to cart my ass to a poker game.”

“Tate –”

“He was tryin’ to get me to get my shit together. He was also failing.”

“Captain, honey, listen to –”

“Took him dyin’ for me to sort my shit out.”

“Honey –”

“Still, didn’t manage it until years after that.”

“Tate, honey –”

“I wanted to play ball,” he stated in a way that my body got very still and my eyes, already locked to his, became glued there. “It wasn’t the money. It wasn’t the fame. It was the game. The goddamned game. I didn’t feel like I was breathin’ right if I wasn’t playin’ or practicin’. Felt like life was still, someone hit pause, then I’d put on my pads and jersey and walk on the field and then everything would come alive. Dad and I were Eagles fans since I could remember. Puttin’ that f**kin’ jersey on, Christ, Laurie… Christ.”

His last word seemed ripped from his throat and when he released it and it went through the air, its razor-sharp edge cut clean through me.

My hands went to his neck and I held on. “Baby –”

“Can you imagine, babe, can you f**kin’ imagine what it feels like, gettin’ a taste of your dream then losin’ it,” his hand came up and his fingers made a loud snap, “gone.”

“The eagle on your back,” I said gently.

“Got it my junior year at Penn State, the first year I made the All-America team. When I knew I had a shot at it. When I knew I’d be wearin’ green.”

I dropped my head, my forehead falling to his chest and my arms slid around, ducking under his to wrap him tight. I turned my head, pressed my cheek in and held him even tighter.

“Can’t absorb the pain, babe,” he whispered, his lips at the hair on top of my head, “lives in me.”

“You haven’t let it go?” I asked.

“Don’t know how,” he answered.

“You had a taste of something special,” I stated. “But you lost it.”

“No babe, that’s the problem. I haven’t lost it, even after all these years, I can still taste it.”

Oh God.

“I don’t know how to help,” I whispered and his body started moving.

It took me several moments to realize that, bizarrely, he was laughing.

I left my arms where they were and tipped my head up to look at him.

“Are you laughing?” I asked even though I could tell by his face that he was.

“Babe,” he said, his deep voice also trembling with laughter, “you did my laundry.”

“Sorry?”

“You vacuumed,” he went on.

My head jerked and I asked, “What?”

“You bought me sheets.”

“I don’t –”

His arms gave me a squeeze.

“Ace, I never had a Mom.”

“A Mom?” I asked, confused.

“Neeta sure as f**k never cleaned. She made more of a mess than me, one reason, when she’d make a promise she didn’t intend to keep, I started meetin’ her at the hotel. Not a big fan of cleanin’ up my own shit, much less when Neeta’d tear through. And she never gave me one thing. Not a birthday gift, not a Christmas gift, not somethin’ just because. Only thing she ever gave me was an orgasm.”

“She gave you a son,” I told him.

“I kinda had a hand in that, babe. Didn’t do the term or push him out but been fightin’ for him to have a decent life ever since.”

He was right about that.

“What does vacuuming have to do with –?” I started.

“My memories don’t come attached with shit like makin’ cookies with my grandma, Ace. My father was a man and he expected his son to be a man. I’ve never worn a piece of clothing in my goddamned life that I haven’t washed myself.”

“Oh,” I breathed.

Apparently Wanda at Deluxe Home Store was right. You tell a man early on you’re going to take care of him, it’s going to suck him deep.

Tate carried on. “Don’t even know when I learned to do laundry, just know, I wanted clean clothes, I had to do it.”

“Tate –”

“Leave you in my house once, babe, come home and the whole f**kin’ place is cleaned, the fridge is packed full, a sweet, girlie pitcher in the fridge filled with Kool-Aid and I got soft, fancy sheets on my bed.”

“I was worried that I –”

His head bent and his lips touched mine, stopping my words.

When his face moved away he replied in a very firm way to my unanswered statement, “Nope.”

“Then who planted those plants in your yard?”

“Mom,” he replied. “Came home, don’t know, five years ago. Stayed awhile. Got a wild hair, did some gardening. Unlike Mom, the plants took root.”