“Oh! This is Donovan. Say hi, buddy.”
I unclip one side of his support flap and twist so the gathered group can get a look at him. Since he’s awake and wide-eyed, I go ahead and unsnap the other side to pull him out.
Everyone pulls in a little closer. Several of the guys lift their hands up, some like they’re expecting me to pass him over, but a couple clearly think I’m going to drop him.
I snort. “Y’all know I’ve got one of the lowest fumbling records in the NFL. You think I’m gonna fumble a baby?”
Morales makes a more insistent grab for him as he says, “The fact that you just compared him to a football has me concerned, yes.”
Well, now I regret letting everyone see the handsomest little man in the world, so I tuck him in close to me.
Just like a football.
Because that’s literally what everyone said at the hospital. Their words, not mine.
“Umm, Sinclair?” says Thompson — not Rydell Thompson; Donnie Thompson, the punter. “Whose baby is that?”
I frown at the question. I know I need to keep quiet about Donovan’s paternity, but I did really enjoy how everyone at the hospital assumed I was his dad from the start. I kind of had that expectation for my teammates, which I’m now realizing makes no sense. They know — or think they know — that he’s not mine, and it doesn’t matter that he looks identical to my baby pictures.
Shit, I don’t even know if they’ve seen my baby pictures.
“Oh. Uh. He’s Tilly’s.”
“Why do you have Tilly’s baby?” asks Dominic.
“Because she’s running a fever, I think. So I don’t think she should be taking care of him.” I lift up the diaper bag. “It’s fine. I’ve got a bunch of milk in here.”
“Isthatwhere you’ve been?” Rydell asks.
He’s my roommate over at the Jug House, so I figured he would have known that. What the hell’s been happening there in my absence?
Meanwhile, Dominic pivots, shouts, “Allore! Get Keira over here!” and pivots back to me. “So let me get this straight: Tilly’s running a fever, and instead of calling someone, you just took the baby and a diaper bag and showed up to practice like everything was normal and no one would notice?”
I grimace. “Of course I thought people would notice. He’s ababy. But someone’s gotta take care of him, and if Tilly needs to go to the doctor, or is just, like, too weak or whatever, she doesn’t have to worry about Donovan. I’mhelping,”I huff, suddenly feeling like no one is appreciating that I’m the one who’s going to have to take care of a baby while training today. I wasn’t going to ask for any special favors or expect people to praise me for my selflessness, but sheesh. Being a working dad is tough.
“He’s not your baby!” Dominic shouts at me.
“Well, someone’s gotta take care of him.” I tuck Donovan back in his sling. He cuddles right up and even grabs my shirt in his tiny fist while I snap him in.
That grip he’s got? He’s not gonna be a Fumbling Fred when he grows up, either.
I try to get around the guys so I can head into the tunnel. I think I just need a moment to chill and touch base with the coach and my trainer, get my head on straight, before I go back out on the field. And maybe, yeah, I should hop on a treadmill. Get some consistent cardio. Donovan will like that, too.
“Where are you going?” Dominic calls after me as Evan Allore, the safety, runs up to me.
“I’m putting my shit in my locker and hunting down my trainer so y’all don’t have to worry about me distracting your little practice!”
“How are you going to practice when you don’t even have a playpen for him?” he shouts, but then Evan interrupts him.
“Oh hey, is that Tilly’s little guy? That’s the Babyplay Super Flex Sling we gave her, right?”
“Yeah, I guess so. Thanks for giving her this. It’s great.”
Evan, who’s about two brain cells above graham cracker on his best day, lights right up. “It is! Man, you can probably throw footballs all day in that. When I could still fit Shelby in it, I dideverythingwith her strapped right to me. Forgot she was there half the time.” He takes the diaper bag and duffel bag from me as he toddles after me down the tunnel, babbling away like a child, but at least he gets it.
Fuck.
Evan Allore gets it.
