Page 10 of Game Changer
I nod, trying to read between the lines of his question. "It's home," I say simply. "Tyler's school is great, and we have friends there."
"Mom's friend Anne babysits me sometimes," Tyler adds, his face now thoroughly smeared with chocolate. "She makes the best quesadillas ever."
"Better than mine?" I ask, pretending to be offended.
"Yours are good too," he says, making both David and me laugh.
It's a strange sensation, this shared moment of parental amusement. For four years, I've been the only one to witness Tyler's personality unfold, the only one to take pride in his kindness, his humor, his stubborn determination. Having someone else—not just someone, but his father—share in that feels both right and disorienting.
"So, what now?" I ask David quietly while Tyler focuses on saving his rapidly melting cone.
"I meant what I said about the spare room," he says. "It's just sitting there empty. You two could stay as long as you need."
"I don't think that's a good idea," I say, keeping my voice low. "Tyler's getting attached already. If we stay with you, then leave..."
"Then don't leave," he says, an edge of desperation in his voice. "At least not right away. Give me a chance to be part of his life."
I search for signs of the old David, the one who made promises he couldn't keep, whose dreams always came before everything else. But all I see is a man terrified of losing something precious he's only just discovered.
"My job—"
"You can find a job here," he interrupts. "I'll help with expenses until you do. Please, Mia. I've missed four years. Don't make me miss more."
Before I can respond, Tyler tugs on my sleeve, his ice cream gone, face a sticky mess. "Can Dad come back to our room and see my action figures? I want to show him my football team."
The hope in his eyes is impossible to resist. "If he wants to," I say, glancing at David.
"I'd love to," David says immediately.
I pull wet wipes from my purse, a mother's essential, and clean Tyler's hands and face while he squirms impatiently. When I'm satisfied he won't stick to everything he touches, I stand up.
"We took the bus here, but we can catch another one back to the motel," I say.
"I have my car," David offers. "I can drive you."
The practical side of me wants to accept: no waiting for the bus, no walking six blocks from the stop to the motel in the afternoon heat. But another part hesitates, reluctant to be further indebted to him.
"Please, Mom?" Tyler asks. "Can we ride in Dad's car?"
And there it is. *Dad*. The word slips so easily from his lips, as if David has always been in his life rather than for less than two hours. I wonder if he even understands what it means, or if he's just excited to have a new person paying attention to him.
"Sure," I say, giving in. "We can ride with Dad."
David's car is not what I expected. Given his NFL salary, I'd imagined something flashy and impractical—a Ferrari or a Lamborghini. Instead, it's a sensible SUV, clean but not ostentatious.
"Do you have a car seat for him?" I ask as we approach it.
David's face falls. "I... no. I didn't think about that."
Of course he didn't. He's been a father for less than 24 hours.
"He can use the normal one this once," I decide, not wanting to dampen the mood. "But we'll need to get one if..." I stop myselfbefore completing the thought. *If this continues. If you're going to be in his life regularly.*
"I'll order one today," David promises, opening the back door for Tyler, who climbs in with excitement.
"Your car is so clean!" he exclaims. "Mom's car has cheerios all over the back seat, even though I'm supposed to eat them at the table."
"Tyler," I warn, embarrassed by the comparison.
