Luna: The Real Soccer Moms of Beaver County Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Luna

  HJ Bellus

  Magan Vernon

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  THE REAL SOCCER MOMS OF BEAVER COUNTY

  Copyright © 2016 by HJ Bellus.Small Town Girl Books, LLC. & Magan Vernon Beautifully Broken Books, LLC

  Edited by: Ultra Editing Company (Emma Mack)

  Proofreading by: Alissa Glenn PA

  Formatting: HJ Bellus & Magan Vernon

  hard work of HJ Bellus.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication-

  To all of the sideline moms everywhere-

  We raise our BPA free flask to you.

  Chapter 1

  Luna

  Tiny Love

  Oleander’s wails echoed through the tiny guesthouse, though that wasn’t hard to do when four of us lived in a four-hundred square foot structure.

  “Brady, can you put Ole on my boob? I promise I’ll get up in a bit,” I groaned, turning to my side with my boob popping out of my tank top.

  With the first kid, I was always covered up when breastfeeding and now that we were down to the fourth, I didn’t care who saw my tits as long as my kid wasn’t screaming.

  Brady didn’t answer and the only sound, underneath the shrill screams, was my four-year-old, Cypress, snoring from either the floor or the bed. God only knows where he ended up. Him, Willow, and Saige had some mattresses up in the loft, but they always ended up in our bed or sleeping at grandma and grandpa’s, who lived above the funeral home literally ten feet away from our front door.

  I opened one eye then the other, staring at the sleeping, half-naked kid and over him at the waving arms hanging out of the bassinet.

  “Fuck,” I muttered, slowly sitting up then walking over to the bassinet.

  Like on autopilot, I changed Oleander’s diaper then put him to my nipple where he greedily attacked it and finally stopped screaming.

  I glanced around the small bedroom and Brady was nowhere to be found.

  He was either up all night at his parents, watching SportsCenter or he had a new business idea and I would have to deal with him being obsessed with a new project for a few weeks before he gave up.

  We still had two chairs in our bedroom that were painted with some homemade chalk paint and another seven sitting behind the house from his last brilliant idea to become a furniture painter.

  That ended when he realized he sucked at painting and no one was buying the furniture on Ebay or Facebook sale sites.

  We also had a closet full of homemade paper, wire jewelry, and half-made Adirondack chairs that he thought he could make into different businesses. Eight years together and probably eighty different businesses, while I popped out four kids and worked at his parent’s funeral home.

  While Oleander sucked his breakfast down, I made my way out of the bedroom and to the small living area that also doubled as a tiny kitchen.

  Brady was hunched over the kitchen table, another refinishing project that he painted black and stenciled some flowers on that looked very phallic. His eyes were glued to his computer screen and his brown hair was stood up on all ends as if he’d been running his fingers through it for hours.

  Oh yeah this was another business venture. Dammit.

  “Hey, babe,” I cooed, putting my hand on his shoulder.

  His shoulders tensed and he shut the Macbook before whirling around, his eyes widening before he took his glasses off and set them on the table. “Hey. I didn’t hear you get up.”

  Raising an eyebrow, I adjusted Oleander. All it usually took was one look to get Brady to confess to whatever he had planned. It was how I always got my way, whether it be getting him to push Suzy Jackson off the swings in elementary school so it could be my turn, or our prom night, that turned into the conception of Saige. This ironically was the color of the dress that Brady ripped open in the back of the minivan to get to my panties.

  “Just looking up an address. Clancy texted me this morning to see if I could help him out with some equipment stuff at the rec center, so I’ll be gone doing that all day.”

  I blinked hard. “You’re going to miss Saige’s soccer game?”

  Brady’s face fell and he ran his palm along his forehead. “Shit, that’s today isn’t it?”

  “Does anyone besides me even look at the calendar?” I pointed my free hand toward the large, dry erase calendar that took up almost are entire living room wall. It was filled with the kid’s activities, my work schedule, and anything else that needed to be added in our crazy life with four kids.

  Brady sighed and put his hands on my shoulders. “I’m sorry, babe. Tell Saige I’ll be there in spirit, okay? I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to interrupt girl time with you and your new soccer mom posse anyway.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “You did not just call it a posse.”

  He gave me that megawatt smile that always had me dropping my panties, and most of the reason the guy needed to get a vasectomy so I could stop getting pregnant. Four kids in eight years was killing me.

  Leaning in, he kissed my forehead, then kissed Oleander’s chubby little arm that wouldn’t let go of my boob.

  “I’ll see you tonight. Okay? Maybe I’ll even pick up a pizza for dinner.”

  “Did someone say pizza?” Willow hung her curly head over the side of the loft.

  “Only if you’re good at your brother’s soccer game,” Brady said, giving her the same smile.

  Willow gave him a thumbs up before Brady walked out the front door, leaving me alone with a lot of questions.

  Chapter 2

  Cheater, Cheater, Pumpkin Eater

  “Can I ask you something?” I turned toward Moira.

  She’d been working at the funeral home as long as I had, on the taxidermy side, and as the only other woman besides my mother-in-law, we were forced into being friends.

  It also helped in having someone to walk to the kids’ soccer games with, that wasn’t Blanche giving one of us the stink eye.

  “Unless you want me to massage your tits again like that last time you had that breastfeeding problem, the answer is yes.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Get mastitis one time and ask a friend for help at work, and it hangs with you for life.”

  Oleander stirred in my Moby wrap as if the kid got hungry just from hearing the word “tit”.

  “Okay, spill,” Moira said, flicking something off her shoulder.

  It was nine in the freaking morning and the woman was in sky-high heels with her hair blown out and makeup airbrushed on. This was rec league soccer, not the club, and there was no way in hell I’d be able to get the two-month-old off my tit long enough to even put on mascara.

  Glancing behind us, I saw that Saige, and Moira’s son, Harry, were kicking the soccer ball in the grass and having some kind of little kid conversation. In front of us, W
illow kept shoving Cypress and trying to get him not to eat his boogers.

  “I think Brady might be cheating on me,” I whispered.

  “WHAT?” Moira yelled and all of the kids turned toward us.

  I smiled politely between all of the kids. “Miss Moira just has a little hearing problem, kids.”

  The kids shrugged and went back to what they were doing.

  “How is that even possible?” Moira asked, finally lowering her voice.

  “I didn’t think he was at first, but this morning he shut the computer as soon as I came into the room, so of course I opened it when he left and found the Pottery Barn website open!”

  Moira put her hands on her cheeks in mock shock. “Not Pottery Barn!”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Seriously, do I have anything Pottery Barn in my house? He was looking at furniture. Furniture he is probably buying for his mistress!”

  Moira rolled her eyes. “That’s why you think he’s cheating?”

  I shook my head. “No. It’s more than that. He’s always had these crazy business plans, none of them have ever made it, but he’s always been so excited to talk about them. This time, whatever he was doing, he didn’t want me to know. And get this, today he took the minivan! He usually takes the hearse when he’s running errands in town, so whatever S-L-U-T he’s shacking up with, has to live somewhere other than Beaver Falls.”

  “You do know the kids can spell now, right Luna?”

  I sighed, walking in step with Moira and turning off Main toward the high school where the soccer fields were set up behind the rusty bus garages. “Yeah, but I still can’t bring myself to say the words.”

  Moira squeezed my shoulder. “Brady loves you. He’s loved you since grade school. He wouldn’t cheat.”

  “I hope you’re right. But don’t tell the other moms, okay? The last thing I need is Queenie gossiping to the other hair dressers, or Blanche telling her brother or my mother-in-law.”

  Moira practically keeled over laughing. “Yeah, I think you’d have better luck with me telling your husband than talking to Blanche.”

  Saige and Henry ran ahead of us, kicking their balls down the small hill until they met up with their team.

  Blanche and Queenie were camped out in folding chairs near the bleachers. Queenie waved when we approached, but Blanche looked down at her manicured nails as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.

  “Hey, ladies,” Queenie exclaimed as we unfolded our chairs next to his. Moira made sure to be on the other side of me and as far away from Blanche as she could be.

  This was getting ridiculous. These girls were older than me and acting like we were all still in high school.

  But I had more important things to worry about than their petty shit. Like Oleander crying just as soon as I sat down.

  Unhooking the strap on my dress, I popped my boob in his mouth and he happily sucked instead of screamed.

  “Did you seriously just whip your boob out at a soccer game?” Queenie stared down at Oleander’s little head.

  “You want my kid to scream the entire time?”

  Queenie sat back in his seat and kept his face forward.

  Blanche finally looked away from her fingernails and gasped. “Luna, put your titties away or at least cover up!”

  She threw a scarf at me, hitting my shoulder and bouncing off on the ground next to Queenie.

  Queenie stood up, turning away from me and waving into the bleachers. “Oh, look, there’s Kathy from the salon!”

  A woman with short, spiky black hair, a very deep tan, and a black shirt reading ‘17’ in big bedazzled letters, stood up and climbed over the bleachers. “Quinn, what are you doing here?”

  Queenie laughed, walking toward her. “Annie’s playing for the Little Beaver’s”

  Kathy offered him a tight-lipped smile. “Cute. Which one is she?”

  Queenie pointed toward Anna, who was sitting on the ground and picking a dandelion as the ball went right past her. “What about yours?”

  Kathy pointed toward the goal where a kid that looked much older than eight, stood in a striped shirt, blocking ball after ball. “That’s my little Greggy.”

  “Little my ass, that kid’s about six five and has more hair on his face than Brady,” I muttered and Moira smacked my arm.

  “It looks like the Little Beavers are going to have some competition today.” Queenie laughed.

  Saige ran over to the sidelines, grabbing his water bottle from the diaper bag and slugging it back.

  I glanced between the two laughing hairdressers to my little boy. He may have only been eight, but I did not pass down my high metabolism and killer left kick for him to embarrass me on the field. If I couldn’t sit and talk about Brady cheating with some Pottery Barn-loving whore, then I was going to put my energy into the game.

  Grabbing the front of Saige’s shirt, I pulled him closer as water dribbled down his chin. “Now you listen to me, Saige, you know you’re the best player on the team. You don’t need to hold back just because your friends aren’t playing. Today you’re going to go out there and you’re going to kick some Dollywood Doll butt!”

  “Momma, did you just say the ‘b’ word?” Saige asked, his tongue getting caught between his missing two front teeth and causing him to lisp.

  I groaned. “Just go out there and win, okay, baby?”

  Saige nodded before turning and running out toward the field where their coach has them gathered in a circle.

  “Do you think Coach Miles is hot? Like in a geeky sexy way?” Moira asked.

  Oleander fell asleep on my boob, so I pulled up my shirt and let him snore against my chest. I looked over in the direction of all of the kids squatting with Miles in the middle.

  He was tall, kind of lanky, and had this hair that swept to the side like some kind of teen pop star with a chiseled jaw. If I was into twenty-five-year-old guys who talked about things like teamwork, maybe I’d find him sexy.

  Maybe Brady found that sexy too.

  “Luna, you’re doing that thing were you scrunch your face too hard. Are you thinking or constipated?” Moira asked.

  “I am not,” I pouted and tried to smile a bit. “I just don’t see the appeal in a guy that has absolutely no idea what he’s doing as a coach.”

  “Just because you’re pissy, doesn’t mean you need to take it out on Miles.”

  I rolled my eyes. “And just because you want to fuck the kids coach, doesn’t mean you need to call me pissy.”

  Before Moira could respond, the referee came onto the field. Of. Fucking. Course.

  Douchey Doug just had to be the ref again for this game.

  Blanche and Moira both straightened in their seats, their jaws clenched.

  At one time, Doug was sex on a stick. Captain of the football team, dating the head cheerleader, Blanche, and had a body that didn’t stop.

  Sometime after he knocked up Moira, and Blanche ran to L.A., I guess he decided to eat his feelings. Not saying being overweight was a bad thing, but when you combined that with a pornstache, a mop of curly, possibly unwashed hair, and an attitude like you’re still the shit: Douchey Doug would always be Douchey Doug.

  The girls and boys all scurried over to their spots in the grass.

  “All right, let’s go Little Beavers!” I yelled, cupping my hands together like a microphone.

  “I just can’t bring myself to cheer for beavers,” Queenie mused, taking a long drink from his mug that smelled like turpentine.

  I sprang to my feet, watching Harry take the ball, then of course lose it when he kicked it in the other direction of the goal and right to the other team. Seriously, the coach only played him because he likes to stare at Moira’s cleavage on the sidelines.

  Saige barreled in, running and kicking faster than I’d ever seen those chicken legs of his move.

  “Go Saige!” I clapped, running down the sideline. Oleander stirred in my Moby, whining against my boobs before he started rooting.

 
“Seriously kid, you just ate,” I muttered, bouncing in place to quiet him while following Saige with my eyes.

  He dribbled right then faked like he’s moving left, before dribbling right around the defenders.

  Then the he-man came out of the goal: Kathy’s freaking ginormous son that makes Saige look like a toddler.

  “Come on, baby, you can take him!” I yelled, much louder than I intended to. Something about the adrenaline from Brady’s possible cheating and the game, had me all hopped up.

  Saige slid, his cleats coming in contact with the goalie’s legs instead of the ball like a regulation slide tackle would, not that one should do that to the goalie, but I was still proud of my baby’s first slide tackle. Too bad the goalie didn’t fair so well.

  The giant fell face first into the grass and when he stood up, blood was dripping from his chin while he sobbed.

  The coaches ran over to the crying behemoth and before I could get to the field, I was spun around and staring into the wide eyes of Kathy.

  She pointed her long ass nails in my face. “What the fuck did your son just do? You never touch the goalie!”

  “Maybe if your son was playing with his correct age group he wouldn’t be such a p-u-s-s-y.”

  Kathy cocked her head to the side and curled her lip. “Did you just seriously call my son a pussy and spell it out?”

  “And what if I did?” I put my hands out to the side.

  I’d only been in one fight in my entire life and that was probably twenty years earlier. I also didn’t have a baby strapped to me at the time, and I just pulled a girl’s hair on the playground then ran like hell.

  “Oh, you’re asking for it, you hippie bitch!” Kathy lunged forward, but Coach Miles was between us, pushing us both back.

  But of course the bean pole could only block so much, because the corner of Kathy’s giant ass bedazzled ring hit my jaw before the other coach could hold her back.

  I grabbed on to my cheek and Moira ran over with a red drink in her hand. “Here, honey put this on to take away the sting.”