Page 40 of Draft Pick

It wasn’t as if my dad had given me much to work with in that department.

It was too late to call Lincoln or Zay — chances were both were knee-deep in pretty girls right now back at the club — which meant I had nothing but my spinning thoughts to keep my anxiety running away with me.

I had to believe I could get Starlie to see that I’d be a good father. But how could I manage that when I’d fumbled the ball so badly with the first play?

In the sixth grade, I wanted to become ambidextrous on the field, but I was struggling with throwing with my left hand. My Grams saw that I was getting frustrated and was about to give up. She told me, “Rome wasn’t built in a day, keep trying,” but then she quietly and without making a big deal about it, searched up training videos on YouTube and sent me the links.

I never forgot that lesson.

I could use Grams’ advice right about now. She’d know what to do, and she’d give me the advice I needed without making me feel like an idiot for not knowing.

So what would my Grams say about this situation? She probably wouldn’t say much, but she’d send me YouTube links about parenting, babies, and pregnant women.

Grams had loved her YouTube. She would’ve had a field day with TikTok.

If I could train my brain to throw right or left-handed, I could learn how to be a father.

Grabbing my phone, I searched birth plans, parenting styles, and anything else I could put into the search bar that might help teach me what I need to know about being a father.

By early morning light, my eyes felt filled with grit, burning with fatigue, and I was utterly convinced that no one should be browsing the Internet at three in the morning because some weird shit populated that no one was asking for.

And I wasn’t sure if I found anything I would trust as good information, not to mention I was a little apprehensive about going to Starlie with a plan that might make me look like a fruit loop.

I just wanted to be around my kid.

And Starlie.

It wasn’t just the baby. Like I told Zay, I liked her. There was something about Starlie that made me yearn for more. I didn’t know enough about her to understand why she made me feel that way, but I was like a moth to her light, buzzing around, needing that glow, for reasons that made no sense.

Aside from the obvious issue of working things out with Starlie, I had multiple issues demanding attention.

First, what was I going to tell my parents? Immediately followed up with, how and when?

Then, there was Zay and Lincoln. I couldn’t leave them in the dark when Ulysses, of all people, was out there flapping his jaws about my business.

Without information, I could see that going real bad. Particularly when Lincoln broke his jaw for talking shit.

So, I’ll talk to them first. Parents…eh, definitely putting that conversation off until absolutely necessary.

Triage the situation.

Women liked flowers, but Starlie wasn’t like most women I knew. I couldn’t wow her with bullshit, empty flattery, and charm. Starlie was immune to that game. I felt oddly bare and vulnerable without my usual tools to fall back on.

She liked pizza and beer — but beer was off the table for now.

Could pregnant women eat pizza? I read something on one of those websites that pregnant women shouldn’t eat cheese.

Sounded terrible. Nine months without cheese? That’s one helluva sacrifice.

Was she taking care of herself? Taking vitamins? Drinking enough water?

I had too many questions.

Should I start thinking of names?

I always liked the name Maverick. Yeah, fromTop Gun— guilty — but it was a bad-ass name, and I liked the idea of my kid starting strong.

What about a girl’s name? A sudden lump formed in my throat at the thought of a tiny little girl with my eyes and her mama’s smile. I’d murder anyone who dared to hurt her.

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