6. Ryan
SIX
Ryan
He comes first . Of course. He should.
That’s what dads do. Not mine, of course, but the good ones.
Now I need to figure out what something like that looks like with my career. It’s going to be an adjustment, that’s for sure. Football’s been my whole life for as long as I can remember. I’ve been lucky. Thanks to the sperm my dad donated, the sport has always come easy for me, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t worked hard and made sacrifices to get where I am today.
I’ve busted my ass day and night to be the best I can be, or at least better than my piece-of-shit father and my other half brother, Anders Kingsley, who doesn’t know I exist.
My brother had the last name, the legacy. He was the one who had a loving and supportive dad in his corner every step of his career.
And fuck.
Every interview, every article splashed across the papers about his perfect family, was a knife twisting in my gut .
I didn’t have any goddamned legacy, and the only last name I had was my own. My career is built on my own blood, sweat, and tears, not handed down to me by some asshole with virile swimmers and a wandering dick.
Since I signed my first contract, I’ve done nothing but strive to be better than the two of them, proving to myself and the world I can do this without his support. I have my mom, my teammates, and my half brother Dean.
And now I have a son.
A son who will know his father, who won’t suffer like I did. Who won’t spend countless sleepless nights wondering what he did wrong, wondering if he’s unlovable, and hoping that if he was good enough, if he tried a little harder, his dad would love him.
For years I lived that life, and I can promise that’s not the legacy I’m passing to my son. I won’t.
I take a deep breath and turn off my car, running my hands around the steering wheel and staring up at that ranch-style house I bought my mom with my first big paycheck. The two-story home I grew up in was nearly impossible for her to navigate, and I felt better knowing she wasn’t still living in the house he bought her to keep her quiet.
The sun dips below the horizon, and the streetlight above me turns on, illuminating my car in pale-yellow light.
It’s getting late, but she’s still up. If she wasn’t, the lights in her living room would be off.
Still, maybe I should just go home and spend the night staring at my ceiling, because there’s no way I’ll be able to sleep until I know for sure if I’m Oliver’s dad.
The page Oliver gave me is sitting on the passenger seat, and I glance over at it, running my fingers over the brightly colored dinosaur, tracing the rays of color that are very much outside the lines.
Being a parent is a full-time responsibility .
Can I do it? Can I be the father Oliver needs?
I may not be ready to be a father, but it’s a responsibility I won’t take lightly. And fuck me—I feel like I’ve missed so much.
I wasn’t there for June’s entire pregnancy. I missed his birth. I missed the first three years of his life, and while he has so many years ahead of him, I’ll never be able to get those moments back. How old was he when he started crawling? When he walked for the first time? Was he fussy when his first tooth came in? What made him smile for the first time? Laugh? What was his first word? First toy?
While not being there wasn’t by choice, I’ve got some time to make up for, and I ... I need some advice because I’m terrified.
I slip out of my car and make my way up my mom’s front porch, noting the loud creak in the top step, which will need to be fixed.
I don’t expect you to immediately jump into Oliver’s life. This is a big decision, and I want you to be sure before you commit to being his dad. I need you to be sure .
With a heavy sigh, I rest my head against my mom’s bright-red front door, my hands braced against the frame. Fuck. I really should turn around and go the fuck home, wallow in self-doubt, and take the paternity test first thing in the morning so it can tell me what I already know—that Oliver is mine.
Not only do I believe June, but after seeing Oliver, there’s no denying what’s clear as day .
But still, without confirmation, should I be spilling everything to my mom?
She has enough on her plate without adding my insecurities on top of all the health issues she’s dealing with.
The door opens suddenly, and if it weren’t for my grip on the doorframe, I’d have fallen face-first into the small foyer.
“Were you planning on coming in for dessert or hanging out on my porch all night?” She places a finger on my chin and forces me to meet her gaze. Her smirk falls from her face, and she squints as she studies me, the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth getting deeper the more she frowns. “Come on. Let’s get some pie in you, and then you can tell me what’s got you so upset.”
“Who says I’m upset?” I push away from the doorframe and give her the biggest fake smile I can muster. “I’m perfectly fine.”
She gives me a look, one that clearly says I’m full of shit, and points her cane in my direction. I immediately take a step toward her as she wobbles on her feet, but her look morphs into irritation. “Don’t you dare. Just because I need this cane doesn’t mean I can’t take care of myself. My legs are just tired, not useless.”
“Mom.”
“I’m perfectly fine. You’ve done enough for me over the years. Now come on. I didn’t get up to watch you stand on the porch all night.”
Without waiting for a response, she turns and leads the way to the kitchen. Her steps are slow, and the cane tells me she’s feeling more fatigue in her legs than usual. I can only hope this is a small flare-up with her MS and not something that’s going to turn into a longer-lasting episode .
Unfortunately, with relapsing-remitting MS, symptoms can worsen for days or months before getting better. Between her avid cycling and the personal trainer I’ve hired for her, she stays active most days, and so far we’ve managed to hold off progression of the disease. Doesn’t keep me from worrying, though.
MS is scary and can quickly take a bad turn, one that she may not recover from.
And here I am worrying about how I’m going to balance football with being a dad. My problems are trivial compared to the shit she’s facing, and here I am burdening her even more.
I should go. I really should.
“Sit down, Ryan.”
Almost immediately I’m ass in chair. I know better than to protest when she uses her mom tone. I spent a lot of my teenage years finding out exactly what happened when I crossed her, and it was never in my favor. While she may not be able to take away my phone or ground me for weeks at a time, she can still be disappointed, and we all know that’s so much worse.
She slides two pieces of her homemade brownie pie, each with a generous scoop of vanilla ice cream, across the island and takes a seat next to me. Her cane splits the distance between us, and I can’t help but stare at it for several seconds.
“How bad is it today?” I shove a large bite of pie in my mouth and can’t help the loud moan it elicits. I’m not sure what she puts in this thing, but it’s hands-down the best pie I’ve ever had. She says it’s love, but I’m pretty sure the correct answer is drugs.
She takes a bite of her own, letting the silence build between us. Luke Combs’s “Hurricane” plays on the radio. The volume is low, but I can still make out every word, and they resonate deep in my chest. My whole world is about to change, and I’m powerless to stop it.
“My right leg is a little weak today, but nothing compared to a real bad day. I know you worry about me, but I’m fine.” She turns my way, raising a brow, and points her fork right at me. “What’s bothering you? And don’t you dare tell me it’s nothing. I may be old, but I’m not stupid. We just had dinner last night. You came here for a reason, and I don’t think it was for another piece of pie.”
With a nod, I sigh, sinking down in my chair. I should’ve planned a speech or something. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck . “I, uh ... I’m not sure how to tell you this.”
She places a gentle hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. Come on, it can’t be that bad.”
“I, uh ... there’s a good chance I have a son.”
Her gasp is sharp, her gaze questioning. She doesn’t say anything, at least not at first. My words hang heavy around us, and I’m sure it’s as much of a shock to her as it was to me. She takes her time, letting it sink in, letting it process. Or at least I’m assuming.
Hell, I’m not sure I’ve fully processed yet. I have a son .
Mom clears her throat, opens her mouth, but swiftly closes it. She stares at me, blinking a few times before she takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. “I’m going to need you to explain.”
I huff a laugh, running my fingers through my hair and gripping the back of my neck. “Well, you see, when a man and a woman?—”
“Don’t you dare give me the birds-and-the-bees talk, Ryan Alexander Devlin. You better start talking and make it fast.”
“No judgment? ”
“No guarantee.”
I give her another nod, clasping my hands together on top of the cool granite. “There was a girl, her name is June, and we met about four years ago. We were at a bar and, you know, one thing led to another.”
She holds up a hand. “I don’t need those kinds of details.”
“Well, I hadn’t seen her since and ran into her outside the stadium today, and she was carrying a three-year-old boy. You should have seen him, Mom. He looks just like me as a toddler.”
“How can you be sure he’s yours? No offense, but if she was sniffing outside the stadium, he could belong to anyone. And why didn’t she reach out to you before? Why now? Why not when she found out she was pregnant?”
“Well ... I ...” Heat crawls up my neck and I tug at my collar. “She might have had no idea who I was and had no way of contacting me. She wasn’t at the stadium looking for me; she was there to deliver Brooks’s divorce papers. She was as surprised to see me as I was her.”
She clucks her tongue, pursing her lips while she assesses me. “You slept with her but didn’t think she should know your name? Good Lord Almighty, Ryan. I thought I raised you better than that.”
I wince because yeah, she did. “I know. Trust me, Mom, it’s not my finest moment.”
“I’d say.” She shakes her head, that fork pointing back at me. “But first you need to ask for a paternity test.”
“That was the first thing she offered. I’m going to his doctor first thing in the morning to get swabbed.”
“Oh. She wouldn’t offer if?—”
“If she wasn’t sure. Yeah. That’s what I thought too.” I take another bite of pie, making sure to load up with ice cream. “You should have seen him, Mom. He has my eyes, my lips ... and he loves dinosaurs. He’s a little quiet, but you can tell he’s taking in everything. He’s a thinker.” I pause, tapping my fork against the side of the plate. “I know I shouldn’t jump the gun until the test comes back, but when it does? What do I do? What if I’m no better than him? What if I’m a terrible father? What if I can’t do it?”
Her brows practically raise to her hairline. “The fact that you’re asking me those questions tells me you’re going to be just fine. You care, Ryan, and that already makes you different from your dad. You show up, you try your best, and you make sure he knows how much you love him. That’s all you can do. And as much as I hate to admit it, you’ve been looking out for me since my diagnosis. Anytime I needed help or you thought I needed help, you were there.”
“It’s not the same, Mom. This is different.”
“Is it?”
Well, she has a fair point. I’ve found time to take her to countless doctor appointments and therapy sessions, and I’ve made sure I was around to help her with anything that needed to be done around her house. I helped her with her hair, her shoes, and I made her food when she could barely stand.
“You don’t think it matters that I missed the first three years of his life?”
“No.” She gives me a pointed look and sighs, shifting in her chair to face me. “I hate to break it to you, but he won’t remember. Just make sure to give him plenty of moments he does.”
“And if I get traded at the end of the season?”
“Then you worry about it at the end of the season. Don’t go finding problems. You’ve got enough of them right now.”
“When did you get so wise?”
She scoffs, waving me off. “I’ve always been full of sage wisdom, you were just too young to appreciate it.”
I laugh, shaking my head and finishing off the pie. “His name is Oliver. Oliver Patrick. I can’t wait for you to meet him.”
“And June?” Her brows raise again, this time nearly skirting her hairline.
I do my best to give her a pointed look, but that look never once falls from her face. “Don’t get any ideas, Mom. June and I will have to figure out co-parenting, and I’m not in any position to have a relationship.”
“You know I want to see you happy.” She pauses, her gaze flitting across us to the fridge, and I know I’m not going to like what she’s going to say next. “Caitlin would want you to be happy.”
Nope. Not a fan. That’s the one topic that’s been off-limits since ... since it happened, and she knows that. I’m not sure why she’s pushing tonight, why she’s bringing her up after all this time. It’s not like I ever stop thinking about her, like I ever could. Eventually, I’ll have to face what happened instead of keeping it all locked away, but not tonight. Not right now. “Mom.”
“What? I’m your mother, I’m allowed to worry about you.”
“Well, I’m fine. It’s all fine.”
“Pfft. Don’t be so dramatic.” She waves her hand in my general direction, giving me a small smile before her lips tilt into a frown. “It’s been seven years. You can’t pretend your past didn’t exist when it suits you. She’d want you to move on. She’d want you to be happy.”
“Football makes me happy, Mom, and now I have Oliver. I don’t need anything else. I won’t have time for anything else. We’re done talking about this tonight.” And every other night.
“Fine. I’ll respect that.” For now. She may not have said that out loud, but it’s implied. I know my mother, and there’s no way she’s going to let this drop. She’s bringing it up for a reason, and while I may not know what it is, she won’t stop until she gets what she wants.
Which will never happen.
I can be a dad. I can be a football player.
But I will never belong to someone. Not again.