Page 21 of Protecting the Boundary
“There’s the first layer right after the loss. It’s the darkest and hardest to get through—essentially that’s the core of the onion that no one can get to without the outer layers being removed. But only you can move through those layers. No one can force you from one to the next, but maybe someone says something or you hear a song and it gives you a sense of closure that allows you to move out to the next layer. Or time. Sometimes you just need time to move out of that first layer, but the length of time can be different for everyone. For you, it was clear you moved out of that core layer when you really took over caring for Kay. You stayed in that second layer though for a longtime. Then over the last year or so, you’ve moved on to the third layer—you socialized a bit more, started smiling a little bit, but you were still under more layers of grief. And now you’ve moved out to the next layer, and of all the people to push you, it was your new nanny.” He shakes his head, then grins at me. “Is she hot?”
I push his arm and he bursts into laughter. “That’s not even funny. You know there’s no one else for me but Syd.”
He sobers. “You’re only twenty-seven, man. You really think Syd would’ve wanted you to be alone for the rest of your life?”
“I’m not alone. I’ve got Kay.”
He shakes his head, getting sad. “You know it’s not the same. Your child will always have a piece of your heart, but the love you have for a partner is different. And even if you’re still in denial, deep down you know Sydney would’ve never wanted you to be single for the rest of your life. She’d want you to fall in love and find someone who will love Kaylee as much as she did.”
“No woman could ever love her as much as her own mother,” I say, my chest getting tight at the thought. Falling in love with someone else is never going to be on the table for me. No one will love me or Kay as much as Sydney did, and I’ll never disrespect her by filling her place with a woman who doesn’t belong there.
“You sure about that? There are plenty of kids out there who’ve been adopted or found great foster parents who loved them better than their birth parents did.”
I glare at him. “My situation’s not the same and you know it. Sydney died for Kay. There’s no greater sacrifice she could make to prove her love for our daughter.”
Gabe rolls his lips between his teeth like he wants to say more but is biting it back. Thankfully, a whistle blows and we look out to the field to see our team needs another first down or it will be our turn. We both watch silently asthe opposing team’s defense holds back our forward progress. Gabe and I grab our helmets while Ty and Dom get into their own positions, along with the rest of our defensive line.
Before play starts, I do something I never do and look up at the stands where I know Meredith and Kaylee are sitting. Meredith has Kay in her arms, both of them smiling wide and cheering. My breathing gets shallow as my heart rate picks up. I shake my head, hoping I can shake off the unsettled feeling that I’ve never felt on the field before and then focus on the play.
FOURTEEN
Kaylee and I laugh and cheer as I point to where her dad just tackled the opposing team’s player. She claps while I hold her on my hip so she can see over the adults in the row in front of us.
My jaw practically hit the floor when I saw the seats Romel got for us. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised—I mean, he’s a player so I’m sure it’s no big deal for him to get second-row seats like this—but I’ve never been this close to the action. The last time my dad and I attended a football game together was when I was in high school. They were nosebleeds, but I still remember having the best time.
I’ve tried to make the experience similar for Kay. We bought snacks and hot dogs—which I cut up into much more manageable bites for her—and we’ve cheered every time her dad gets on the field. I make sure to point him out so she can see him, and she always gets the biggest smile on her face whenever she does.
I have to admit, watching Romel play is mesmerizing—and distracting. His football jersey does nothing to hide the way his muscles flex as he moves, the power he puts into his tackles, andhis speed when he runs toward an opponent; it’s all doing things to me it absolutely should not be doing.
We watch as he makes a tackle, and almost instantly, I know something’s not right. The crowd around us grows quiet as we watch the guy he tackled get up, but Romel stays down. His right hand is gripping his left shoulder, and I hold my breath as three other players run toward him, one getting down on a knee to check in. The team medic runs out onto the field.
“God, I hope Watson’s not hurt,” someone says nearby.
Worry fills Kay’s face. “Is Daddy hurt?” she whispers, her words already wobbling with the threat of tears. I hug her tighter against me, wishing I could offer her the reassurance she needs, but I also won’t lie to her.
I point out to the field and the people surrounding her dad. “There’s a doctor checking him out right now. We just need to wait a few minutes and then we’ll know more, okay, KayBear?”
She wraps her arms around my neck and rests her head on my shoulder, her gaze still locked on the field. She doesn’t lift her head, or loosen her hold, until Romel stands. Then we both let out a heavy breath as he walks over to the sidelines. His gaze searches us out in the crowd, and his brows furrow in worry once he finds us.
I point to him. “Look, Kay, he’s okay.”
“He’s okay?” she sniffles.
He waves with his good arm—the one he was gripping on the field is still held lax at his side—and gives her a smile.
I brush away the few tears that escaped her eyes and hug her tighter. “He’s going to be okay, Kay.”
“Promise?” she asks, staring me down.
My chest tightens painfully at the fear I see in her eyes—how scared she is of losing him. She might not know her mother, but it’s clear she recognizes what she’s lost in a weird abstract way and doesn’t want to lose her dad. I rest my forehead onhers. “I promise that your daddy will always do whatever he can to come home to you.” It’s not a lie. In just the few weeks I’ve worked for him, I’ve seen that he will always do everything in his power to be there for Kaylee.
She must believe me because she relaxes against me.
Even though Romel gets back on the field and plays, it’s clear Kay is no longer having any fun. Even when I try to get her to dance with me to one of the songs they play during halftime, she barely cracks a smile.
“Do you want to go home?”
She shakes her head, and I let out a sigh. The rest of the game feels like it drags on forever. Romel plays great, but it’s clear his shoulder is still bothering him when he rubs at it whenever he’s on the sidelines. He’s trying to be subtle about it—probably to avoid the other team taking advantage and making it worse—but it still has me worried. I try to think if I’ve seen ice packs in the freezer at home.
