“Did you see when I almost fell, but Owen caught me?”
“Sawyer, when you scored—Mom, did you see that?”
“I think the mascot waved at me twice. I counted.”
“I saw,” I say, smiling. “I saw all of it.”
His voice slows as we go. Words stretch out. Sentences trail off halfway through. His head tips against the window, then bounces back upright like he’s fighting sleep on principle alone.
I glance over at Sawyer, then quickly back to the road ahead, pretending I wasn’t just watching the way his hands rest easy onthe steering wheel. The way he listens, to both of us, like every word matters.
A few minutes pass, and then silence.
Sawyer flicks his eyes to the rearview mirror. I do the same. Theo’s head has tipped forward, mouth slightly open. He’s completely out.
We share a look. A small one. The kind that doesn’t need commentary.
Sawyer’s mouth curves, causing a tiny dimple I’ve not noticed before to appear. Small. Devastating. Something inside me hitches, as I pull my gaze away.
The rest of the drive passes quietly. When we pull up outside my apartment, Sawyer parks and kills the engine without asking what I want him to do next. He’s such a good man, he already knows. He unbuckles, comes around, and lifts Theo carefully from the backseat like this isn’t his first time doing this, even though I know it is.
Theo stirs, murmurs something incoherent, then settles again.
Inside, shoes off, lights low, Sawyer waits in the hallway while I tuck Theo into bed, smooth his hair back, kiss his forehead.
“You had a good birthday,” I whisper.
“Did Dad call?” he asks.
“No buddy, but we’ll try to catch up with him tomorrow,” I manage, wanting to scream.
“It’s fine, you know.” His voice is thoughtful. “We’ve got Sawyer, too, right?”
With that, he rolls over and sighs a small, content sound that nearly undoes me.
When I close his door and turn back, Sawyer is still there. Still standing in my apartment, waiting for me. The quiet feels different now. Closer. The kind that presses in instead of receding.
“I need to say this properly,” I tell him, before he can speak. “What you did tonight?—”
He shifts, already preparing to brush it off. I shake my head.
“No. Let me say it.” I take a breath. Steady myself. “You showed up for him when his own father didn’t. You made his birthday magical. You got an entire professional hockey team to skate with my kid like it was the most normal thing in the world.” My voice tightens despite my best efforts. “You didn’t have to do any of that.”
Sawyer steps closer. Not rushing. Not crowding. Just closer.
“I wanted to,” he says quietly. “You matter to me. Both of you matter to me.”
There’s a moment where my veins feel as if they’ve been flushed with ice water. He’s just said the thing I’ve been circling all night without letting myself name. It’s the moment where gratitude stops being enough, and something else begins to take shape.
I hesitate, then decide not to soften it.
“You should know that David talked about maybe moving back,” I say. “He says he wants to be around more. That he wants to try.” I let out a breath. “I don’t know if he’ll actually see it through. I’ve heard versions of this before, and his not showing up for tonight further puts you in the picture of what we’ve been dealing with.”
Sawyer doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t fill the space. He listens, hands loose at his sides, eyes steady on me.
“I keep thinking about Theo,” I continue. “About how many times he’s gotten his hopes up. How many times I’ve had to be the one to catch him when things fall apart.” My throat tightens. “I don’t want him hurt again.”
Sawyer nods once, slow and deliberate. “I don’t know what happens next with David,” he says. “But I know Theo’s going to be okay.”
