“Evan, have you been getting any sleep?”
“Honestly… no. Leo caught a cold a few days ago, and I’ve been up every couple of hours trying to settle him.”
“What about his nanny?”
Evan scoffs. “Whatnanny?”
His response causes me to tilt my head, a groan escaping. I press the heels of my palms into my eye sockets, rubbing in frustration. “Look, I know you’re protective of Leo, but we’re in the middle of a season. You can’t go firing every nanny after one shift.”
“None of them give a shit about my kid, Nathan. They take the job because of who I am, and I’m fucking tired of having people use Leo as an excuse to wiggle their way into my life.”
“I can see that.” I nod to the bags hanging beneath his dead eyes. “You can’t play the way you are, though.”
Evan opens his mouth to speak, but I hold my hand up to stop him.
“I’m doing this because I care about you, West. You’re not playing Monday. You’re resting.”
His eyes expand to saucers. “What? You can’t do that.”
“I can. I’ll make the suggestion to Coach. You’re burning out, Evan, and there’s no way you can continue the rest of the season this way. I’ll babysit Leo tonight.”
My friend grunts, shaking his head, but deep down, I know he’s relieved. I’ve given him an out, which he so desperately needs. He’s a great father. He always puts his kid first, but he’s neglecting himself. He can’t take care of Leo the way he wants to if he carries on this way. And he knows that, which is why he doesn’t object.
“I’ll drop him off at six.”
“Make sure to bring more than one pack of diapers. Last time, he shit through them in an hour.”
Leo glares at me with pale grey eyes—just like his father. He’s sitting in his high chair, having thrown his entire plate of spaghetti and meatballs I’d prepared onto the floor.
“Well, this is a first for me,” I tell the salty kid. “No one’s ever turned their nose up at my cooking.”
Leo blows out a snot bubble, and I immediately wipe it away.
Bracing myself against the green plastic of his high chair, I gaze into his eyes challengingly. “Okay, Leo. What’s it gonna take for you to eat something?”
All I receive as a response is a loud “Yuck.”
“Your daddy said you love this,” I say, bending down and scraping the food off the floor before dropping it in the trash.
Leo’s still getting over his cold. He’s no longer running a fever, but Evan supplied me with medication just in case. I’m glad my friend is getting some well-needed rest, but I can’t help but feel out of my depth here. I love Leo. He’s a great kid, but because he’s comfortable with me, he tests me.
Swiping him from his high chair and placing him on the floor, I begin to mop, huffing to myself as I watch the small kid take hold of his favourite dinosaur toy and throw it to the other end of the kitchen. The plastic reptile hits my rack of spices, causing a jar of chives to plummet to the floor. Luckily, it doesn’t smash.
I curse—low enough so that Leo can’t hear—and turn to see he’s run into the living room and is now scaling the couch as if it’s Mount Everest, spaghetti sauce smeared around his mouth, staining the leather.
He’s acting up because he doesn’t feel well. He’s usually a good kid, and this kind of behaviour isn’t typical for him.
“Hey, buddy.” I crouch down in front of him. “How about we get you to bed? Are you sleepy?”
Leo shakes his head. “Not tired.”
“Of course you aren’t,” I groan, tilting my head back to stare at the ceiling.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I sigh with relief. It’s been over an hour since I last received a text from Evan. He always worries when I take care of his son, and while I understand why, he needs to learn to trust people.
I laugh at the irony of my own thoughts.
The last thing I can tell anyone to do is trust someone.
