Page 19 of Game Changer
I carry Tyler through the doorway of my apartment. The weight is nothing compared to what I'm used to lifting in training, but there's a different kind of pressure here: the precious burden of trust, of responsibility.
"I'm putting him on my bed," I whisper to Mia as she follows me inside. "It's the room on the left."
I'd half-expected them to come, half hadn't, so I'd done a hasty cleanup this morning—gathering empty bottles, throwing out takeout containers, opening windows to air out the lingering smell of stale alcohol. The place isn't spotless, but it's presentable. Just normal athlete messy. Some weights in the corner of the living room, sports magazines stacked on the coffee table, a few dishes in the sink.
Mia looks around as we pass through the living room, and I try to see my home through her eyes. It's a nice place. High ceilings, great views, expensive furniture I barely use, but impersonal. No photos on the walls, no mementos beyond a few game balls and trophies. Not really a home, just somewhere I've been existing.
My bedroom is more of the same. King-sized bed dominating the space, dresser, TV mounted on the wall. I lay Tyler down gently on the mattress, his small body barely making a dent in the center of the bed.
"He's out cold," I whisper as Mia pulls off his shoes. "Museum wore him out."
"He'll sleep for an hour, maybe two," she says, brushing hair from Tyler's forehead with a tenderness that makes my chest ache. "He fights naps, but once he's down, he's down hard."
We back out of the room quietly, leaving the door cracked so we can hear if he wakes. In the hallway, Mia pauses, glancing toward the spare room I mentioned yesterday.
"Is that...?" she asks.
"Yeah, that's the spare room," I confirm, pushing the door open wider so she can see inside. It's basic. Queen bed, dresser, attached bathroom, and currently serving as storage for some exercise equipment and boxes I never unpacked after moving in. "It needs some work, obviously, but there's plenty of space."
Mia nods but doesn't commit one way or the other. Instead, she follows me back to the living room, where an awkward silence falls between us. It's the first time we've been alone together without Tyler as a buffer, since she showed up at my door two days ago.
"Can I get you something to drink?" I offer. "Water, juice, coffee? No alcohol," I add with a wry smile.
"Water would be great," she says, sitting on the edge of the couch.
I fetch two glasses from the kitchen, and when I return, Mia has picked up one of the magazines from the coffee table. Last month's issue with a feature on my injury and "uncertain future."
"Still following the sport?" she asks, setting the magazine down as I hand her the water.
"Hard not to," I say, taking a seat in the armchair across from her rather than beside her on the couch. "It's been my whole life for so long."
"Not your whole life," she says quietly. "Just the part I knew."
And there it is… The elephant in the room. Our past. What happened between us. What didn't happen.
"Mia," I begin, not sure what I'm going to say but knowing we need to clear the air. "About when I left—"
"You don't have to explain," she interrupts. "It was a long time ago."
"No, I do," I insist. "I need to. Just... give me a minute to find the right words. My brain's not exactly firing on all cylinders right now."
She nods, patient as always, and waits while I gather my thoughts.
"When I got called up to the majors," I finally say, "it was everything I'd ever wanted. The culmination of a lifetime of work, of sacrifice. I was so focused on that dream, so single-minded, that I convinced myself nothing else mattered. Not even us."
I take a sip of water, wishing it were something stronger even as I'm grateful it's not.
"I told myself you'd hold me back. That a relationship would distract me from reaching my full potential. That was bullshit, of course. Just an excuse to avoid the hard work of balancing my career with a real relationship." I meet her eyes directly. "I was a coward, Mia. I took the easy way out, and I've regretted it ever since."
She looks surprised at my bluntness. "Have you? Regretted it, I mean? Because from what I could see, you were living the dream. Star quarterback, fame, fortune, beautiful women on your arm at every event."
There's no bitterness in her voice, just stated facts, which somehow makes it worse.
"Those women weren't you," I say simply. "And the dream... it wasn't enough. Never was. I just didn't realize it until it was gone."
She considers this, twisting her water glass between her hands. "Would you have wanted to know? About Tyler, I mean. If I had told you back then."
It's a fair question. One I've been asking myself since the moment she told me about our son.
