Page 14

"It's school day!" I say excitedly as I twist the handle on Owen's door.

He's spread out on his tiny bed, face smushed into the pillow.

I gave up trying to break him of that habit long ago.

I worried myself for a solid year, checking on him every hour throughout the night to make sure he was still breathing.

I'd move his head to the side, but by the next time I checked on him, he was face down in the pillow again.

Owen gives no indication that he's awake.

I walk quietly into his room, careful to not step on the toys he left scattered around.

I wouldn't be surprised if his toys actually came to life at night and scattered themselves.

At least, I'm telling myself that, since I definitely remember asking him to clean up his room before he went to bed.

"Owen, buddy, it's time to wake up." It's six in the morning.

School starts at seven-thirty, and I have to be at the college by nine.

We'll be having a team meeting with the Penguins to kick things off.

I'm only needed for a while today, so I'll be able to slip out and pick Owen up from school and spend the afternoon with him.

He'll be going between an afterschool program run by a few teachers and his grandparents throughout the school year, but I wanted to be there for his first day.

I hate that I won't be able to pick him up from school most days, but I do like that we have our mornings together, at least.

Owen peeks one eye open and immediately closes it, clearly hoping I didn’t see.

I play along for a few seconds. "Hmm, I guess I'll just have to eat all the French toast in the kitchen by myself.

And drink all the orange juice. Maybe I'll even eat all the snacks in Owen’s bag.

" I can see his little body squirming under the blanket.

He's laughing, still thinking he's fooling me.

I walk towards the door. "I wonder if the school will let me have Owen’s ice cream today, too. "

"Ice cream?!" Owen nearly leaps out of his bed and runs into the hallway, flying past me. I'm surprised he doesn't trip over his own feet. He's well past the bathroom when I clear my throat.

"You know the drill," I point a finger toward the bathroom he ran right past.

I spent four months trying every trick under the sun and moon to potty train Owen when he turned three.

He flat-out refused for the first month.

Then he consistently wet his pants the second month.

He did well in familiar places after that but, in new places, he would regress back and have accidents.

I made it a point for us to walk into every bathroom we could when we were out, no matter what we were doing.

I wanted him to get comfortable using the restroom.

Even now, I make sure the bathroom is the first place he goes in the mornings to reduce any accidents.

I busy myself with grabbing his clothes for the day while he's doing his business.

He left the door wide open, so I can hear him talking to himself.

Another thing I taught him. I saw a video once of a mom having her kids repeat a positive mantra, and I thought it was a good idea.

That's something I'm always worried about for him; he's a great kid, my whole world, but I know he's at the age where he's going to really start questioning where his mom is.

I've discussed it with his grandparents briefly, laying down boundaries on what I do and don't want them to share.

I shake my thoughts away when Owen calls out that he's done washing his hands. I won’t dare get him dressed until after the sticky syrup has been consumed. Instead, I lay his clothes out on his bed and make sure his shoes are on the floor next to it.

I have a clear view of Owen when I step out of his room. He's climbing up onto one of the chairs at the island counter.

"Be careful, buddy." The words come out automatically. A knee-jerk reaction to make sure he's safe.

He gives me the widest smile when he's finally seated, and I plate up his breakfast. Two sticks of French toast —the microwavable kind because I know it's his favorite— with a dollop of syrup for each. I pour us each a glass of juice and lean against the other side of the counter to watch him eat.

Another flash of Lauren crosses my mind.

I miss her, but it isn't a deep ache like I've heard some people describe. Owen might have been a surprise, but we always planned to raise him together. We were content, even had fun together at times. Still, I can't help but compare how I felt toward her to how I felt on my date with Gabe. It’s not fair, but Gabe is just… different. I’m different when I’m with Gabe.

It’s like he’s tapped into a part of me I had no idea existed before.

"Daddy, I'm…" I look from my empty cup to my son. His red hair and fair skin are slowly getting used to the Arizona heat. I have three bottles of sunscreen in the bathroom alone to make sure he doesn't burn. His thin brows are furrowed, and I can see a world of emotions in his eyes.

"What is it, Owen? "

"I'm scared to go to school," he mumbles. "What if they don't like me?"

"Where is that coming from?" I ask, genuinely concerned.

There haven't been a lot of chances for socialization since we moved here.

There's a park within a short driving distance and I've watched him play with a couple of kids the few times we went.

Then there's Gabe's nephew in his class.

We haven't scheduled a playdate yet, but I need to change that.

He shrugs one shoulder and puts his fork down. He still has half a stick of toast left. His green eyes meet mine and I can sense we are about ten seconds from a meltdown. I hold out my hand to take his, squeezing twice and running my thumb across his wrist.

"Owen, it's going to be okay. Daddy is scared about starting his new job, too, but we're going to get through this day together. Then we'll come home and talk about all the fun things you did and have dinner tonight. I'll let you pick the movie, too."

"What if I'm not good at school?"

I really don’t know what has prompted any of these worries.

He's never been worried about something like this.

He's too little, innocent, pure, and kind for these types of thoughts.

My heart hurts for him and I round the counter to pull him into a hug.

He wraps his limbs around me, and I hold him tight.

"Buddy, you are going to be amazing today. I promise. You're going to have so much fun. Remember how much you liked the classroom when we visited? And you'll get to go outside and play on the playground, too."

I hear a sniffle, but I can feel him nodding. His chin digs into my shoulder with each bob of his head.

"How about we make a deal?" I wait until he pulls back to look me in the eyes. He scrunches his nose and huffs out a breath way too big for his little body. "You go to school, and I'll go to work. Then, when I pick you up, we'll go to Ma's for dinner instead?"

His answering smile and enthusiastic nod are a relief.

“Can I have the pizza again?”

My lips quirk. I guess Gabe has introduced Owen to new things, too.

***

Claremont College is huge. I've only been here once, back before we moved, to sign papers and officially join the Penguins as a physical therapist. I park in one of the employee spots behind the building that houses the hockey arena.

The moment I step through the door and feel that rush of cold air, I sigh in relief and let the stress from this morning roll off my back.

"Let's do this," I repeat to myself. I ball my fingers up and give a pretend fist bump to the air, just like I did to Owen before watching him walk into his classroom.

"Justin!" It takes me only a second to recognize Coach Overton. "A bit early, aren't you?"

"Ah, yeah. The kid had a bit of a rough start this morning, but we got to school on time. It's kind of an awkward amount of time to go back home for half an hour."

"Well, I'm not going to complain if you're always early." His smile is infectious and settles my nerves. Dan Overton is attractive, with graying stubble and a thick head of dark hair. But, even though he’s built exactly as you’d imagine a former hockey player, he’s not intimidating at all.

"Follow me. I know you didn't see much of the place last time you were here, but we have some time before the team arrives.

It's a rowdy bunch this year. Six of them are Seniors and they're determined. "

I don't really know a lot about hockey outside of movies and the few local games I went to back in Virginia. It isn’t a widespread thing back home, and none of the colleges in the area I lived in have their own team.

I know I'm in for a lot of work if the videos I've watched of hockey players showing off bruises and injuries like they're trophies is anything like this team.

We walk down a corridor with cement flooring and cinderblocks painted in the school colors.

Splashes of purple, white, and black arranged artfully really catch the eye.

There are banners announcing the hockey team's season start and a list of the players.

I only catch a few names in passing. Photographs and other banners hang on the walls between the different doors, and the corridor ends at the entrance of the arena.

There is no door closing it off, which is where the draft is coming from.

It's chilly and I regret not bringing a jacket or anything with me.

I'll remember tomorrow. There are doors spread randomly on either side.

"This is the utility closet, if you need any cleaning supplies, trash bags, and so on.

" Overton points from one plain door to another across the hall.

I swivel my head, following his motions.

"Restroom. Then there’s the locker room where we'll meet the team. "