Page 39 of Unrivaled

I don’t miss the concerned look my parents exchange as Mom puts the last glass in the dishwasher, closes it, and dries her hands on the towel hanging below the sink.

Sinking into my usual spot at the kitchen table, I take in the familiar sights of our kitchen and the nods to farmhouse decor with the milk and eggs signs hanging on the wall and the rooster napkin holder in the center of the oval table surrounded by matching oak Windsor back chairs. The seat at the end of the table is now Ben’s, his little blue booster seat a permanent fixture there.

I stare at his spot for a moment, imagining dinners at this table without him, and the thought makes my heart clench. How soon will that start? Grayson said he wants to let Ben get comfortable with him before doing one-on-one visits, which is good, obviously. But how long will it take Grayson to decide that Ben’s comfortable enough? And will my opinion matter? What if he decides one play date is enough and wants Ben to spend weekends with him like next week? Does he even have a place for Ben to stay? Where does he live? A week isn’t enough time to get a bed and toys and toddler proof a place, is it? Not with classes and his training schedule and homework. Right? He said he doesn’t have a roommate, so I don’t have to worry about that at least, I guess.

“Tiffany?” Mom’s soft voice interrupts my spiraling thoughts, and she reaches across the table to place her hand on top of mine. “What’s going on?”

Sucking in a deep breath, I look at each of my parents in turn. “Grayson Kilpatrick wants to be involved in Ben’s life.”

Mom just blinks at me, my words not making sense.

Dad stares blankly, equally in shock. Then he jerks his head, his chair scraping on the floor as he pushes it back to stand. He moves behind it, puts both hands on the back and squeezes until his knuckles turn white, his head down.

Folding my hands in front of me, I open my mouth, wanting to say something, but my planned defense flies out of my head, and I can’t find the words.

“Why now?” Mom whispers hoarsely at last. “He left. He pretended he didn’t even know you. Why does he care now?”

Dad throws a hand in Mom’s direction in wordless agreement with her question, his arm shaking with tension.

Clearing my throat, I shake my head. “He says he never knew. Before. His coach didn’t actually talk to him. He had no idea until recently, and now that he knows, he wants to do the right thing.”

Dad snarls. “I should’ve known.” He bangs the heel of his palm on the back of his chair. “That rat-faced, backstabbing bastard. I should’ve known better than to trust him. I should’ve insisted on talking to that damn kid myself.”

Even though his comments are obviously directed more at himself than anyone else, I guess if Dad blames Coach Lawson or himself more than Grayson, at least he won’t try to cut Grayson’s balls off if and when they ever come face to face.

Mom reaches out a hand, and Dad grabs it and gives it a squeeze before letting go to resume pacing. She turns her attention to me, her eyes narrowing as she connects more dots. “Your date tonight. Is that who you were meeting?”

I nod again. “Yes. It wasn’t a date. It was us figuring out how to include him in our life.”

“So he wants to be involved.” Dad sounds resigned.

For some reason that irritates the hell out of me. Shouldn’t they want Grayson to be involved? Isn’t it good? Good for Ben, at the very least, and potentially good for everyone? If he’s around and actually stepping into his role as a parent, that means my parents won’t have to pick up the slack for me nearly as much. They’re starting to talk about retiring. Wouldn’t they enjoy being able to just relax and have the house to themselves rather than helping raise another kid?

Pushing aside my irrational irritation, I keep my voice level, lifting my chin to address my father. “Yes. He does. We already did a paternity test to confirm that he’s the father, so it’s all official and everything.”

“What did you decide?” That’s Mom again, the pragmatic one. I know she’s already contemplating what this means for the childcare schedule.

I fill them in on the gist of our conversation tonight, and Mom pulls out her phone while I’m still talking. “Uh … something important going on, Mom?”

She gives me a pursed lip glare. “I’m looking up family attorneys.”

My stomach clenches and my heart rate picks back up. “Why?” The question comes out sharper than I intend.

“Because,” she says like the answer should be obvious, “whatever you work out needs to be formalized. We need to at least consult an attorney about the legalities and implications before you agree to anything more.”

I open my mouth, because that sounds terrifying, but I close it without speaking.

“She has a good point,” Dad says, sinking back into his chair, now being the quiet, soothing one. “I’m glad that Ben’s dad wants to be involved. While what happened with you certainly lowered my opinion of him, prior to that I thought he seemed like a good kid. Responsible, reliable, steady on the field. But he’s also young and poised to start a career as a professional athlete. It would be in everyone’s best interests for you to have everything in writing, and an attorney can help us decide what type of language and provisions we need to include.” His voice taking on that dark, angry edge again, he continues. “Besides, this way we’ll ensure that he can’t just pretend he doesn’t know you if it’s convenient again.”

Looking down at my hands, I pick at one of my cuticles, blinking away the tears that rise to my eyes unbidden. All of this—confronting Grayson, telling my parents, discussing custody and visitation—is stirring up a lot of emotions, both old and new. The sick, sinking feeling when I was told he pretended not to know me. The fear, the worry, the facing down the unknown. All of that is back in full force. What if he decides to abandon us again? Or, I guess maybe for the first time?

Dad has a point about him leaving soon. He’ll be an absentee father in some capacity no matter what. At least if there’s a formal, legally binding agreement, I know that Ben will get taken care of.

Nodding again, I blow out a slow breath. “That’s a good point.”

We spend a few more minutes looking at potential attorneys and Mom says she’s going to do more research on common custody arrangements. I feel like I should be the one doing that, but for right now I’m feeling overwhelmed enough that I’m happy to let her take the lead. At least if she’s informed, I’ll be able to bounce ideas off her as things evolve.

When we part ways to go to bed, the sick feeling in my gut has mostly subsided, and it’s a relief to know that my parents have my back yet again. Not that I really doubted they would, but sharing big potentially negative news is always nerve racking.

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