"Neither do I." I squeeze her fingers. "But I'm not about to deny this, us, because she's uncomfortable with how happy he is with you."
The water runs in the bathroom—Tyler brushing his teeth, another morning ritual. I lower my voice further.
"Look, I'll call my lawyer. We'll figure this out. But I meant what I said last night." I hold her gaze, making sure she understands. "I love you."
She nods, blinking back tears. "I love you too. And I love him."
"I know you do." I pull her against me, her head tucking under my chin. "That's why we're going to fight this."
Tyler's feet thunder down the hallway, and we separate just as he bursts into the kitchen wearing mismatched socks and his dinosaur shirt backward.
"Can we go to the park? Pleeeease?" He's already jumping in place, energy restored.
"Maybe later, bud," I say, ruffling his hair. "First, let's fix your shirt. It's on backwards."
As I help him turn his shirt around, I catch Reese's eye over his head. Her smile is strained but determined. Mine probably looks the same.
The battle lines have been drawn, whether we wanted them or not.
Early in the evening Tyler falls asleep, worn out from the day. I feel the same bone-deep exhaustion, but sleep isn't an option. The kitchen island's cold marble presses against my forearms as I stare at my phone propped against the fruit bowl. Reese sits beside me, her knee touching mine, notepad ready, pen tapping a nervous rhythm against the paper. We're waiting for my lawyer to FaceTime us about Jessica's threat to modify the custody agreement. Eight-thirty—right on time—the phone lights up with a call from Patricia Winters, the Blades’ family law specialist.
I swipe to answer. The screen fills with a woman in her fifties, silver-streaked hair pulled back, reading glasses perched on her nose. Her home office appears behind her—bookshelves, diplomas, a painting of Lake Michigan.
"Logan, Reese, good evening," Patricia says, her voice measured and precise. "I've spoken with Jessica's attorney. They're not wasting any time."
"How bad is it?" I ask, hearing the tension in my own voice.
"Let me start by saying this isn't my first rodeo with ex-partners who get uncomfortable with new relationships." She shuffles some papers off-screen. "Jessica's filing a petition to modify the current custody arrangement. Specifically, she's requesting what's called a 'right of first refusal' provision."
"What does that mean?" Reese asks, pen already moving.
"It means that whenever Logan can't personally be with Tyler during his parenting time—for games, travel, team obligations—Jessica would have the right to take Tyler rather than allowing anyone other than her to care for him." Patricia's eyes are sympathetic but direct. "Additionally, she's asking for restrictions on visits when you're present, Reese. And she's citing concerns about parental alienation."
I flinch at the word. "Parental alienation?" I repeat. "That's ridiculous. I've never said a negative word about Jessica to Tyler."
"The claim isn't about you speaking negatively," Patricia explains. "It's about her perception that Reese is assuming a maternal role that confuses Tyler about Jessica's place in his life. The 'bonus mommy' term has been specifically mentioned in their filing."
Reese makes a small sound beside me, and I reach for her hand under the counter. Her fingers are ice cold.
"Her attorney mentioned the Instagram photos from your team event as evidence," Patricia continues. "They're arguing that the photos, combined with Reese's regular presence during your parenting time, is creating a situation where Tyler is forming an attachment that undermines his relationship with his mother."
"That's absolutely not what's happening," I say, fighting to keep my voice even. "Tyler adores his mother. Reese has never tried to replace her."
"I understand that. But in family court, perception often matters as much as reality." Patricia adjusts her glasses. "They're also requesting that the court appoint a guardian ad litem—essentially an attorney who represents Tyler's interests."
Reese's grip tightens on my hand. "So what happens now?"
"They've filed the motion. I'll file our response opposing the modification. Then we'll have a hearing, likely within the next few weeks." Patricia's expression is grave. "I need to be honest—these situations can get messy. The court will want to assess what's in Tyler's best interest, and that may involve interviews, home visits, even psychological evaluations in some cases."
My stomach drops. "Will they talk to Tyler?"
"Possibly, though usually in a very child-appropriate way, given his age. The guardian ad litem would be the one to interact with him, not the judge directly."
I picture Tyler trying to understand why strangers are asking him questions about Mommy and Daddy and Reese. The thought makes me sick.
"What are our chances?" I ask.
Patricia considers this. "Courts generally don't favor restricting relationships that benefit the child unless there's clear evidence of harm. And they're typically reluctant to micromanage parenting time." She pauses. "That said, the 'bonus mommy' terminology does complicate things. It suggests a parental role that could be confusing for a child Tyler's age."
