Page 15 of Game Changer
We talk for a few more minutes, Michael promising to keep my news confidential until I'm ready to tell our other brothers. When we hang up, I sit for a moment, letting his words sink in.
Proud. Someone is proud of me, not for throwing touchdowns or winning games, but for trying to be a good father. For fighting against the alcohol that's had me in its grip for months.
The realization gives me a burst of energy. I check the time—9:45. I told Mia I'd come by around 11. That gives me just enough time to shower, shave, and pull myself together before seeing Tyler again.
The bathroom mirror reflects a man I barely recognize. Pale, exhausted, with dark circles under my eyes. But beneath the physical evidence of last night's struggle, there's something new in my expression. Determination, maybe. Or hope.
I shower thoroughly, letting hot water wash away the sweat and despair of the night before. As I shave, I think about what to do with Tyler today. The park again? Maybe a movie? What do four-year-old boys like to do?
I have so much to learn about being a father. So much to learn about my own son.
Clean and dressed in fresh clothes, I feel almost human again. The craving for alcohol is still there, a persistent whisper rather than last night's scream, but manageable for now. I pour myself a glass of orange juice instead, forcing down a piece of toast to settle my stomach.
Before leaving, I look around my apartment with new eyes. If Mia and Tyler are going to stay here—and God, I hope they will—there's work to be done. The spare room needs cleaning, the fridge needs actual food, the secret stash needs to go.
One step at a time, I remind myself. Today, I just need to keep my promise to Tyler. To show up. To be present. To be his dad.
As I grab my keys and head for the door, I realize I'm nervous. Not the bone-deep dread of last night's withdrawal, but the fluttery anticipation of seeing someone who matters. Someone who might, if I don't screw this up, come to love me simply because I'm his father.
For the first time in longer than I can remember, I have something to live for beyond my next drink. Someone to live for.
My son.
Chapter 6 - Mia
"Mom, is it time yet?" Tyler asks for the fifth time in as many minutes, peering out the motel window for any sign of David's SUV.
"Not quite, honey," I say, checking my watch. 10:45. Still fifteen minutes before David is supposed to arrive.
I've barely slept, torn between practical concerns and emotional ones. The practical: How would we afford to stay in town if I'm not working? What about Tyler's preschool? Our apartment in San Diego?
The emotional: Is David really committed to sobriety and fatherhood, or is this just the initial excitement that will fade when reality sets in?
Tyler bounces from the window to the bed and back again, his energy boundless. He's been up since six, talking non-stop about what he wants to do with his dad today.
"Do you think Dad knows how to play catch with a real baseball? Bobby's dad taught him, and I want to learn too. And maybe we could go to the zoo! Do they have a zoo here? San Diego has the best zoo in the whole world, that's what my teacher said."
"I'm sure there's a zoo," I say, smoothing his cowlick for the dozenth time. "But maybe we should see what your dad has planned before we make suggestions."
"Okay," Tyler agrees, though I can tell he's already formulating his pitch for whatever activity he's set his heart on.
A car door slams outside, and Tyler races back to the window. "He's here! Dad's here!"
Before I can stop him, he's flung open the motel room door and is running across the parking lot. I follow quickly, relieved tosee David crouching down to catch Tyler in a hug. He's dressed nicely in jeans and a button-down shirt, hair still damp from a shower, but something seems off. As I get closer, I notice the dark circles under his eyes, a certain tension in his posture.
"Good morning," I say, studying him, "You okay?"
"Yeah, just didn't sleep well," he says with a tight smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Too excited about today, I guess."
I don't believe him for a second, but I'm not going to call him out in front of Tyler, who's already tugging on David's hand, leading him back toward our room.
"Come see my dinosaurs, Dad! I didn't show you yesterday 'cause we were playing football, but I have a T-Rex that roars when you push his back, and a triceratops that's missing one horn because I accidentally stepped on him, but he's still really cool."
David allows himself to be pulled along, listening as Tyler continues his dinosaur inventory. I follow, wondering what really kept David up last night. The obvious answer sends a chill through me—withdrawal. I've seen it before with my uncle who struggled with alcoholism for years. The shakes, the sweats, the sleepless nights.
Is that what David's going through? And if so, is he doing it alone?
Inside the room, Tyler immediately dumps out his backpack of toys onto the bed, searching for his dinosaur collection. David sits on the edge of the mattress, as if he's afraid of breaking something or himself.
