Page 8 of Game Changer (The Morrison Brothers #3)

I carry Tyler through the doorway of my apartment. The weight is nothing compared to what I'm used to lifting in training, but there's a different kind of pressure here: the precious burden of trust, of responsibility.

"I'm putting him on my bed," I whisper to Mia as she follows me inside. "It's the room on the left."

I'd half-expected them to come, half hadn't, so I'd done a hasty cleanup this morning—gathering empty bottles, throwing out takeout containers, opening windows to air out the lingering smell of stale alcohol.

The place isn't spotless, but it's presentable.

Just normal athlete messy. Some weights in the corner of the living room, sports magazines stacked on the coffee table, a few dishes in the sink.

Mia looks around as we pass through the living room, and I try to see my home through her eyes.

It's a nice place. High ceilings, great views, expensive furniture I barely use, but impersonal.

No photos on the walls, no mementos beyond a few game balls and trophies.

Not really a home, just somewhere I've been existing.

My bedroom is more of the same. King-sized bed dominating the space, dresser, TV mounted on the wall. I lay Tyler down gently on the mattress, his small body barely making a dent in the center of the bed.

"He's out cold," I whisper as Mia pulls off his shoes. "Museum wore him out."

"He'll sleep for an hour, maybe two," she says, brushing hair from Tyler's forehead with a tenderness that makes my chest ache. "He fights naps, but once he's down, he's down hard."

We back out of the room quietly, leaving the door cracked so we can hear if he wakes. In the hallway, Mia pauses, glancing toward the spare room I mentioned yesterday.

"Is that...?" she asks.

"Yeah, that's the spare room," I confirm, pushing the door open wider so she can see inside.

It's basic. Queen bed, dresser, attached bathroom, and currently serving as storage for some exercise equipment and boxes I never unpacked after moving in.

"It needs some work, obviously, but there's plenty of space. "

Mia nods but doesn't commit one way or the other. Instead, she follows me back to the living room, where an awkward silence falls between us. It's the first time we've been alone together without Tyler as a buffer, since she showed up at my door two days ago.

"Can I get you something to drink?" I offer. "Water, juice, coffee? No alcohol," I add with a wry smile.

"Water would be great," she says, sitting on the edge of the couch.

I fetch two glasses from the kitchen, and when I return, Mia has picked up one of the magazines from the coffee table. Last month's issue with a feature on my injury and "uncertain future."

"Still following the sport?" she asks, setting the magazine down as I hand her the water.

"Hard not to," I say, taking a seat in the armchair across from her rather than beside her on the couch. "It's been my whole life for so long."

"Not your whole life," she says quietly. "Just the part I knew."

And there it is… The elephant in the room. Our past. What happened between us. What didn't happen.

"Mia," I begin, not sure what I'm going to say but knowing we need to clear the air. "About when I left—"

"You don't have to explain," she interrupts. "It was a long time ago."

"No, I do," I insist. "I need to. Just... give me a minute to find the right words. My brain's not exactly firing on all cylinders right now."

She nods, patient as always, and waits while I gather my thoughts.

"When I got called up to the majors," I finally say, "it was everything I'd ever wanted. The culmination of a lifetime of work, of sacrifice. I was so focused on that dream, so single-minded, that I convinced myself nothing else mattered. Not even us."

I take a sip of water, wishing it were something stronger even as I'm grateful it's not.

"I told myself you'd hold me back. That a relationship would distract me from reaching my full potential.

That was bullshit, of course. Just an excuse to avoid the hard work of balancing my career with a real relationship.

" I meet her eyes directly. "I was a coward, Mia.

I took the easy way out, and I've regretted it ever since. "

She looks surprised at my bluntness. "Have you? Regretted it, I mean? Because from what I could see, you were living the dream. Star quarterback, fame, fortune, beautiful women on your arm at every event."

There's no bitterness in her voice, just stated facts, which somehow makes it worse.

"Those women weren't you," I say simply. "And the dream... it wasn't enough. Never was. I just didn't realize it until it was gone."

She considers this, twisting her water glass between her hands. "Would you have wanted to know? About Tyler, I mean. If I had told you back then."

It's a fair question. One I've been asking myself since the moment she told me about our son.

"Honestly? I don't know," I admit. "The man I was then... I'd like to think I would have stepped up, done the right thing. But I can't say for sure that I wouldn't have seen it as an obstacle, another distraction from the goal."

She nods, accepting my honesty without judgment. "That's why I didn't tell you. I knew how important your career was to you. I didn't want to be the reason you gave it up or resented your own child."

"But now football might be over anyway," I say, the reality of it still raw. "And I missed four years with my son."

"You're here now," she points out. "That's what matters to Tyler."

"And to you?" I ask, venturing into dangerous territory. "What matters to you, Mia?"

She looks away, focusing on something outside the window. "That Tyler is happy. Safe. That he has stability in his life."

"Can I provide that?" The question that's been haunting me since yesterday. "I want to. God, I want to. But after what you saw yesterday, what you're seeing today... I'm not exactly the picture of stability right now."

Mia sets her glass down and leans forward, elbows on her knees. "Let's talk about that. The drinking. How bad is it, really?"

I consider deflecting, minimizing, but what's the point? She's seen the evidence with her own eyes. "Bad," I admit. "Worse than I realized until I tried to stop. Yesterday was... rough."

"What were your withdrawal symptoms?" she asks, clinical but not cold.

I nod. "Shaking, sweating, couldn't sleep, felt like my skin was crawling. At one point I was standing in front of my closet where I had a bottle stashed, and it took everything I had not to open it."

"But you didn't," she notes.

"No. I kept thinking about Tyler. About today. About the promise I made to see him."

Her expression softens. "That's a good start. But David, withdrawal can be dangerous. Sometimes even fatal if it's severe enough. Have you thought about getting medical help?"

"Like I told you before, Michael offered," I say. "My billionaire brother. He mentioned rehab or a private nurse. But I don't want to disappear on Tyler just when he's found me."

"There are outpatient options," she suggests. "And having medical supervision doesn't mean you can't see Tyler. It just means doing it safely."

She's right, of course. The rational part of my brain knows this. But there's another part, the part that's spent years being self-sufficient, handling pain and injury without complaint, that resists admitting I can't do this alone.

"I'll think about it," I promise. "Talk to Michael again, see what he suggests."

She nods, seemingly satisfied with this compromise.

"He looks like you when he sleeps," Mia says. "Same little furrow between his eyebrows, like he's concentrating on his dreams."

The observation catches me off guard, a glimpse into the four years of Tyler's life that I missed.

"What else?" I ask, hungry for these details. "What else does he do that's like me?"

A small smile plays on her lips. "He's stubborn. Once he sets his mind on something, good luck changing it. And he has your competitive streak. Everything's a contest, even brushing teeth."

I laugh softly, recognizing myself in her description. "Poor kid. Those aren't my best qualities."

"He also has your focus," she continues. "When he's interested in something, he gives it his complete attention. And your kindness."

"Kindness?" I repeat, surprised. It's not a trait I typically associate with myself, especially lately.

"You were kind, David," she says. "Before the fame, before the pressure. You were the guy who stopped to help change flat tires, who remembered everyone's names, who visited children's hospitals even when the cameras weren't rolling."

I look down, uncomfortable with her assessment of a version of myself I haven't seen in the mirror for a long time.

"I'd like to be that guy again," I say quietly. "For Tyler. For myself."

"You can be," she says with a certainty I wish I shared. "It's still there, underneath everything else."

From the bedroom, we hear a small sound. Not crying, just the rustle of movement. We both freeze, listening, but there's no further noise.

"Still sleeping," Mia confirms. "Just repositioning."

The moment feels domestic, intimate. Two parents monitoring their child together. It's something I never knew I wanted until now.

"About your offer," Mia says, returning to the subject of them staying. "I've been thinking about it. A lot, actually."

My heart rate picks up. "And?"

"I'll stay," she says. "Not necessarily here," she adds quickly, gesturing around the apartment. "But in town. At least for a while. Give Tyler a chance to get to know you better."

"Thank you," I say, meaning it more than I've meant anything in a long time. "But look… The offer to stay here stands. The spare room, I mean. I can clear it out today."

She hesitates. "I'm not sure that's the best idea. For a lot of reasons."

I understand her reluctance. Moving in together, even in this context, would be complicated. There's history between us, unresolved feelings, the awkwardness of co-parenting when we're essentially strangers now.

"I respect that," I say. "But just so you know, I can help find you a place nearby. Something better than the motel. And cover the cost," I add when I see her start to protest. "It's the least I can do, Mia. Please let me do this."

She considers for a moment, then nods. "Okay. A short-term rental, maybe. Something furnished, since all our stuff is in San Diego."

"I'll make some calls," I promise. "My real estate agent can probably find something perfect."

"Your real estate agent," she repeats with a small laugh. "Sometimes I forget who I'm talking to. NFL star David Morrison."

"Former star," I correct. "Currently just Tyler's dad."

"That's a pretty important job too, you know."

"I'm learning that," I say. "And I'm going to get better at it. I promise."

"One day at a time, David. That's all any of us can do."