She could have told them no. She doesn’t need the money. She does well for herself, and I pay her a large lump sum monthly for child support, even though we have shared parenting. I want to make sure my son never goes without. I also cover Mrs. Ward’s salary, so I know that Natasha is not hurting financially, but it’s not stopping her from prioritizing her career. Maybe I should suggest she talk to Bellamy about how that affects a kid, but I won’t. I’m keeping my mouth shut. “So when are you coming home?”
“I’m staying another two weeks.”
“So you’re going three weeks without seeing our son?”
“He’s not even two yet. He won’t remember. Besides, he has you and Mrs. Ward to take care of him. He won’t even miss me.” Someone calls her name in the background. “Gotta go,” she says, and the line goes dead.
Shoving my phone back into my pocket, I focus on deep, even breaths. She didn’t ask about him or want to talk to him. I just don’t understand how she can care so little about our boy. I call her every day, multiple times a day sometimes, when it’s her week to check on him, to talk to him. She’s never once done that. At first, I thought maybe I was being a helicopter dad, but then I quickly changed my mind. I love my son. I care about him, his day, and his well-being. If that makes me a helicopter dad, then fuck it, I’ll own that title.
“Book!” Camden comes toddling toward me with a book in his hand. “Read.” He stretches out his little arms to hand me the book.
“Looks like you’re staying with Daddy, kiddo,” I tell him, as I settle on the plush carpet. I’m barely seated before he’s climbing onto my lap and settling in for a story. “One book, and then we’re going to see your aunts and uncles and baby Coral.”
“Baby.” He nods.
He loves his baby cousin. Sure, they’re not really related, but blood doesn’t make you family. Look at his mother. “All right, bud, let’s do this.” I open the book and begin to read. By the time I reach the last page, Camden’s eyes are closed. Carefully, I climb to my feet and settle him in bed before quietly tiptoeing out of the room.
Across the hall, I shut my bedroom door and drop down on the bed. My heart breaks for my son, and angry tears prick my eyes. I fucking hate Natasha for how she treats him, as if he’s a pair of shoes she left behind before jet-setting off to Europe. I’ll always be grateful to her for giving me my son. I’m aware that the outcome of the pregnancy news could have been different, and I love that little boy with all that I am. However, I hate her, too. Lying back on the bed, I take a few deep breaths and slowly exhale.
I need to call Mrs. Ward and let her know where she’ll need to be next week. She’s off this weekend. Her daughter and son-in-law are in town visiting. I might as well get that out of the way. I hate interrupting her time with them, but she should know where she’s supposed to be on Monday. I’ll make it quick, I decide, as I tug my phone out of my shorts pocket and dial her number.
“Mr. Sinclair, is everything okay?” Mrs. Ward asks.
“Everything is fine. I was just calling to update you for next week.”
“Let me guess, Master Camden will be with you?” she guesses, and I can hear the distaste of the situation in her tone.
“Yeah.” I sigh. “Natasha has a shoot.”
“Mm-hmm,” she replies. “You hug that young man of yours for me. I’ll see you on Monday, Mr. Sinclair.”
“Thank you,” I say, ending the call. Mrs. Ward has been a godsend. I hate having to travel on the weeks when I have Camden, but I’m a professional athlete, and that’s just the nature of the job. Having a nanny we trust and who loves my son is a huge weight off my shoulders. He loves her, just as if she were his grandma.
I oftentimes feel guilty that my parents live so far away, but they visit often, and their lives are in Philadelphia, where I was born and raised. Besides, they’re traveling the world, living their best life, and I love that for them. I know it’s my issue. I have so much guilt over the way Natasha is with Camden. I feel guilty that it’s her who’s my son’s mother. That’s what it boils down to. I want better for him.
Fuck. A therapist would have a field day with me.
Knowing that if I lie here, I’m going to fall asleep, I force myself to stand and make my way to the upstairs laundry room. My primary bedroom is downstairs, and there are four additional bedrooms and a loft upstairs. I bought this house after Natasha told me she was pregnant. I knew my child needed a yard to play in.
I freaked out the first night I brought him home with me. His room was upstairs, and I was downstairs. Single-dad life is tough. I slept on a pile of blankets on his bedroom floor. The next day, I ordered furniture for one of the spare rooms to use as my own, as well as a bassinet for him to sleep close to me in my room for a few months.
The sales clerk tried to talk me into one of those bed things that attach to my bed, but I was afraid I’d somehow roll over on him. I’ve read the books, and they all advise against it, so a bassinet right next to my bed was pretty much the same thing, except it had four sides instead of three and wasn’t attached to my bed.
He’s going to be two in two months, and he sleeps soundly in his own bed, in his room, but I’m still sleeping in the guest room upstairs. Half of my clothes are downstairs, and half are upstairs. I keep telling myself that he’s old enough now, and that I can sleep in my room, but I’ve yet to change it.
Mrs. Ward just smiles and tells me that I’ll know when the time is right. Her room is down the hall next to Camden’s. I’ve offered to let her move into my suite on the first floor, but she refuses. She’s earned her own space, having to deal with both Natasha and me. Mostly Natasha, but I might as well toss my name into the hat, too. I’m sure I have my moments when I’m tired and cranky and have to deal with Natasha. Mrs. Ward is a saint in my eyes.
Grabbing the baby monitor, I peek in on Camden before quietly making my way downstairs. Once it’s on, I place it on the kitchen island and tackle unloading the dishwasher. I could pay someone to do this for me, and I do. I have someone who comes in and cleans once a week. During the season, I don’t have time, and when not in season, if I’m not at the gym, I’m spending time with Camden.
My mind always goes to Bellamy, Reid’s wife, and how she resented her father for choosing his career. I never want my son to feel that way. I don’t know the whole story where Bellamy is concerned. In fact, we were all shocked to find out she was our coach’s daughter. Hell, we didn’t even know Coach had a daughter. Regardless, Camden is my priority and always will be.
After closing the dishwasher, I wipe down the counters and sweep the kitchen floor. Camden is in this “let me put everything in my tiny hands so I can put it in my mouth” stage. I have one of those automatic sweeper things, but I still find myself sweeping most days, even after it has run.
By the time I’m done, Camden is chatting away in his bed, and I smile. Little man is up, and it’s time to head to the get-together. I’m sure everyone will be thrilled to see that he’s with me. We all miss him when he’s gone, but lately, that’s not very often.
As I make my way upstairs, I try to remember the last time it’s been a whole week that I didn’t see my son, and it’s too far back for me to remember. Have I ever? Maybe once or twice when he was a newborn.
Fucking Natasha.
