Page 7 of Bittersweet Redemption

But whatever. Apparently, that means nothing.

I’m not going to dwell on it, and I’m going to keep living my life. I lost too much already because of that woman. I won’t let her ruin one more moment of my life.

On a Saturday morning a few weeks after my new neighbors moved in, I’m sitting on my back patio with a book when I hear grass crunching under footsteps, alerting me that someone is coming.

I wait until the footsteps sound like they’re right next to me before I look up. Thankfully, it’s Roman. I don’t mind the kid. It’s just a shame who his mother is.

“Mr. Kai?” he says quietly, clearly trying to get my attention but also trying to not interrupt me.

A smile tugs at my lips. “Hey, kid.”

“Um, I was wondering if you could play goalie for me so I can try to take a few shots?” I look over at him. He has his child-size soccer ball in his hands, and he’s wearing a blue soccer jersey.

“You got a game today or something?” I nod at his shirt.

“Yeah. It’s later today, after Mommy works.”

Before I can think better of it, I ask, “What does your mom do?”

“She cuts people’s hair.” He looks over his shoulder at his house before turning back to me. “She’s pretty good at it if you ever need a haircut.” He looks over my dark, wavy hair. It’s gotten longer than it was in prison, but I haven’t let it grow too much. I keep it a little longer now because I can.

I’m guessing his mom didn’t tell him how we know each other, so I decide not to let on that I would rather put my hand on a hot skillet than have his mother cut my hair. So, I nod for his sake.

“I’m going to miss part of practice, so I want to try to kick some goals now.” He looks up at me with pleading green eyes. I can’t say that I’m good with kids because I’ve never really had an opportunity to be around them. Not really kids in prison and all that. But I helped raise my little brother after our dad left, so I can hold my own with a kid. As it turns out, I also can’t say no to a kid either.

“Alright then. A few practice shots.”

“Yes!” he jumps up and down in excitement. “Thanks, Mr. Kai. Ok, come down here, and I’ll put you in front of the goal.”

I put my book down and walk over to him.

“What do I need to do?” He grabs my hand with his tiny one and ushers me in front of an open space.

“You stay here. I’m going to go over there and try to kick the ball into the goal behind you,” he states matter-of-factly.

“There’s not a goal behind me,” I tease.

He sighs. “You have to use your imagitration.” Which I assume means my imagination.

“Oh, alright. Got it,” I say, trying to hide my smile.

He takes his ball and walks back towards his house. I bend my knees and get in what I hope is a goalie stance. I’ve never played or watched soccer in my life, so I’m really winging it here. I’m doing all this for a kid I don’t even know.

He puts the ball down in front of him. “Are you ready, Mr. Kai?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be, kid.”

He smiles and starts kicking the ball down the grass toward me. I move from side to side, attempting to guard the imaginary goal behind me. He stops a few feet away and kicks the ball extra hard to my right. I move to block it so he doesn’t think I’m letting him get the goal, and my fingers just miss the ball as it rolls behind me.

He jumps up and down in celebration. I can’t help but smile at his excitement. He reminds me of when Kellan was young. He’d get so excited any time he won something. The older he got, the harder he tried to win, which is why I’m not surprised he’s such a good defense attorney.

I grab the ball and roll it back to him. “Let’s go again.”

He nods and sets up. He comes at me and does the same thing as before, but this time I block it. “You can’t do the same play each time. You’ve got to mix it up so the goalie doesn’t know what to expect.” Hell, I kind of sound like I know what I’m talking about.

His shoulders are slumped, but he nods as I roll the ball back to him. He gets ready and dribbles the ball. This time, instead of running in a straight line, he zig-zags down the grass before he kicks the ball between my open legs. I could’ve blocked it, but I didn’t because I want to show him that switching it up can help.

He jumps up and down again, and I congratulate him on his goal. We play a few more rounds, and he tries something different each time. One time he even tries to spin around before kicking, but he ends up falling over, and his shoe falls off. We both laugh as he gets back up and swipes the grass off his butt.