Page 13 of Playing Santa

“Don’t you dare feel sorry for me, Sean Patrick. That’s not why I told you this story. Don’t make me regret sharing—” her voice cracks and I take her face in my hands.

“I don’t feel sorry for you. I feel outrage and anger at your uncle and your so-called husband. And anger at fate. But for you? I have nothing but fucking awe and admiration. You’re my fucking hero, sweetheart.”

Her eyes glitter, but her cheeks stay dry. If I let them, tears would fill my own eyes, because damn it, I’m a sucker for a kick-ass heroine. Only this isn’t the movies, it’s real life and she’s here in my arms.

“Hey Mommy,” Jimmy shouts, heading our way. I let go of his mother and plaster a smile on my face because this kid is the luckiest little kid I know to have this woman as his mommy.

He crashes into our legs and reaches for his mother. Ronnie lifts him into her lap and Dasher jumps and yips until I lift her into my lap.

“Did you have fun playing with Dasher?” she asks, Her voice is strong though her smile is frail and she holds her son close.

“So fun. I love Dasher.” Jimmy squirms from his mother’s hold. “It’s cold. I’m hungry. Can we go home now?”

“Sure—”

“I have a better idea,” I say. “How about if you come to my house and check out the lay of the land.” I’m determined more than ever to see this woman, to have a relationship with her and her son. And to help her—check that—give her an opportunity to help herself.

“Okay,” Jimmy says, face bright with a smile aimed at my heart.

“I don’t know—”

“You agreed to puppy-sit for me, right?”

“I don’t—”

“I need the help. Dasher needs more attention than I can give him at this stage of the season. We have late practices sometimes and away games.”

“We can help you,” Jimmy says, happy and sincere, his dark eyes melting me.

But I know better than to use her son against her, so I shift my gaze to Ronnie.

“I suppose we could agree to help you out,” she says, “seeing that you got yourself into a spot, but for the record, I’m doing it for Dasher’s sake, not yours. I’ll need to work around my schedule at the shelter.”

“Of course.”

“And it can’t interfere with Jimmy getting to school.”

“I’ll throw in money for the extra expense of an Uber ride to school and between the shelter and my house.”

“Alright, Mr. Short-Sighted Puppy Buyer, you have a deal.”

I laugh and we have a three-way hug—four way if you count Dasher. My heart is lighter than it’s been since we won the Super Bowl two years ago, but even that pales in comparison. Lighter than I imagined it could be after hearing her story. But if she can bounce back and live and walk around finding stray cats and raising a beautiful boy, I can keep her story from getting me down.

We walk back to my car and make the short ten-minute drive to my house. The area used to be a working-class neighborhood once-upon-a-time, but it’s been gentrified and the former triple-decker homes are now all million plus dollar masterpieces, albeit set on city-sized lots. Still the small back yard will come in handy for Dasher.

I pull into the garage under the house and we go up the stairs and enter my home through the kitchen. It’s state-of-the-art with all the gadgets, mostly lost on me, and gleaming surfaces. When I turn and see Ronnie’s reaction as she follows me slowly, slack jawed and taken aback, I’m ashamed that I’ve taken the place for granted.

“You like the kitchen?”

“Like it?” She turns to me, disbelief and something else in her eyes.

I shrug. “I don’t cook much.”

“You’re an asshole. This is a dream kitchen and you don’t even care.” She doesn’t look at me, her voice is distracted as she runs her hands along the marble counter of the over-sized island. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s ever used it,” Her voice is quiet and I’m not sure she’s talking to me.

“You like to cook?”

She stops and turns to me then, lets go of Jimmy’s hand and he runs into the family room chasing after Dasher. “Jimmy—"