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“What?”

“Convincing Faye that loving you is okay after Tate.” He straightens his shoulders, his jaw clenching hard. “It’ll eat at her, the worry she’s doing something wrong by loving you, then Tate, and you again.”

“We can’t change the past.”

He frowns at me. “But have you forgiven her? Can you love her without holding him over her?”

“When I first came back, I was angry,” I admit. “I’ve since learned some things, and now…” I watch Mabel flee in her neon pink leggings and the bright blue tutu that bounces with every step. Her t-shirt is butter yellow and her golden-brown waves are pulled up into a high ponytail reminiscent of the eighties by a scrunchie printed with some kind of flower. The girls’ outfits should be illegal. I love them.

All the colors of the rainbow.

I can’t breathe for a solid five seconds in the aftershocks of Tate’s voice in my mind.

“And now?” Doug presses. I think he’s holding his breath.

“Now, I’ve forgiven them both, Doug.” It’s the truth. I have.

It doesn’t mean I’m not still hurt. That I won’t still feel anger sometimes. But I don’t blame him for loving her. And I can’t blame her for falling for him. Not when he was where I wasn’t, doing what I couldn’t. Being everything I hadn’t been.

“Don’t hurt my girl, Holt,” Doug pleads softly, watching Mabel. “Don’t hurt any of them.”

“I won’t,” I vow. I mean it to the innermost marrow in my bones.

Tipping my head back to the clear blue of a cloudless sky, I feel a warmth I know in my heart of hearts is my big brother.

I vow again, silently this time. I’ll love them all like you loved them, brother. I’ll take care of them like you took care of them. Because you’re right, Tate. They’re ours.

25

A MAGICAL MEMBERSHIP

JUNE 2023 – PRESENT DAY

“Go Owen!” I holler my cheer alongside a row of other parents and supporters. Then I punch my fist into the air and roar, “Yeah!”

I watch as a pride I’ve never felt in my life balloons in my chest. Owen bounces on his feet as he shoots his fists high, his face red, hair clinging to his temples wet with sweat. But it’s his smile that hits me like a sucker punch to the gut. Sometimes, I swear, when I look at the kid—I see so much of myself.

Maybe it’s his passion for soccer, so like the fire that burns in me for hockey. Maybe it’s the remnants of my brother left behind in a world where I’ll do my darndest to ensure he’s never forgotten.

I always did look like Tate, only darker in coloring. Owen looks like Tate, too. But there’s no question he got Pop’s side of the family genes.

Owen swings that smile to me, and that balloon of pride just keeps on swelling.

That’s my boy. The thought enters my mind before I have time to check it. For a moment, I’m shaken by it. By the finality of it. The sureness.

Because it’s not wrong. He is my boy now. Maybe Tate was right, and he was always meant to be mine, like this. They were all meant to be mine. Ours.

How can life’s plan be so completely fucked up?

Owen jogs off the field and I do my best to shove my thoughts into the deep dark of my mind. I’ll pull them out later, when I’m alone. Then, I’ll analyze them.

“Uncle Holt, you came.”

“Of course, I came. You invited me.” I grip him in for a tight hug and a pat on the back. “You played great, kid.”

His smile hasn’t dulled at all. “Thanks.”

Yeah, the kid has been bit by the same bug of passion I was bit by so long ago. A lifetime ago.