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txemrn · 2 years

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Summary: After a nasty run-in with the press, the Daltons spend the day at the twins' soccer tournament; however, fate has a plan of its own.

Word Count: ~1475

Warnings: adult themes; light angst; brief language

A/N: I completely forgot about this fic until we went through our WIPs last week, and I honestly can't remember why I never posted this! I haven't written/released anything TNA in a long time, so this feels good! @sfb123 thank you for helping me with the finishing touches! And @charlotteg234 and @kat-tia801, do y'all even remember this fic? Y'all pre-read it for me last year! lol So ... THANKS! All spelling and grammar mistakes are my own, so please forgive me. All characters and some plots belong to our friends at Pixelberry!

~🖤~

Frantically packing the stack of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches along with the freshly diced carrot sticks, she quickly taps on her phone for the time--and to see if Sam was leaving the office anytime soon. “Mickey! Mason!” She calls out through the penthouse. “We’re going to be late for the first heat of your tournament--”

“Mommy?”

Nearly tripping over her youngest son Matthew, the expectant mom stops to admire the three-year-old’s latest playdough creation. “That looks so good, Matty!" She croons, rubbing his back. "Now put that away for Mommy and wash your hands.”

Her phone begins to ring, jolting her with excitement that maybe her husband was finally tearing away from work. Unfortunately, the name on the screen makes her face drop. “Michael Weston! Mason Warner! Let’s go--” She hits the green button to answer the call with a sardonic, syrupy-sweet voice. “Hi, Vivian, have you left yet?”

“Yes, dear. We should be at the fields--” she begins talking to someone else in the car,“--less than an hour.”

“Sounds perfect--”

“Sam mentioned you may need some help--” the mother-in-law interrupts. “I can have Mason stop by and--”

“No!” She accidentally shouts, but quickly corrects herself. “I mean, no, ma’am. Thank you for the generous offer, but… no.” The mention of her father-in-law makes her stomach uneasy, especially after her husband’s confession that Mason offered Sam the company in exchange for a divorce from her. “We’ll see you two at the soccer fields.”

With a sigh of relief, she hangs up the phone before gathering her picnic basket and beach tote. As she prepares to call for her eight-year-old twins one more time, they suddenly barrel into the kitchen.

“Sorry, Mom,” Mason sweetly apologizes, grabbing a camping chair. “I had a knot in my cleat.”

“But, we got it out,” Mickey proudly chimes in, sliding a Nike knapsack on his back.

“Okay, perfect,” she smiles brightly, guiding all the boys towards the elevator doors. “Mouthguards?”

“Check,” Mickey chuckles.

“Water bottles?”

Mickey takes an obnoxious swig from his chilled water as Mason answers. “Yes, Mom, we’ve got everything.”

She kisses the tops of their heads, ruffling through their soft chestnut waves with her fingers. “You two are growing up too fast. Soon, you won’t even need me--”

“That’s not true,” Mason pipes up.

“Mom, we will always need you,” Mickey wraps an arm around his mom’s shoulder. “Besides,” he lowers his voice, “Dad’s cooking is pretty awful in comparison.”

As they all share a chuckle, they head down to their private car, escorted by building security and Carter, their personal driver. But, the moment the family exited the building, they are blinded by flashes of light from shutterbugs and reporters with microphones.

“Mom, I’m scared!” Matthew cries as she hoists him onto her hip, the men taking her bags and folding chairs. She grips tightly to the older boys, shuffling them quickly into the car.

“Mrs. Dalton! Mrs. Dalton! Over here!"

“Damnit,” she scoffs to herself, buckling up the boys. “It’s okay, guys. Don’t look out the window--” she is quickly interrupted by the brush of a hand on her backside. She abruptly swings around, her open hand colliding with a reporter's cheek.

"Fuck!" He grips his face. "You're gonna be sorry for that, princess--"

"You assaulted me, asshole--" she swivels around, ensuring their belongings are tucked away before she steps into the vehicle.

"Oh! Such a picture of Dalton perfection!" He spits at her. "Such a great example for your kids. Are you sure you can handle one more?"

As she carefully climbs into the sedan, she holds her arm out the window, her middle finger extended as they finally drive off down the street.

"You okay, Mom?" Mason quietly breaks the tension inside the cab.

Offering a cordial smile, she combs a few tresses behind his ear, stroking his cheeks with her thumb. "I should be asking you that," she titters into a sigh. She squeezes Mickey's knee endearingly. "Never, ever forget how much I love you boys--"

"And baby Maggie!" Matthew shouts proudly, placing his chubby hands on his mother's growing bump.

She hugs her arm around Matthew before leaning back. "That's right, Bubba," she slowly exhales in relief. "And Maggie, too." She closes her eyes, relishing the innocence of her boys' chatter. As they draw closer to the soccer fields and closer to her in-laws, a pit grows in her stomach, knowing that her short dealings with the paparazzi will cost her.

Once at the soccer fields, the boys are registered with their team for the day-long tournament. Together, they set up a tent with their fold-out camping chairs and picnic blankets. Sunscreen and bug repellant are carefully applied to each of the boys. As their mother sends them out into their first game, she lays down Matthew with a juice box, hoping that he will rest in order to survive the day without any meltdowns.

She picks up her phone, but of course, there are no alerts from her husband. Putting her phone facedown, she readjusts her short bob into a messy bun before reapplying her Chanel sunglasses. As she begins to sip on an apple juice, a shadow is cast over her body.

“You flicked them off?”

She smirks to herself as she continues to watch the game.

“Baby,” Sam steps behind her chair, pressing his lips into her temple, “did you seriously--?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she grumbles.

“Well, my folks want to talk about it,” he sits down on the blanket next to his resting son, letting out a deep sigh. “Again.”

She pushes her sunglasses onto her head. “What was I supposed to do, baby--?”

“You don’t do anything--you don’t say anything!” He rubs his hands down his face. “Is it that hard for you just to keep your mouth shut?”

“Samuel! He touched me--that’s assault!”

“Are you sure you didn’t--?”

“Of course,” she throws up her hands, interrupting her husband. “It’s my fault.” She stands up, adjusting her sunglasses on her face. “Stop pinning this on me.”

As she begins to take off to get some fresh air, Sam quickly stands up, grabbing her wrist to pull her back to himself. He wraps his strong, comforting arms around her, rocking her back and forth. “Baby, talk to me,” he whispers against her ear.

“I don’t think you know what it’s like to always be under fire with these guys--”

“Um, hello? They are trying to slander my name--”

“--by insulting my character, Sam! By insulting what I’m wearing, what I’m eating, what I feed the boys,” she wipes away a wayward tear. “They took a cheap shot at me today, questioning my capabilities as a mother--”

“Their opinion shouldn’t matter. They don’t even know you.”

“I know, but your parents--”

“Baby,” he silences her, giving her a crooked smile, “they don’t know the real you. The way I know you.”

“They seem to only care about the press--”

“I know, I know.” He tightens his embrace around his wife, pressing his lips against her forehead. “It’s business. It’s the image of the business. And it’s not fair.” He pulls off her sunglasses, dabbing at her wet eyes. “But I know you are remarkable,” he kisses the tip of her nose, making her wince into a smile. “And you’re the only one who can take my breath away--”

“Heads up!”

Suddenly, a soccer ball flies over the young Daltons’ heads, quickly heading towards a duck pond. Sam takes off, chasing after the ball, hoping to stop it before it hits the water. But, luckily, someone else is there to stop it for him.

“Oh, God, thank you so--” he freezes as a young, petite woman with stormy blue eyes and long almond waves steps forward, offering him the soccer ball.

“Mr. Dalton?”

“Yeah, um,” he clears his throat, shaking the shocked look from his face. “I’m sorry, um,” he titters awkwardly, “do I know you?”

“Oh!” She giggles, offering a bright smile. “I know it must be hard keeping up with all of your employees. My name is Brynn. Brynn Schuyler. I work in your laboratory department--”

“With Evan, right!” He blushes, running his fingers through his hair. “Well, it’s wonderful meeting another beautiful face– I mean, face… um, I mean, meeting another employee from Dalton--”

“Sam?” The all-too-familiar voice of his wife startles him from behind as she gently caresses his lower back. Sam quickly pulls her forward, draping his arm around her shoulders. Though she smiles kindly, her chocolate brown eyes narrow in on the young coed.

“Oh, this is Brynn,” he nervously gestures for the women to meet with a chuckle, “Brynn Schuyler from the lab. And this is my... um, this is…”

“Addison.” Mrs. Dalton raises an irritated eyebrow, sticking out her hand for a cordial hand-shake. “His wife.”

~🖤~

A/N 2: If you're new here, hi! Just in case you are wondering what just happened, my MC's name is Brynn Schuyler, and I decided to write this one-shot kinda like a "what if" type situation... what if the subway accident never happened? Were Sam and Brynn still destined to meet? Here's how it might've happened...

~🖤~

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