“Daddy! We are watching the mouse movie!” Owen says excitedly. “And they ordered me pancakes that they brought to the room.”
“That’s awesome, buddy.” I fold the papers under my arms and squat down to give my son a hug. “I’m so happy you had fun. Are you ready to go back and we can get ready for the game today?”
“Bye stinky face!” Owen says with a laugh, turning to wave at Vince and Mason. They’re both sitting on the same bed and it looks like the other one was barely slept in.
“See you later Tater Tot.”
Owen giggles and takes my hand. I wave at them, thanking them once again for keeping him overnight. We walk back down to our hotel room and knock. I didn’t grab the hotel key in my panic.
Gabe opens the door, rubbing his eyes. “Sorry I rushed out. I woke up and there was someone at the door and then I went and got Owen. We fell asleep before calling to make sure he was okay.”
Gabe steps aside and Owen runs into the room. I note that my clothes have been picked up after my haste to get out. “You fell asleep, baby.” Gabe’s voice is quiet as he pulls me in for a hug. “I made sure he was okay to stay the night before I fell asleep. I wanted you to have fun last night so I took care of everything.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. The ball in my stomach dissipates and I lean into my Daddy’s body. The papers still under my arm crunch, and I pull back to look at them.
“What’s that?” Gabe asks.
“Some guy was at the door when I woke up. He knew my name, so I’m not sure if it’s something to do withthe college or not.”
I scan over the first page. It’s a legal document, that much I’m sure of. I flip through a couple more pages before I realize what I’m looking at. My hands start to shake, and I feel like I can’t breathe.
“It’s a document to take Owen away from me.”
Chapter Twenty
Seeingtheanxietyattackfor what it is, I act quickly to usher Owen back down the hall. I feel guilty that I can’t assuage his confusion, but Justin is my main priority right now. The guys take Owen without me needing to explain anything, the look on my face enough to tell them something has gone wrong. I am incredibly grateful for them as they usher Owen back into the room, distracting him with their hijinks.
When I get back into our room, Justin is right where I left him, sitting on the edge of the mattress. Unlike when I left him, he is now hyperventilating with tears streaming down his face. Rushing to his side, I rub his back and encourage him to take deep breaths.
“I can’t...I can’t breathe,” he wheezes, and he clutches at his chest, “it hurts, Daddy. It hurts. I can’t breathe.”
My heart breaks at the fear in his voice, but I remind myself to stay calm. “Yes you can, baby,” I soothe. “Focus on taking slow, deep breaths for me. In…that’s it,” I murmur, my hand still moving in circles over the cotton of his tee, “and out. Good boy. Again. In…”
We repeat this over and over as he fights to regain control of his breathing. He calms momentarily and then, as soon as he sees the papers strewn across the bed beside him, the whole episode starts over again, with heaving breaths and heart-wrenching sobs.
Eventually, the panic attack releases its hold on him, and his crying tapers off into hitching, shaky inhalations as he slumps against me. Not wanting to risk setting him off again, I refrain from asking about the papers, waiting for him to speak first.
The team bus will be leaving soon, but the guys will bring Owen back before that becomes an issue, so I’m not too concerned about time. I’m more concerned about the papers Justin was served. About what that means for my Boy and, on some level, the small family we’re forging together.
“Th-they’re taking my son,” Justin says, and I feel him tense up, as if his body is braced to meltdown again. “Karen and Harold. They’re taking Owen.”
“They can’t,” I reply firmly, anger at his former in-laws boiling my blood. I have zero legal knowledge or experience, but I refuse to believe that the older couple can just demand custody and take it. “Theywon’t.”
“You can’t promise that,” Justin snaps back, then bursts into tears again. This time, though, he isn’t hyperventilating. “I can’t afford a lawyer. I can’t…It’s justme, Gabe. How…how am I supposed to compete against a married couple who own their home and have God-only-knows how much money in savings, and—”
“It’s not just you. It’sus, and—”
“You’re a college kid on a scholarship,” he cuts me off with an edge of frustration, and I try not to feel the sting of insult in those words.
This is the first time he’s called me a kid. The first time our differences have been raised as a problem.
I know he’s not saying it out of spite or malice. I know that, on paper, being in college is not as stable as being employed full-time.I also know that being all of twenty-two to his twenty-seven seems like a much bigger deal than it feels in reality.
“Plus,” he continues when I don’t argue with him, “you’re a guy. Look me in the eye and tell me that our legal system is progressive enough to think that’s just ashealthy” —he sneers the word derisively— “for a child as a mananda woman. And no, you know I don’t think it makes a difference, but a judge probably will.Plusyou and I have only been dating for a few months and—”
“Breathe,” I cut in, not wanting him to work himself into a state again. “I know. I know that on paper, they’re ‘more appropriate’, or whatever, but you are his biological fatherandthe only parent he’s known before this year. I’m obviously not a lawyer, but I think they take stuff like that into consideration. And, like, social workers get involved and talk to the kids and stuff.”
“I don’twanta social worker coming in to scrutinize my whole life!”
