Feather's Blog Search

Follow by Email




*Phillip pov*

Six years later…

“One, two, three, four…”

“Dad, why are you counting?”

I grit my teeth because Noah is sitting beside me and I don’t want to cause a scene. We’re at MJ’s soccer game and I don’t want to embarrass her.

“Nothing, son,” I say to Noah through a clenched jaw. Instead, I watch carefully as MJ’s coach talks to Molly on the sidelines, leaning in a little too closely for my liking. He’s always smiling at her, acting all friendly, but today it’s getting obnoxious. He’s leaning in and laughing at everything she says, and it’s pissing me the fuck off.

MJ’s our almost-five-year-old daughter, named after Molly. We started calling her Molly Junior when she was born, and MJ just sort of stuck. She’s currently on the field deciding between picking flowers and tackling the other kids, but she’s having a blast.

The only problem seems to be coming from her over-friendly coach.

Molly mentioned in passing the other day that the coach sends a lot of emails and it was a little annoying to her. When I logged on to see Molly’s emails, I noticed that she was the only recipient of the emails. Molly kept blowing it off, saying he was just trying to help MJ focus.

I started watching him around her and making an effort to always be by Molly’s side whenever the games were going on. I trust my wife, and I know that she would never cross a line, but this motherfucker needs to watch himself.

He reaches out and places his hand on her upper arm, giving it a squeeze, and I glare at them when I see it happen. I’m up off the bench before I know it.

I see Molly take a step back at the contact, and that enrages me further. She doesn’t like anyone touching her but me. And neither do I. I’m the only one who gets to touch her, even in the most casual way. She’s mine. In every fucking sense of the word.

“Touch my wife again and you’ll be writing letters to your mom with your toes.”

His look of shock on his face should be comical, but I’m seeing too much red to appreciate it. I feel Molly put her hand on my lower back, and I relax a little, but the anger is still boiling inside of me.

“Excuse me, Mr. Tanner. I didn’t mean to offend—”

“Keep your hands, and your email, to yourself.”

Another man comes up from the sidelines and steps in front of the coach, getting between us.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d step back from my husband before there’s a scene these children don’t need to witness,” the man says.

I look over his shoulder to the coach, who’s now blushing violently.

“Phillip,” Molly says from behind me, “this is Brad and his husband, Ron. They invited us over for a cookout this weekend. I was just telling him that we’d love to attend.”

I’m unable to say anything, so I just nod. I feel Molly peek around me and wave to Brad and Ron.

“We’d love to get the kids together if you’re still interested. Let us know.”

Before I can apologize or say a single word, Molly is pulling me back into the stands with Noah.

“Well, that went great,” she says, letting out a little sigh.

“He shouldn’t touch you,” is all I’m able to grumble as Noah and Molly fall into fits of laughter.

She leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek and all’s right with my world. How is it that this woman can give me exactly what I need, exactly when I need it?

Wrapping my arms around her, we watch the rest of MJ’s game and I offer a wave of apology to her coach after the game. He may not have wanted my Molly, but I’m not taking any chances. She’s mine until the end of time, and I’ll make sure no one and nothing stands in my way.


No comments:

Post a comment


*Comments expressed here do not reflect the opinions of feather's blog or any employee of this blog.*