Page 7 of Game Changer (The Morrison Brothers #3)
Our pizza arrives. A T-Rex for Tyler, regular pies for David and me, along with a basket of breadsticks shaped like bones. Tyler is delighted, eating around the edges of his dinosaur pizza to "save the best parts for last," as he explains very seriously.
"Have you thought any more about staying?" David asks while Tyler is occupied with his meal. "At least for a while?"
I've thought of little else since yesterday. "It's complicated," I say. "My job, for one thing. I can't just not show up on Monday."
"You could call them," he suggests. "Explain the situation. Or look for something here, if you decide to stay longer."
"And what about our apartment? Our things?" I counter. "I can't just abandon everything."
"I could help with that," he offers. "Pay for movers, storage, whatever you need. Or even just the rent on your place while you decide what you want to do long-term."
The offer is tempting. Too tempting. It would solve so many practical problems. But there are other concerns, ones not so easily addressed with money.
"And what about you?" I ask quietly. "Last night was just the beginning, David. Getting sober isn't a one-day battle. It's going to be hard, really hard. Are you sure you want Tyler to see that?"
He looks down at his barely-touched pizza, then back up at me, his eyes steady despite the exhaustion in them.
"I want Tyler to see me trying," he says. "I want him to know his dad isn't perfect, but that I'm doing everything I can to be the father he deserves. Isn't that better than him not seeing me at all?"
It's a good answer. Maybe too good.
"And what if it doesn't work out?" I press. "What if you can't stay sober? What if the surgery doesn't fix your knee? Or what if football calls you back? Tyler's already attached to you. If you disappear from his life now, it will break his heart."
"I won't disappear," he says with such conviction that I almost believe him. "Football may or may not be in my future, but Tyler always will be. I promise you that, Mia."
Before I can respond, Tyler interrupts, holding up his dinosaur cup proudly. "Look, Mom! I drank all my juice! Can I have more?"
The conversation pauses as I help Tyler refill his cup, wiping sauce from his face while I'm at it. When I look back at David, he's watching us with an expression I can't quite decipher—longing, maybe. Or regret.
"What are we doing after lunch?" Tyler asks, pizza nearly gone. "Can we go to the zoo now?"
David looks at me, raising an eyebrow in question. I check my watch—nearly 2 PM. Tyler usually naps around this time, and both he and David look like they could use the rest.
"I think we might need to go back to the motel for a little while," I say gently. "You need a nap, buddy."
"I'm not tired!" Tyler protests, even as he rubs his eyes.
"What if we all took a break?" David suggests. "I'm pretty tired from all the museum fun. Maybe we could watch a movie at my place? I have a really big TV."
Tyler considers this compromise. "What movie?"
"What's your favorite?" David asks.
"'The Land Before Time,'" Tyler answers promptly. "It has dinosaurs."
"Of course it does," David laughs. "I don't think I have that one, but I bet we could find it online."
Tyler looks to me for approval. I hesitate, weighing the pros and cons of taking Tyler to David's apartment.
On one hand, it's probably more comfortable than our motel room.
On the other, I'm not sure what state the place is in.
Yesterday, David was clearly in the throes of alcoholism, his apartment a reflection of his inner turmoil.
But the hopeful looks on both their faces are hard to resist.
"Okay," I agree. "But just for a movie and a nap. Then we'll figure out dinner."
"Yes!" Tyler pumps his fist in victory. "Can I bring my dinosaurs?"
"Absolutely," David says. "My dinosaur collection is sadly lacking."
We finish lunch and head back to the motel to pick up Tyler's dinosaurs and a few other essentials. As David waits in the car, I quickly throw a few of my own things into a small bag: a change of clothes, toiletries, my phone charger. Just in case we end up staying longer than planned.
Back in the SUV, Tyler is already growing drowsy despite his protests about not being tired. By the time we reach David's building, he's nodding off in his booster seat.
"I can carry him," David offers as I unbuckle Tyler's seatbelt.
"Are you sure? With your knee?"
"He can't weigh more than thirty pounds," David says. "I've tackled guys three times his size."
He lifts our sleeping son from the car seat, cradling him against his chest. Tyler stirs briefly, then settles, his head tucked under David's chin as if he belongs there. The sight of them together, David holding our son with such natural tenderness, makes me happier than I've been in a while.
"This way," David says softly, leading us into his building.
As we ride the elevator up to his floor, I watch Tyler sleeping peacefully in his father's arms. Whatever doubts I have about David's ability to stay sober, to be consistent, to put fatherhood above his own desires, and I have many, I can't deny the connection that's already forming between them.
Maybe staying, at least for a while, is the right thing to do. Maybe Tyler deserves the chance to know his father, even if it comes with risks. Maybe I need to stop making decisions based solely on fear of what might go wrong.
Or maybe I'm just tired of doing everything alone.
As the elevator doors open, I make a decision. We'll stay. For now. Not necessarily in David's apartment, but in town. Long enough to see if this fragile new family we're building has any chance of surviving in the real world.
Long enough to see if David Morrison, star quarterback turned alcoholic, can truly become the father he wants to be, the father Tyler deserves.
Long enough to discover if the feelings I thought I'd buried years ago are truly dead, or just dormant, waiting for the right moment to bloom again.