“She died, Tate,” I finally managed to choke out as I wipe at the tears on my face. “There was a car accident and she didn’t make it.”
Tate steps forward, his arms reaching for me. I think he's going to hug me but then his eyes land on Dylan again who is staring right at him with this look of contemplation. Like he's trying desperately to figure out who Tate is. Tate turns to me with a look very similar, only there is fear fluttering his eyelashes because deep down he is scared to know the answer to the question that flies out of his mouth next.
“Why did you bring Diana’s baby here?”
I don’t say it. I can’t. But I don’t have to. Before I can, the security guard is back. He’s pushed all the luggage we left behind and is standing with it in front of the cars we’re tucked between. “Sorry Mr. Garrison, but do you need me to load this for you?”
Tate nods, pulls a fob from his pocket, and tosses it to the guard. The guy keeps wheeling the luggage farther down the aisle.
“Mallory. Talk.”
I open my mouth but nothing comes out. Why am I such a fucking wuss? This is hard. It’s ugly and brutal but Dylan needs me to be strong, not a fucking coward. I run a hand over Dylan’s thick hair and meet Tate’s eyes. “You know why I brought him here. Look at him. Youknow.”
“Diana… she’s dead,” Tate whispers and steps away from Dylan and me. He begins pacing in the narrow space between the cars. His hands rake into his hair and his eyes stay firmly on the gritty pavement.
I fight the tears pricking at my eyes. “Yes. Eight days ago.”
“And you have… you have this baby…” His voice cracks and he swallows. He still won’t look at us. “Why? Why do you have this… her baby?”
He wants me to lie. Say anything but the truth. I know. I almost get it. I mean, this is going to flip his world upside down. Change it forever. No matter what he chooses to do. Even if he rejects Dylan and tells me to adopt him or put him in foster care, his life will never be the same. This isn’t something you move on from like an impulse buy you later return.
“Mallory!” he growls my name and stops pacing, but his eyes are still rooted on the ground. “Fucking talk.”
Dylan lets out a whimper and I adjust him on my hip as I take a small, ragged breath. “Because I agreed to bring him to his only living parent.”
Tate’s eyes finally snap up from the ground and lock with mine. I stare at him until the tears swimming in my eyes make it impossible to focus. “Oh my God.” The words rush out of him in a hoarse whisper.
“Mr. Garrison?” the guard calls out and Tate jumps. “All this stuff ain’t gonna fit in your car.”
He rakes his hands through his hair again and brushes past me in the tight space. I turn and watch a couple more players walk by. They call out goodbyes to Tate and he waves but focuses on the security guard and the two bags sitting on the ground.
“Okay. I’m going to call an Uber to take the extra bags to my house,” Tate tells the security guard. “Hold on.”
He pulls out his phone and I slowly walk over to his car, which is a very fancy sports car. A Mercedes so sleek and low and compact I’m not even sure it has a back seat. Dylan and I may also have to ride in that Uber. If he lets us go home with him that is.
“Can you walk them up to the gate and have the gate security give the bags to the Uber with this license plate,” Tate asks and shows the guard his phone screen. The guard pulls a notepad and pen out of his back pocket, jots down the plate number, and nods.
“I can go and do that. And we can take the Uber with the bags,” I interject. “He has to be in a car seat. In a back seat and I don’t know if you… this car has one.”
"It does." Tate grabs the car seat off one of the suitcases where it is balanced. He stares at it for a second like it's an alien life force before glancing back up at me. "You know how to install this?"
“Yeah. Of course.” I nod and take it from him.
The security guard walks away with the extra luggage. I walk to the passenger side and open the only door. The car only has two doors, not four, which is going to make installing this a bit of a bitch. And I can’t do it with Dylan strapped to my chest or on my hip.
I look at Tate who is still the color of a bleached bed sheet. “I need you to hold him a sec.”
Then I hand him Dylan, but he doesn’t take him. The baby is just dangling between us. “Tate! Either hold him or I have to put him on the ground. And he can’t walk yet so he’s just going to sit on the disgusting pavement and cry.”
Tate steps forward, puts his hands under Dylan's armpits, and holds him. Out in front of him like he's some kind of rancid garbage. Good, great. We're off to a fabulous start. Now I'm getting angry. Dylan is squirming and his little face bunches up and I open my mouth to snap at Tate but before I can he pulls his arms in and tucks Dylan against his left side. Dylan's face is still bunched up and turning red like he's about to wail. He is staring at Tate like 'Who the fuck are you stranger?' But that's fair.
I duck into the tiny back seat with the car seat and focus on getting it secured as quickly as possible. It’s a bit annoying and takes longer than normal due to the cramped space but I get it done before Dylan really starts crying.
As soon as my body is upright and out of the car, Tate is handing Dylan back to me like he’s a hot potato. I take the baby and smile at him reassuringly. “It’s okay Dyllie Bear. We’ll get you settled soon, I promise.”
Tate is already getting into the driver’s seat and has the engine going by the time I get Dylan strapped in and give him his giraffe for company. I scurry into the passenger seat and click my seatbelt but Tate doesn’t drive out of the spot. He stares straight ahead through the windshield. A couple more players walk by on the way to their own cars.
“Tate?” I say quietly with a deep inhale. The car still has that new car smell.
