Page 83 of Scoring Chance

“Didn’t make the team,” I say, rubbing a hand over my face. “He’s barely said anything since we left the rink.”

Des sets the knife down. “I got this.”

He doesn’t ask. He just walks out the door.

I lean against the frame and watch.

Des approaches Davy slow, like he’s approaching a spooked animal. He says something I can’t hear. Davy doesn’t respond. Then Des goes into the shed, pulls out an old aluminum baseball bat, and hands it to him.

Points at the maple tree standing mightily by our back fence.

At first, Davy just stares at him like he doesn’t understand.

Des nods again. “Hit it.”

Davy takes a hesitant swing.

“This hurts. Let it out, Davy,” Des says, his voice calm, supportive, firm. Overflowing with love for my boy.

Davy pulls back the bat, then smashes it against the tree. A chunk of bark spews out. For the first time since tryouts, life returns to his face. He bashes the bat against the tree again. Then again. Then again. Harder and harder.

I hear the clang of metal on bark as he starts yelling with each swing. Not words. Just sound. All the rage and frustration of a ten-year-old with a broken dream. Tears pour down his cheeks.

And Des is right there, the whole time. Steady. Unmoving.

Until Davy drops the bat. He’s sobbing now, full-body heaves. He crumples into Des, who catches him instantly. Wraps him up tight.

And holds him.

I press my fist to my mouth.

It’s like something cracks open in me. Because I’ve always known Des was smart, funny, sharp as hell. I’ve always known he was a good friend.

But this?

This is something else.

He didn't hesitate. He knew exactly what my son needed. Not a speech. Not a fix. Just space to feel it and someone strong to catch him when it got too big.

I watch them from the doorway—my son, cradled in the arms of the man who was supposed to just be my friend. The man who’s become so much more without either of us saying it out loud.

And I think: I’m in love with him. God help me. I really, truly am.

But I’m in love with a man who ultimately doesn’t love me back, not in the way I want him to. I’m in love with a man who sees this marriage as what it is: fake. Soon, Des will find out about his promotion, and all this playing house will be over. Just like that.

Tears fall down my face as I watch Des comfort my son. The more Davy cries, the tighter Des holds him.

For today, though, we can pretend we’re a family.

A few nights later, after a final PTA meeting going over logistics for next week’s Halloween carnival, my phone rings as I pull into my driveway.

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is Ellen from MedTech” a bright voice says.

MedTech…MedTech. I filled out so many job applications, I can’t keep them straight.

“I got your resume from Elise Shyer. She’s a good friend, and when I told her I needed someone on my team, she raved about you.”