Page 95 of Hooked On Them

I lowered myself onto the opposite end of the couch, maintaining what felt like an appropriate distance for a strange adult and a child who clearly thought I might be an axe murderer.

A full minute of silence stretched between us, broken only by the cap of a pen being removed with meticulous care.

“So...” I tried, immediately regretting opening my mouth. “Whatcha drawing?”

Laney glanced up, assessing whether I was worthy of a response. After a beat, she turned her notebook toward me. “The Christmas tree with everybody.”

The drawing was surprisingly good for a kid her age, or at least I thought so, though my experience with children’s art was limited to the crayon scribbles fans sometimes handed me after games. The tree dominated the page, decorated with multicolored blobs. Around it stood stick figures of varying heights, each labeled in wobbly letters.

“That’s Daddy.” She pointed to a tall figure. “And Josie.” A smaller figure holding hands with the tall one. “And Nora with the baby in her tummy.”

My eyes fixed on the stick figure with a round circle protruding from its middle. Something thick and hot lodged in my throat.

“Josie said the baby is growing, but it’s still really tiny,” Laney informed me solemnly. Her small finger moved to another figure. “That’s you.”

I stared at the stick person she indicated, which was right beside Nora, one stick arm connected to hers. “Me?”

“Mm-hmm.” She picked up a blue glitter pen and began adding something to the tree. “Josie said you play hockey. Do you like to color?”

The abrupt change of subject gave me conversational whiplash. “Uh, I haven’t colored much since I was a kid.”

Laney stopped, looking at me with genuine concern. “You don’t color?” The horror in her voice suggested I’d admitted to not drinking water or breathing air.

“Not recently.”

She reached into a small backpack beside her and pulled out a coloring book featuring cartoon characters I didn’t recognize. After flipping through several pages with critical concentration, she handed it to me along with a green glitter pen. “You can do the tree. Stay in the lines.”

The authority in her tiny voice was so reminiscent of Nora that I almost laughed. Instead, I took the paper and pen, moving onto the floor in front of the coffee table. “Yes, ma’am.”

We colored in companionable silence, the Christmas movie and kitchen sounds creating a peaceful backdrop. I relaxed into the simple task, carefully filling in the cartoon tree while sneaking glances at Laney’s intense concentration.

Her little hands moved methodically, switching colors with careful consideration. There was a hint of nervousness beneath her calm. She glanced up often, concern on her face until she spotted her dad in the kitchen.

In six months, there would be an even smaller person around. My person. A tiny human depending on me in ways I wasn’t remotely convinced I could handle.

“Are you the daddy?” The question hit me like a slap shot to the chest. I looked up to find Laney watching me, her eyes serious and curious.

“Uh...” I fumbled, the glitter pen frozen mid-stroke. “I’m... well...”

What was the right answer here? Yes, I’m the father, but we’re pretending Miles is? No, but technically, yes? Sorry, kid, it’s complicated because Nora is in a relationship with multiple men?

Panic clawed up my throat. I spotted a candy cane on the coffee table and grabbed it like a lifeline. “Hey, want a candy cane?”

Laney’s eyes lit up as she nodded, seemingly forgetting her question entirely as she accepted the striped treat.

My hands trembled slightly as I resumed coloring, but the moment had shifted something inside me. The weight of what was coming pressed down until my chest was tight, air coming in shallow bursts.

“I need to get some air.” I set down the pen and stood. “Be right back, okay?”

Laney nodded without looking up, already engrossed in her next picture.

I slipped out the back door onto the patio, gulping in the crisp night air. The ocean stretched dark and vast before me as I walked to the railing, the rhythmic sound of waves a counterpoint to my racing heart.

I’m going to be someone’s father.The thought crashed over me repeatedly, each wave bringing fresh terror. My own dad had been a prime example of how to mess up your kid. Demanding, critical, never satisfied. Hockey had been his religion, and I’d never been devout enough.

What if that poison was in my blood? What if, despite my best intentions, I turned into him?

Someone cleared their throat from behind me, and I tensed as Brett came to stand next to me, handing me a bottle of beer. “I saw you head out here when I came upstairs to grab one.”

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