Page 20 of Protecting the Boundary
He steps forward, wrapping his strong arms around me, and I accept his hug. He steps back and squeezes my bicep once before he focuses on the jam again.
“Dad, can I ask you something?”
“Always.”
“Why didn’t you ever date again?”
He glances at me from the corner of his eye, and I’m worried he can read me too well and understands why I’m asking. If he does, he doesn’t say anything about it, but there is concern in his furrowed brow that gives away his worry for me. “I loved your mom more than I’d ever loved anyone. She was my whole world until you were born. That kind of love can’t be replaced.”
He says it like it’s a fact. I frown. “You wouldn’t have to replace her though. Couldn’t you love someone else, equal but different?”
He tilted his head back and forth, thinking about my question. “I suppose it’s possible, but when you’ve loved someone that deeply, it’s hard to open yourself up enough to hurt again.” Now it’s his turn to frown, and for a second I worry that I’ve opened a can of worms that maybe should’ve stayed closed. “Losing her nearly destroyed me, Meredith, and I couldn’t put myself in that position again, especially not when I had to take care of you. You were my priority after I lost her.”
“Do you think it’s possible to love someone again when you’ve had that kind of big love?”
He stares at me, and I know for certain he definitely knows why I’m asking. “I think any man would be lucky to find two big loves in his lifetime, but he has to be open to it. And when there’s a child involved, that child willalwaystake priority over a relationship.”
My heart sinks, but his words aren’t any different from the conclusion I’ve already come to. Mycrush on Romel will never go anywhere, because his priority will always be Kaylee—as it should be.
Which means it’s time to bury this crush as far down as I can and focus on the reason I’m in their life at all—to take care of Kay.
THIRTEEN
There’s something about stepping on a football field that makes all the chaos inside me go quiet. It’s been this way my whole life, although it seems the older I get, the more of a mess my head becomes, and the more I need the reprieve I find on the field.
After Sydney died, I wasn’t sure if I should keep playing. Gabe, Dom, and Ty were the ones who convinced me to get back on the field. I’d told myself I’d give it a handful of games before I decided what I’d do. The first game back after her death felt like an out-of-body experience. My body knew what to do, and I essentially went on autopilot. It wasn’t my best game, but it wasn’t my worst either. The second time, my head cleared and I took all the grief—the pain, the anger, the loss—and let it fuel me. I played harder, stronger, faster than I ever had before. It only took those two games to learn that I could channel my grief instead of letting it eat me alive like it had been.
It doesn’t mean it’s not still there when I’m off the field, but playing football allows me to expend the worst of it instead of being buried by it. It allows me to be my best self—or the post-Sydney version of myself—for my daughter.
Three years later and it still gives me thesame feeling. Only tonight feels a little different because Kaylee gets to be here to watch me play, which isn’t something she’s gotten to do very often.
It was Meredith’s idea to help with the separation anxiety, and after our talk the other night, I wanted to show her I was open to her suggestions. To show her I wasn’t the closed off asshole I’d been when she started two weeks ago.
Meredith isn’t quite what I expected, but I think she might be exactly what I need. I’ll admit, I was surprised when she confronted me. I was also impressed as hell. It’s been a long time since someone called me out. I can’t think of a single time it’s happened since Sydney’s death. Everyone’s always careful with me, whether they mean to be or not. Even my brothers—the other members of the Fierce Four—started treating me differently after Sydney died. We’ve joked that it’s because I’m the “dad” of the group, but that’s not true anymore now that Ty has his own daughter.
I don’t think they do it on purpose, and it never really bothered me before. Not until Meredith. Now I’m seeing all the ways that I’ve shut people out—ways I wasn’t conscious of until now.
But Meredith hasn’t just called me out, she’s also offered quiet comfort with her presence like she did that night under the stars. She’s given me something I didn’t realize I was missing—having someone to share my burdens with, without any of the judgment or sad looks I get from friends and family. Everyone thinks I should move on from Sydney and put myself out there again, but Meredith seems to understand without any pressure of what she thinks I “should” do.
She’s a breath of fresh air when I didn’t realize I’d been suffocating.
“You good?” Gabe asks me as we sit on the sidelines watching our offense get a firstdown.
“Do you think I’ve been more closed off since Syd?” I ask, glancing at him.
He arches a brow. “Is this a trick question?”
I pinch my lips together and face the field. Gabe twists his body, resting his arm on the back of the bench. “You’re serious.” His brows furrow. “What made you ask?”
I’ve never lied to him, and I’m not going to start now. “My new nanny called me out, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what she said and how right she was.”
He grabs his chest and bursts into laughter. “Man, I never thought it would be your nanny.”
I twist my head and arch a brow, which makes his laughter slowly subside. He pats me on the back. “You’ve been grieving, Romel. There’s no time limit on grief. We’ve let you handle it however you needed to. Honestly, we thought it would eventually be Kay that pulled you out of it.”
“Out of grief?”
“Well, just out of that layer of grief. Not to sound like Shrek or anything, but in my experience, grief is like an onion.” Gabe lost his dad when he was thirteen, so he knows about grief, and he’s one of my best friends which is why I let him continue, even if I already think this is a ridiculous analogy.
