Page 4 of Delay of Game (Norwalk Breakers #4)

FOUR

ROB

Mila dozed on my leg, her body heavy and her fingers twitching against my chest. I closed the book in my hand, setting it on the side table and determining the best way to extract myself from her room.

I picked up her arm and slipped out of her grip.

She fell into the space beside me, sighing lightly and burrowing into my thigh.

I braced myself against the opposite side of the bed and stood up in a one smooth motion to minimize jostling the bed.

Thankfully, Mila slept through the upheaval, only reaching out for me once I was standing.

I slipped a doll under her arm, and she curled around it, eyes closed.

Once I’d turned off the light and checked the alarm clock, I tiptoed out of the room and walked downstairs to find a still empty house.

A quick glance out the kitchen window confirmed the studio was in use, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Despite the awkward introduction, Mom and Mila had beamed through dinner, happy for the company.

And now, with Mom occupied and Mila asleep, I had nothing stopping me from heading downstairs and enjoying some well-deserved quiet time.

I opened the door to the basement as Mom came back in.

“I figured you’d be out there for a while longer,” I said, only slightly disappointed.

I hadn’t intended to live with my mom forever, but after Mila was born, I didn’t have much of a choice.

My schedule as a single father and NFL player conflicted enough to require extra help.

I didn’t trust anyone except my mom with Mila.

And over the years, we settled into an easy enough routine, vacating to our respective ends of the house in the evenings.

“She’s a real natural on the wheel.” Mom’s eyes gleamed, and she glanced back at the driveway excitedly. “And so cute. Isn’t she cute?”

Cute wasn’t the first word I would have used to describe her.

After seven years, I didn’t exactly have a type, but Ms. Evans might have been it once upon a time.

Friendly girl-next-door face and curves that could drive a guy insane.

I’d tried not to let her low-cut sundress distract me from across the table by reminding myself that she was Mila’s teacher, barely out of school herself.

“Adorable,” I said, feigning a lack of interest and invoking the word I used to describe Mila on a near-daily basis.

Mom frowned, her brow furrowing. “I wouldn’t say that. Beautiful and so personable. Mila really took to her.”

“Mila takes to everyone,” I grumbled under my breath as I pushed back a swell of sadness. “She’s desperate for another person to play tea party with.”

With a waved hand, Mom scoffed. “She hasn’t played tea party in ages. It’s all about playing family now.”

“I wish you wouldn’t encourage that,” I said as Mom shut the front door.

“Encourage her imagination? Don’t be ridiculous, Rob.” Mom scuttled past me, beelining for the kitchen, and I abandoned the lure of a night playing video games to follow her. “You can’t dictate what she likes and what she doesn’t. Right now, it’s family, which is normal.”

“She wants to be a big sister,” I said, opening the cabinet and pulling out two boxes of tea. “Which is not happening.”

“It could happen,” Mom said with the same ease as if telling me it might rain tomorrow.

“Never happening,” I said with finality. “Ever. And I’m glad you made a new friend, but I’m not interested.”

Mom’s gray hair bobbled. “Maybe you’re a little interested.”

“I’m interested in meeting her again for parent-teacher conferences and not much more.”

"Well, she's coming back to trim her pieces." She pulled two mugs from the cabinet.

"Great. Have fun with that."

"I'll probably invite her to dinner again."

"Fine," I said. Not like I could stop my mom when she got an idea into her head, anyway.

"She needs some friends right now." Mom's voice sank low, turning to serious.

"I'm sure she has lots of friends."

Mom's mouth twisted into a frown, her fingers playing on the bottle of honey in her hand. "I'm not sure she does. She's been living with Mercy for years now, and we all knew that Mercy wasn't well."

My stomach dropped.

"But we've all been a little forgetful. It's part of aging. You forget where you put your glasses when they're on your head or misplace the car keys. Hell, Bonnie missed book club last week because she thought it was Tuesday. How were we supposed to know?"

"So, what happened with Mercy?" I asked.

Mom frowned, pulling the boiling kettle off the stove and pouring us both a cup. "Memory loss. Alzheimer's. Early onset, all things considered. She’s only sixty. We all missed it until it was too late."

I turned over the idea of missing Alzheimer's until it was too late. "Too late for what?"

"To keep her at home. With Gracie."

The waterworks made a lot more sense, framed that way. "Shit."

"Shit," Mom echoed.

"What about the rest of her family?"

She shrugged. "Her parents live up north. Mercy’s sister, Gracie's grandmother, passed years ago. Gracie moved back to help Mercy out around the house and now she's in that big, old house all on her own."

"Sounds like a dream." I wrung out the tea bag and threw it in the trash.

"You're awful," Mom sighed, sipping her tea. "She's young."

"Very young."

"Not that young,” she snapped. “And smart. She's got a master's degree."

“She got a master’s degree for teaching six-year-olds?”

“In Elementary Education and if you don’t want hot water thrown at you, you better take that snarkiness out of your voice.”

“There’s no snark,” I grinned. Alright, a little snark.

“She’s more educated than you.”

“That’s easy enough.”

I had a bachelor’s degree in communications and absolutely no clue what I would have done with it if I hadn’t been drafted.

“You could always go back and get your master’s,” Mom tutted.

“Yeah, with my boatloads of free time. I’m sure any program would be happy to work around my schedule.”

“You can get a degree online now. Never even set foot in a classroom.” She poured water into both cups, cupping hers as she walked into the dining room.

I added honey to mine before joining her at the table.

“Or you could retire and go back to school, find your passion.”

I snorted hot water back into the cup. “My passion. Seriously?”

“You can’t play football forever.”

“I can play it for a couple more seasons. Maybe a Super Bowl ring is my passion,” I argued lamely.

I wanted a Super Bowl ring, sure. Was it my passion?

Probably not. But football had been my life since I was a kid.

I couldn’t imagine a career outside of it, even as my body rebelled against my career.

“Maybe computer science? You love computers.”

“I enjoy playing on the computer.”

“Or medicine?”

“With my bedside manner?” I snorted. “Leave it, Mom. I’ve got another two seasons on this contract, and I doubt it’ll be renewed. Let me worry about it then.”

She pursed her lips, straightening in her seat before taking a small sip of tea. “I just worry about Mila…”

“I worry about Mila, too. Which is exactly why I’ll stay and make as much money as I can, as long as the team keeps me.” I raked my hand through my hair, aggravation prickling my skin. “How did we even get on this topic?”

“Gracie.” Mom’s eyes lit up and her lips morphed into a grin. “She’s cute, isn’t she? And single. I asked.”

I shook my head and collected my mug. “Thanks for tea. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

The locker room reeked of sweat and turf. The familiar odor distracted me from the pain shooting down my leg after an overambitious rookie tried to tackle me during a drill.

“You’re on my shit list, Fieste,” I said, glaring at the lanky redhead. “Prepare yourself for a world of hurt.”

His green eyes widened.

“It was an…accident…” he stammered. “Won’t…happen…again.”

I shook my head slowly. “It won’t, because I’m keeping my eyes on you.”

“He just got here. Give him a break,” Noa Kweame whispered under his breath.

“Did you see what he did?” I asked, hurt that my friend would take up for some dumbass rookie over me. “He tackled me, offsides, during a fucking drill. A drill. A who-gives-a-shit drill!”

“He’s competing for a spot.” Noa shook his head. “Have a heart.”

“I have a heart,” I said, raising my voice. “But not for dumb assholes who try to hurt their potential teammates.”

Fieste’s face matched his hair and Noa tutted, shaking his head. “You’re fine, Fieste. Don’t worry about Rob.”

“He better fucking worry about me,” I muttered, turning back to my locker and pulling a shirt on over my freshly showered damp skin. “Like I don't have enough to worry about without some moron fresh out of college trying to prove he's worth keeping around.”

Noa raised an eyebrow, pulling a sweater over his head. "Everything okay with Mila? Gloria?"

"They're fine. Mila's excited about kindergarten. Mom made friends with her teacher already."

"Already? I thought school hadn't even started yet."

I shrugged, sitting down on the bench to pull on my shoes. "The teacher does some 'welcome to kindergarten' bullshit. She comes by the house and reads to Mila and then takes her on a tour of the school with her new classmates."

"Sounds nice."

"Sure, if she just came and left again. Mom talked her into dinner and then dragged her out into the pottery studio. Apparently, she took a weekend course, and Mom thinks she's a natural."

"Your mom could use some more friends now that Mila won't be around all day."

"This woman is barely in her twenties."

His eyebrow raised, deep brown eyes glinting as he looked my way. "Oh, is that what's going on? Is your mom trying to hook you up?"

"Not if she knows what's good for her," I snorted, clocking the bags under Noa’s eyes. "How's my goddaughter doing? You getting enough sleep these days?"

Noa shook his head with a low, rumbly laugh. "Trying to. My mom flew back home last week and we're divvying up the night duties. I'm getting up with Kalani from eight to midnight and Lena is covering midnight to four."

I winced. "Ouch."

He shrugged. "Good thing she's cute as hell. Tell me it gets better."

"The sleep?" I asked. "Absolutely. But then you'll have other things that'll keep you up: potty training, making friends, going to school."

"All the hits. I can't wait."

"It'll happen before you know it," I sighed.

It seemed like only days since I brought Mila home from the hospital, all red faced and screaming her little lungs out.

Home to an empty house, my mind reeling from the sheer amount of information and doctor's names and insurance phone numbers that had come into my life since her birth. And the fact Mila’s mom was still in the hospital.

I shook away the memory and pushed myself off the bench. Fieste was long gone, and only a few players remained, mostly clustered around the bank of lockers reserved for undrafted free agents, hoping to clinch a spot on the roster during off-season.

"How about coming over for dinner tonight?" Noa asked. "With Mila, of course. Lena misses her."

Noa and Lena were not only Mila's godparents, but the closest thing to a nuclear family that she had. Before the birth of their daughter, she'd spent at least one night a week at their house, playing dress up and tea party to her captive audience of two.

"Lena okayed that?"

"She said she'd order pizza and to let you know that the house is a wreck, and she has no interest in cleaning it."

"I'd be offended if she did. Sounds good," I said, relieved to have something to do that evening while Mom went to her book club.

It'd give Mila and me something to do other than rummage around for a snacky dinner and collapse in front of the couch, where Mila would force me to watch the same episode of her newest obsession over and over.