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He bit his lip, and to my absolute shock, his eyes welled up with tears as he slowly nodded. “Oh my God.” His face crumpled. “I already fucked up.” He fell back on my bed and groaned. “I didn’t know about her! I swear it. All these years… She probably thought I didn’t want her. She must’ve thought…” His voice trailed off and he rubbed his eyes, clearly feeling all the internal calamity of the moment. And I’m not going to lie, a little selfish part of me was sad that the ground just fell through on what Tyler and I were starting together… Because we’d have to take a backseat. And if he refused, I’d force this into the backseat. Because creating a relationship with his daughter was way bigger. Bigger than me. Bigger than us. He needed to be number one for her.
I slowly sat next to him and rubbed his chest, feeling an invisible barrier between us being reconstructed.
When I spoke, I tried to use a soothing tone. “You don’t know anything, so stop thinking that way. Stop thinking of all the hypotheticals until you have the facts. The only thing that’s important is that you’re a dad now, and you should be focusing on stepping into that role. The rest of the questions… they don’t even matter, Tyler.”
His eyes flew open. He shook his head vehemently. “She won’t want me as a dad.”
My brow furrowed. “Why the hell not?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Because.”
“Because?” I pushed.
“I’mstill a kid!” he burst out.
A laugh bubbled out of me at that notion. “Tyler, you’re a full-grown adult who plays in the NHL, you can totally be a dad.”
His eyes darted around in panic, making him look like a racoon stuck in a dumpster fire.
“Maybe you should talk to my dad,” I offered, trying to calm him. “He’d be happy to help, I’m sure of it. He’s a pretty solid girl dad, and-”
His eyes widened. “What does a dad even do?”
“Relax,” I coaxed. I smoothed a hand through his hair. “Start simple. A dad takes you to school, to sports, loves you. A dad-”
“School?!” He sounded like he got punched in the gut. “Oh my God. I can’t be a dad, I can’t even read!” he shouted out in desperation.
I stared at him for a beat.
His eyebrows drew together, making him look like a helpless kid in need of a hug. “I dropped out of school, I haven’t even washed my sheets in a year, the only thing I cook is toast.I’mtoast! I’m a disaster, Josie.”
“Wait, go back, you can’t read?”
The color drained from his face, and he shot up. “Fuck me.Fuck. Me.” He stumbled across my room and hightailed it to my door.
I quickly chased after him and tried to grab his wrist, but missed. “Wait, Tyler. Hold on a second!”
He was already in the doorway, but he lingered for a second. His whole body tensed. Refusing to look back at me, he quietly said, “No, Josie. I can’t talk about this. I’ve been running from this my whole life, and-” He cut himself off. Instead of finishing, he slammed the door shut and retreated back to his place.
I sat there in his wake, frozen, staring at the door. I forced myself to think back to the day I met him. I had my suspicions. Hecouldread. There was just something else going on in his head. The way his buddies teased him, the way he pushed to read, like he needed to prove himself. And when he did read, he went slowly, cautiously sounding out the words.
On first appearance, in his clean jersey and slacks, he looked larger-than-life, but when he sat on that reading stool, he seemed to shrink in on himself. I’d forgotten about our first interaction, and thinking of him swearing and practically trembling as he read aloud to that class… It now made me really want to give him a hug.
I was a teacher for God’s sake, I knew the signs, and he exhibited many of them. How had I let that moment slip from my mind?
Making my way into my kitchen, I quickly started up my coffee maker, because I knew I was about to hyperfocus on some research for the next few hours. Honestly, trying to help him solve this one situation was probably the only thing that made me feel better about our little love nest being blown to bits.
I couldn’t magically help him be a good dad or force my way into his apartment to make him communicate his fears. But I damn well knew how to help someone read.
31. Tyler
Anxiety rose up in my chest as soon as I spotted her behind the bar.
“What the hell is going on, Adrienne?” I demanded as I plopped on a barstool seat in front of her. The bar was empty besides two old-timer regulars, who were now staring at us.
Her heavy-make-up-coated eyes narrowed in on me, assessing me. After a beat, she pushed off the wall she was leaning against and slid two shot glasses on the bar toward me, then turned to pull a bottle of vodka from the top shelf.
I glanced at the shot glasses and an unpleasant feeling settled in my gut. “So I’m gonna need this? That’s what you’re saying?”
