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Just as I’m starting to relax, Liam marches over with Llama Llama Red Pajama in his hands.
“Dada book,” he says.
“Can you give me a minute?” I hold up my cup. “Dad’s trying to finish his coffee.”
“Dada book,” he repeats, this time setting the book on the couch beside my leg.
With a sigh, I take a gulp of coffee and set my cup on the table beside me. “All right, Dada will read you a book.”
Elle, Jennifer’s friend, told me one of Jennifer’s favorite things to do with Liam was read books, especially ones about animals.
I pick up Llama, and I’m about to start reading when Liam hooks a leg onto the couch and climbs on up, scurrying over to me and sitting on my lap. Sticking his thumb into his mouth, he turns his head to look at me and says, “Dada book!”
I’m annoyed. I just want to finish my coffee in peace. Is that too much to ask?
But then Liam rests his head on my chest, and I’m smiling. Again. His little body is solid against mine, and I brush my lips over the top of his head, catching a whiff of maple syrup.
“I heard your mommy loved to read to you,” I say. “Thanks for letting me read to you too.”
I read the book, and he listens quietly. I discover he likes turning the pages, so I insert my thumb between each one and hold it open, making it easier for him to do.
“Mama,” he says, pointing at the Mama Llama of the title. His delight—his loss—makes my heart contract.
The thought hits me out of nowhere: I could give Liam so, so much if I played another couple of years. But what would I be taking away?
What would he be losing? What would we lose as a family?
Speaking of losing, Liam loses interest in the book a few pages from the end. He wiggles in my lap, rolling off the couch, turning his head to watch the TV. Then he rolls back up, settling in my lap again, and—holy God, did I hit the kid jackpot?—he quietly watches SportsCenter with me.
Granted, the moment lasts all of five minutes. Probably a good thing, because again, apparently screen time and kids don’t mix. Or they mix a little too well or . . . something.
Whatever the case, my son and I sit like that, Liam cuddled up on my lap. We watch highlights from last night’s games and matches for five glorious, uninterrupted minutes. He sucks his thumb, and I finish my coffee. Toronto gets routed by Boston. A Spaniard makes it to the semifinals at Wimbledon.
It’s been an exhausting morning. But it’s also a good one.
A really good morning. For the first time, I feel like I can maybe—someday—be the kind of father I always wanted but never had.
Chapter Sixteen
Amelia
I walk into the family room, and my heart swooshes.
Rhett and Liam are curled up together on the couch, both bed-mussed, their hair sticking up in nearly identical spikes at the backs of their heads.
Rhett isn’t wearing a shirt again.
And again, I’m hit by a pulse of desire taking in his chest and arms. His broad shoulders and the smattering of hair across his chest and belly.
But really, it’s his face I can’t stop staring at. Cuddling his son, he’s got this glow about him. This soft, easy energy I remember from high school but haven’t seen in him since.
It was why I fell in love with him. Why I wanted a future with him too.
Before Rhett’s football career took off, he’d give me what he did have—time—without restraint. He came to all my track meets. He’d drive over to my grandmother’s house when she was working and I was lonely.
He lingered with me in his backseat long after the sex was over, trailing his fingers over my skin, my ear pressed to his chest as it rumbled with laughter at whatever terrible joke I cracked. Even the sex itself was a testament to Rhett’s generosity. He was eager, sure, but he never rushed, and he never let the orgasmic scales go unbalanced.
Not once did he ever make me feel like I was too much. Too needy or demanding or weird. When I was with him, everything about me felt right-sized.
Maybe I’ve been chasing that feeling ever since.
Someone taught this boy how to love and how to love well. Because Rhett doesn’t have time anymore, but he’s giving Liam what he can. Who knows what that will look like when the season starts? But right now, he’s doing the right thing. The kind thing.
Rhett turns his head and sees me. He smiles, blue eyes soft, and the feeling in my torso tightens even more, making my knees wobble. I reach for the back of the sofa, setting a hand there to steady myself.
