Page 4 of Crossed Up

I snicker, knowing how much we all love that damned dog. Finnegan is a massive grey Newfoundland and the sweetest thing ever, but the big oaf doesn’t know his own size when it comes time to show affection. I swear I nearly leave with a pancake for a son every time we make a trip over to the Gray house.

The reminder of Finn makes me realize I need to text Wren before we head over, so I pull out my phone after getting Crew buckled into his car seat.

Me

Y’all busy or can Crew and I come by?

Future Mrs. Gray

Never too busy for you! Rho is at a brand meeting, so it’s just me and Finny. Everything okay?

Me

Nanny crisis. Sending up the bat signal.

Future Mrs. Gray

I have beer and takeout menus

Me

You’re a saint. You sure you still wanna marry Rhodes?

Future Mrs. Gray

I mean… pretty sure.

Her response earns a chuckle from me. I only ever flirt with her to ruffle my Rhodes’s feathers, but she really is a saint of a woman. I can’t even count the number of times Wren has rescued me from a babysitting bind, even going so far as getting her dad, Archie, to watch him if I was really stuck.

I never planned on raising Crew by myself, but every second has been worth it. The kid is my clone in every way. Not a drop of his egg donor’s looks or personality has shown itself in him yet.

Thank the good Lord for that.

Crew’s biological mother, Mia, was a one-night stand gone wrong in every possible way. Just before the start of my rookie year six years ago, I was drunk off my ass and drowning in emotions after losing my father, so I numbed the feelings in any way I could. Mia just happened to fit the bill for a mindless bar hookup.

Seven months later, she showed up on my apartment stoop visibly pregnant after coming clean about the baby and being kicked out by her parents.

Mama nearly tanned my hide when I called her in a panic because I had a pregnant girl sobbing on my couch, but she got on board real quick when she realized how bad off Mia was. Crew was born only a week later, two months early.

Thankfully, other than being underweight and in withdrawal, he miraculously didn’t have any lasting issues from his mother’s drug and alcohol use during her pregnancy.

I didn’t know about any of that until his NICU blood tests came back positive for opioids, and Mia disappeared from the hospital without a trace. I always worried she might come back and try to take him, but shortly after his second birthday, her parents notified us she had died in a drunk driving accident.

Her death reminded me so much of my father’s that I would have spiraled had I not had my son to take care of. It’s been just me and Crew his entire life and although I wouldn’t change it for anything, I’m so goddamn lonely.

“Daddy, are you gonna drive, or are you havin’ a moment?” Crew’s sweet little twang hits my ears and I smile fondly. Raising a kid on your own is hard, but adding in the stress of a professional sports schedule and inconsistent childcare, I’ve been in over my head for a long time.

When he got older and started noticing my emotions, I tried to explain the concept of being overwhelmed. What came out of my mouth was that sometimes people need “moments” just to be quiet and sit still when their feelings get too big.

At the time, I felt like I was fucking up the explanation of something I so desperately needed, but my sweet toddler took the idea and ran with it. He now freely offers moments to anybody and everybody he thinks is struggling, and pride threatens to bust my chest open every single time.

Gathering my wits, I glance at his concerned expression in the rearview mirror. “I was having a moment, my little raptor, but I’m ready to go if you are!”

I’m ashamed to admit I was an emotionally stunted asshole for much longer than I’m proud of, even after Crew was born. That changed fast when my best friend and teammate Copeland all but kicked my ass into therapy, saying he heard somewhere it would help me be a better father and friend.

The pot calling the kettle black if you ask me.

The drive to our friend’s house is only a few minutes, so before I know it we’re parked in their spacious driveway with a furry behemoth fogging up my little raptor’s window with his slobbery breath. Wren comes running out of the house after her bear of a dog, face bright with laughter as she whips open the back door of my truck.

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