Chapter 13 #2
And to think I’d be getting this as often as my schedule allowed.
Breakfast was a blast and messy.
And the morning pretty much continued like that.
A swirl of chaos that left the place looking like a tornado had whizzed through. And that was okay. I’d learned that picking up just one collection of toys and making it a game was the thing to do and that it was okay to ignore the mountain of mess behind us.
That was a “when Mikey napped” problem.
Mom called once, and I received a text from Dylan. Both simply asked if we were having a good day. I liked a lot that they didn’t come right out and ask if I was coping.
After an early lunch, we headed to the playground.
Knowing Mikey tended to have a nap between one and two, it made sense to walk the short distance.
I’d swiped the back carrier should he need a lift, and from the way he tore around the playground that looked more like a kick-ass fort than any sort of playground I had access to as a kid, I figured he’d be needing that ride when we headed home.
“Hey, Mikey.” I managed to swipe him up in my arms as he attempted to zoom past. He squealed and laughed. “It’s time to get going, bud.”
“No.” He squirmed, legit turned into a slippery wriggle monster as he fought to get to the ground.
“’Fraid so, little guy. Home, and then we can play some hoops later.”
Pausing in my arms, Mikey tilted his face to look at me. With his gaze intense and, I was sure, studying me to see if I was bullshitting him, he pursed his lips. Jesus, this kid was the cutest.
“B-ball?”
“Yup. You and me. You can even get your special jersey on.”
Short of offering him candy, only because I’d learned that lesson the hard way, I was absolutely open to bargaining and a little manipulation.
“’Kay.”
Huh. I grinned, proud as punch that it was that easy.
No tantrums. No drama. No blackmail.
I was nailing this parenting gig.
“Let’s get you on my back.”
Not a chance that he’d make the walk back home. It wasn’t a long trip. By myself I could have done it in maybe fifteen minutes. It took us over thirty to get here.
“No baby.” His pouty lip was back.
I held back a grin, saying, “You’re definitely not a baby. That’s the reason why you’re allowed in the carrier. Only big boys can. It’s too high for babies.”
The way he eyed me let me know he wasn’t convinced. Hell if it wasn’t almost identical to the look I received far too often from Dylan.
“You know, from up here, you’re that much closer to the sky. It wouldn’t take much to stretch out and feel the clouds.”
He angled back in my arms to peer up at the blue, practically cloudless sky. I held tight, my heart jolting with how far he threw himself back.
The way he did such things, with no care or thought of consequence, knowing instinctively I wouldn’t let him fall, clenched my gut. It was a hell of a thing, and something I promised to never take for granted.
Returning his gaze to me, he yawned, a big, adorable yawn that reminded me so much of when he was a baby rather than this walking, talking, adventurous toddler.
“Come on, Mikey. Let’s get you strapped in.”
I got to work securing Mikey into the carrier, ensuring the backrest was lifted up as napping was imminent. Once safe, I hauled the carrier carefully onto my back, secured the waist strap, and tightened the arm straps too.
“Ready?” I could just about see his face if I angled my head far enough.
Another yawn and half-lidded eyes. Mikey wouldn’t make it out of the playground before he was snoozing.
The fact that he didn’t answer was another pretty big giveaway.
We weren’t far from the police station—just over the river, in fact. It was tempting to walk in that direction, just to stop by to say hi.
It was kinda weird being back in my hometown and not being with Dylan.
These past few days especially had been incredible, relaxing in a way that I hadn’t felt since I probably last called Zumbrota home.
There was nothing different about our days together, beyond me moving some of my belongings in. It was the normality of it all that made Dylan and I work. It was us being together that settled a deep ache in my gut that I always ignored.
We just fit.
It felt like I was finally home.
Ignoring the fact that this place was where I spent the first eighteen years of my life and was a town I’d visited regularly since I’d been transferred to Minneapolis, each visit had felt odd during those years that Dylan was in Virginia.
My trips here had vastly improved since he’d moved back three years ago. Seeing Dylan so regularly, being able to touch him, laugh and joke face-to-face, bury my nose against his neck and inhale deeply to take his scent with me when I left again, made my world infinitely better.
But under the heavy heartache of losing Paula and all of our struggles dealing with her loss while caring for Mikey, it never quite felt like I was coming home.
There’d been something missing.
And apparently, that was a marriage certificate and the wedding ring I found myself twirling often, usually with a beaming smile.
Walking past the covered bridge, I grinned, thinking of all the times we’d been run off by the police when we were kids.
Too many times to count, a group of us attempted to claim the old bridge for a hangout spot, but we’d never been successful.
Since it pulled the tourists into town, now more than ever it seemed, it wasn’t that much of a surprise that we’d failed.
Instead, we’d headed out to the west of town to sneak in a few beers while playing loud music in our cars.
The spot by the river, though, that had been for just me and Dylan.
Tugging my cap lower and putting my sunglasses on as I stepped closer to the main road and off the park lane, I peeked at Mikey. He was out for the count.
It made sense to head home rather than taking him to see his dad, as much as I missed him. Fully aware I’d made that all about me and how needy I was, I traveled north toward the softball fields instead of spinning on my heels and heading across the bridge.
The quiet road was peaceful. Just the occasional trundling pickup went by. I suspected most folks would be tucked away having their lunch around this time of day. And heading home meant I only passed one person, someone I didn’t recognize.
Though, the more time I spent in Zumbrota, I suspected I would be familiar with most local faces.
By the time I passed the softball field, I slowed my gait. My legs were so long, I’d be back home in no time at all. That would mean Mikey would wake up when I tried to get him out of the carrier.
Only having a fifteen-minute nap wouldn’t cut it.
While this was my first time flying solo, I’d witnessed a couple of times the reality of a tired, grouchy Mikey. The horror stories were aplenty too.
Aware that forty minutes was the glorious sweet spot to make sure he was refreshed and made it to dinner and bath time without melting down, instead of crossing the road, I headed inside the park toward the softball field.
A few young kids raced around the place with their parents in tow, but with school in session, it was quiet.
It made walking the field without interruption easy.
I grinned at a girl who was probably the same age as Mikey as she sped ahead of her mom, dragging a leash wrapped around a football behind her.
“Interesting pet.”
The kid slammed to a stop, grinning as she peered up at me.
“Bertie.”
“Bertie the ball?” I flashed a smile at the amused-looking woman who reached us.
The brunette smirked at her daughter, then at me. “Much safer option than her doing this to a poor dog.”
Amused, I snorted. “Makes sense.”
“I’m hoping she gets all this energy out her system so she crashes like your little one.”
It was on my lips to say I wasn’t his dad. With a flip of my heart, I stopped.
For almost three years, I’d refused to allow myself to think I was anything more than a donor, and nothing more than an uncle. The reality of the moment, the shift, crashed into me.
Somehow I kept my smile light despite the pounding of my heart. “If she keeps racing like she is, it shouldn’t take long. Stops them being cranky and wanting to pass out by five.”
That I knew such things eased some of the tension in my chest, the worried voice that kept telling me I was a fraud.
“Right!” The woman chuckled as her daughter picked up her pet ball and hugged it. “Then awake at 2:00 a.m. thinking it’s playtime.”
“Fetch.” The kid threw her ball with an impressive arm.
My brows shot high. “Damn, definitely not ready for a four-legged pet.”
The kid raced off, and the woman shook her head in amusement. “I best go and catch up before she thinks Bertie needs a bath in the river.”
We said goodbye, and I continued walking toward the river.
The warm late-spring sun pressed on my skin along with a gentle breeze. Life back home, the temperature, the quiet calm of the town, was a million miles away from what it was like when I lived in LA.
Fast and manic had been my constant then. Not only the city but my life.
It had been easy to get pulled into the party scene and the expected lifestyle of a pro athlete. Not going to lie, I’d loved every moment. Lapped up the attention, dove right into every opportunity being a celebrity afforded me.
But glancing at the river ahead, the steady flow of water and the soothing sounds that always calmed something in my chest as I reached the edged, I smiled.
This right here worked for me.
Eight years in the League meant I was blessed.
Over the eight years of playing pro B-ball, I’d been in the starting five almost every single game. My shooting average was high, my rebound count pretty fucking spectacular.
All of that had been made even sweeter when the Minnesota Eagles picked me up. Sure, Dylan had still been in another state, but Paula and my folks had been close by.
Returning to my state had changed everything.
Okay, not quite everything.