Page 15 of Tight End

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 icecream. “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 getso 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 anythingelse. 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.

SEVEN

June

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