The girl answers him, letting go of her mom’s leg for long enough to answer whatever Raffi has said and duck back behind her. Raffi squats down in front of her and signs something else. The little girl’s smile lights up her whole face as the mom bites the inside of her cheek like she might cry.
My ovaries might explode.
After Wyatt was born, I said I didn’t want any more kids. Like, ever. He was my one-and-done. Raising a kid by yourself—even with the best mom in the world for support—isn’t easy. But standing here watching the man who made Wyatt with me, I can imagine a whole future together. Green pastures, picnic blankets, kids using Raffi as a freakin’ play horse. And all he’s doing is being adorable and communicating to a shy kid at the gym.
What the fuck is this sorcery?
Grounding myself in late night feedings, exploding diapers, teething, fevers, trips to the pediatrician, and my heart stopping while I watched him sleep to make sure his chest was moving wasn’t easy.
This man is so charismatic, people are instantly drawn to him.
Spoiler alert: It’s me. I’m people.
I was drawn to him the minute he joined me in lock up, and I’m drawn to him now. The more I stare at him and the little girl, the more my heart yearns for that to be our boy. I want Wyatt to have a relationship with his father, I want themto be close, to play T-ball, and soccer, and make sandwiches together.
But one hard knock on the ice could ruin everything all over again.
As far as I know, Raffi doesn’t see me as I make my way into the changing rooms to get ready for my shower. My tears blend with the hot water washing away my sweat.
Am I holding myself back from happiness for myself and my child over something that may never happen? Perhaps.
I’d never make him choose between me and his dreams. He can have a relationship with Wyatt, but I need to keep my heart locked up safe. I can’t let him break me all over again. I can’t go through that heartache. For as long as he plays hockey, Raffi and I can’t be together. It’s just that simple to me.
Once bitten, twice shy.
Once forgotten… I dunno how to finish that sentence, but I’m not sure I’m willing to take the risk.
Is it a deal breaker? It might be.
CHAPTER 22
Raffi
When I get to the gym, my Firecracker is bent over a bench doing single arm kettlebell rows. Her ass is pointed right at me. If I was a lesser man, I’d grip her hips and grind against her perfect butt until I covered her in my cum. But instead, I’m just going to think about it inside my brain and probably rub one out to the memory when I get home later.
“You made me cry again, you fucker,” she’s spitting at Phil, who is undoubtedly losing count of her reps as she talks to him. “That movie made me bawl.”
He smiles despite her venom. “Which one?”
“Coda. It hit me right here.” She kneels up and thumps her chest.
“Told you it was an emotional one. You should watchLife as a Housenext. It’s one of my all-time favorite movies.”
“Are you trying to break me?” Her wail draws a few looks from people who are working out around the gym.
“You’ll love it.”
Phil’s pop-culture references are unrivaled. He’s seen more 80s and 90s movies than anyone I know, and he can recitealmost every word of Ferris Bueller off the top of his head. Guy’s a legend.
I open my notes app and write down the two movies they’re talking about so I can watch them later. It’ll give me something else to talk to her about.
Impatience claws at my skin. I want to meet my kid, I want to get to know him, bring him home to meet Mom and Dad, have a relationship with him. But it’s not my call, and if Victoria isn’t ready for me to meet him, I’ve just gotta stay patient. Coming around to the idea that I didn’t abandon them both must be a huge shift in thinking for her. And it’s going to take even longer to convince her she doesn’t need to do everything by herself anymore.
Working out at the gym, personal training, then doing practice or a game is killer, but it’s necessary. I need to train harder, to play better. I’m paying attention to what I eat. Protein bars, protein pancakes—it all tastes like shit. Give me a PB&J any day. But I need to fuel my muscles so I don’t get injured and lose my place on the team.
I’m so tired I fell asleep in the bathroom the other day. One of the guys found me on the shitter, pants around my ankles, and the imprint of the toilet paper holder on my face.
It’s alright for most of them. A lot of them come from money, or have money. They don’t have to worry about keeping their place in college even if they may have had concerns about keeping their place on the team. Some of them are like me, on a scholarship, hard at the grind, counting pennies, and falling asleep in the back of some of my classes.
