Jessica pauses, something softening in her face. "Dinosaurs. Especially T-Rex. And he loves those little cars—Hot Wheels."
"Thanks," I say, the word inadequate for what I'm feeling.
After she's gone, I sink back into my chair, staring at the stack of documents left behind. Paperwork that will formalize a relationship that should have existed for three years already. I close my eyes, picturing a little boy with my eyes and Jessica's determination, playing with toy cars, waiting to meet a father he's never known.
Thursday can't come soon enough. And yet I've never been more terrified of anything in my life.
Later, I stare at the whiteboard in the video room, the X's and O's of tomorrow's game plan blurring into meaningless squiggles. My hand absently taps a marker against the table, the rhythm matching my racing thoughts. Three days until I meet my son. Thursday. What do you even say to a three-year-old stranger who shares your DNA? Hey, buddy, sorry I missed the first three years of your life—want to play catch? Jesus. The marker snaps in my grip, streaking blue across my palm like a bruise.
A knock at the door saves me from my spiral. Sully leans in without waiting for an answer, two steaming cups of coffee in his hands.
"Thought you might need this," he says, setting one cup in front of me. He kicks the door closed behind him and drops into the chair opposite mine. His silver hair catches the overheadlights, his face lined with concern he's not bothering to hide. "How'd it go with the lawyers?"
I grab a tissue, wiping the marker stain from my hand. "About as well as getting high-sticked in the mouth."
Sully sips his coffee, eyes steady on mine. Waiting. He's always been good at that—creating space for me to talk without pushing.
"She says she tried to reach me after it happened. Called the office, sent letters." I shake my head. "PR's doing an audit. Trying to figure out where the communication broke down."
"And the boy? Tyler?"
Hearing Sully say his name makes it more real somehow. "Meeting him Thursday, after the paternity test results. Though we all know what they'll say." I grab my coffee, needing something to do with my hands. "He likes dinosaurs. And toy cars."
Sully's mouth twitches, almost a smile. "Leo was into trucks at that age. Wouldn't go anywhere without this beat-up yellow Tonka truck. It was about as big as him. He’d make the engine noise while he pushed it around."
"How'd you do it?" I ask, the question I've been turning over since the gala. "Raise two kids while playing in the show?"
He leans back, considering. "Not perfectly. Made plenty of mistakes. But I showed up. Every day I could, I showed up."
"Their mom died. You didn't have a choice."
"Neither do you now." His voice sharpens slightly. "That boy exists. He's yours. Choice is made."
I stand, restless energy driving me to pace. "I know that. I'm not ducking responsibility. But this is—Christ, Sully, I'm going from zero to father overnight. With a woman I barely know. A kid who has no idea who I am."
"He'll learn." Sully watches me pace, unruffled. "Kids are adaptable. More than we give them credit for."
"What if I screw him up? What if I'm not cut out for this?"
"You're the captain for a reason, Mac. You take care of people. You see what they need."
I laugh, sarcastically. "This is different. This isn't getting a rookie settled or talking a guy through a scoring drought. This is a human life. A little boy who's going to look at me and expect... what? A hero? A dad? I don't know how to be either of those things."
Sully sets down his cup. "No one does at first."
I stop pacing, bracing both hands on the back of a chair. "My dad was an alcoholic."
The words hang in the air. Sully knows this, of course. He's known me since I was eighteen, has seen the scars my father's drinking left. But I've never said it so plainly, never connected it to my own fears about fatherhood.
"One night when I was sixteen," I continue, voice tight, "he hit my mom. Just once. I stepped between them. Never saw him raise a hand again, but the damage was done. That fear never left her eyes." I look up at Sully. "What if that's in me too? What if I have that same switch that flips?"
Sully holds my gaze. "You don't."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because I've seen you in every situation a man can face—exhausted, injured, furious, heartbroken. I've seen you take hits that would make most men lose control. And you never have." His voice is steady, certain. "That's not who you are."
I want to believe him. Need to. "I'm scared, Sully. Terrified I'll fail this kid before I even get a chance to know him."
