Chapter 27 #2
I want to spray that stuff in her hair that gets rid of tangles. I want to go to school conferences and take her out for ice cream when she comes home sad that the girls were mean to her.
I want to be there for her.
He’d followed the advice of this man his entire career, and it had served him well.
Decker’s gaze drifted back toward the wall of trophies and felt nothing. “I don’t think I’m split at all.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. You’ve got brothers, a dad, a nanny. You’ve got a whole system in place for her—”
“She doesn’t need a system, Zach. She needs a dad.” The revelation hit with perfect clarity. “I want to be her dad.” His gaze was fixed on the Super Bowl rings in a case. He set his glass down. “I need to get home. Birdie has bad dreams sometimes.”
“The nanny’s there, right? She’s got her.”
“The nanny could quit tomorrow, and then who would Birdie have? She needs to count on me.” He swallowed hard.
“She needs a family.” And if I have to move to New York City to make us one with Willa, I’ll do that.
Because that’s what matters. “I used to think being the best quarterback was the most important work I could do in this life. But it’s not.
It’s being the best father, the best husband, the best man I can be. ”
“Slow down, okay?” Zach hurried after him. “Look, I know it’s a lot. It’s a huge adjustment, but you’re not going to give up everything you’ve worked so hard for.”
His hand on the doorknob, he turned to face his mentor.
Peace flooded him. “Thank you, Zach. You’ve been a great friend and mentor.
I wouldn’t be where I am today without your guidance.
But if scoring a touchdown with four seconds left doesn’t hit me the way teaching my daughter to tie her shoes does, then I shouldn’t be leading that team. ”
“It stinky.” Birdie waved a hand in front of her face, her nose scrunching up.
“It’s a locker room.” Decker hitched his daughter higher on his hip as he entered. It all hit him in a rush. All the years spent in this room, bonding, arguing, pumping the guys up.
The noise before a game, guys talking over each other, music blasting. The arguments. The laughs. The speeches that hit, and the ones that didn’t. The way they’d walk out together, locked in.
As he headed down the row, he glanced into a few open lockers. Photos taped inside. Wives, girlfriends, kids in tiny jerseys. One had a crayon drawing, another had a photo of a truck, probably the one his teammate hoped to buy after his next contract.
Little pieces of a life that waited for them when they walked out of here.
Decker stopped at his locker and opened it.
No photos.
A laminated stat sheet from his breakout season, edges worn from being handled too many times. A couple of newspaper clippings. Zach’s cap on the top shelf. His number written on a strip of tape inside the door, replaced every season but never taken down.
He pulled the cap down and turned it over in his hand for a second before setting it in his bag.
Football had given him structure when he didn’t have any. Control when everything else had been chaos. It had taken a scared kid and given him rules to follow, something to work toward.
It had done exactly what he’d needed it to do.
He reached into the locker and started packing. Cleats first, then his gloves. Practice jerseys. His quarterback notebook, pages bent and marked from years of use. A spare mouthguard he’d forgotten about at the bottom.
“Daddy.”
He glanced down. Birdie held up Moo, her stuffed moose, along with a pink ribbon. “Tie, pease.”
“Hang on a sec, sweetheart.” He shifted her on his hip and zipped one side of the bag.
Voices echoed from the doorway, then cut off.
“Deck, my man. What’s goin’ on?”
“The Machine.”
He turned.
“Is it bring your kid to work day?” one of them asked, grinning.
“Something like that,” Decker said.
They stepped closer, eyes flicking to the bag.
“You good? We heard—”
“I’m good.” He met their gaze. “I’m done.”
They both blinked.
“What do you mean, done?”
“I’ve officially retired.” Words he never imagined saying. It was wild. Inconceivable.
And yet, it was so right.
“What’re you talking about?”
“You can’t be serious. This is a joke, right?”
“C’mon, man.” One of them dropped his bag on the bench. “You gotta give us one more season.”
“Jenkins isn’t taking us all the way,” the other added. “You know that. You gotta give us one more year. One more ring, man.”
A few weeks ago, he would’ve been right there with them, chasing the glory. He’d wanted to earn more Super Bowl rings than anyone else. But now? He didn’t care.
“Daddy.” Birdie wiggled, pushing Moo and the ribbon up toward his face. “Tie?”
He looked down at her, knowing nothing else mattered but her happiness. “Here.” He set his foot on the bench, perched her on his knee, and wrapped the ribbon around Moo’s neck and tied it, careful to double-knot it so it wouldn’t slip. “There you go.”
Even after Fifi had shown up in the mail, she’d still preferred Moo. He liked that.
She grinned, satisfied, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. A deep sense of satisfaction flooded him, and he smiled back at her.
His teammates continued talking, encouraging him to stay one more season.
“I’m sorry, guys. I don’t want to let you down, but I’ve got different priorities now.” He slung the bag over his shoulder. “I’ll be rooting for you.”
They watched him leave, their eyes wide, like they couldn’t understand.
But they didn’t have to.
Decker turned and walked out, Birdie’s arms wrapped around his neck, Moo clutched tight between them.
He knew exactly where he was going, and he couldn’t wait to get there.