The beaming smile she gives me as she cradles the bean hits me right in the solar plexus. “Thanks for everything, Billy. I mean it.” She holds out her hand, and I lace our fingers together.
Once she’s done feeding the baby, I place her in a clear bassinet next to Roxy’s bed and then I crash on the narrow couch. The next day is full of learning how to bathe the bean and tips on feeding and changing her. Tests to make sure she’s healthy. And a ton of visitors.
At one point, the nurse asks me to take off my shirt and hold the baby skin to skin. Apparently, that’s good for them. So I hold my little sweetheart to my bare chest and softly sing to her as I watch her beautiful mama sleep.
When I finally get back to training camp, my mind is on the bean and Roxy. The guys congratulate me like I had something to do with Roxy kicking ass. I smile and promise to pass along the well wishes. I’m proud as hell of that woman.
But the coolest thing is when my teammates call me Daddy. They all think she’s mine. In my heart, she is. I puff up like a rooster and strut around practice all day.
At one point, Ezra looks like he wants to say something to me, but he’s too chicken shit to do it.
Roxy’s mom is staying with her while I’m away. She’ll be released from the hospital this evening. I don’t know how I’m going to handle being away from my girls so much this fall.
As I think about my schedule—football and classes and training—I wonder if I’ll ever sleep again. But it’s all worth it for the bean.
After practice, I return to the hospital. I poke my head in the room, but Roxy is asleep. I look for the bassinet, but it’s not there.
I head for the nursery. It’s a large glass room where they place the babies when the mothers need to rest. A nurse points to the corner.
“Marley Santos is right here.”
Roxy decided on a name, then. Marley. It’s beautiful.
But then my attention snags on the last part.
Santos.
Not Babcock.
Nodding slowly, I try to take a deep breath, surprised by how difficult it is to fill my lungs. “Th-thanks.”
I guess Roxy decided she didn’t want to use my last name. Of course, this is her baby and she can call her whatever she wants. She’s the one who gestated this kid for ten months. I’m not even the sperm donor.
This shouldn’t bother me, but the tightness in my chest suggests it does.
As I attempt another breath, I realize this is a wake-up call. Because I’m not really the father. I’m just the stand-in. A placeholder.
Makes me wonder if I’ll ever be more.
41
ROXY
My mom packsup my hospital room while Coach holds Marley and my brother baby-talks to her.
“Who’s your favorite uncle? That’s right, cutie. Your Uncle Deke.” He turns to me. “I’d better get going. Some jerk is giving me a curfew at the dorms, and I still need to pick up Subway sandwiches for the guys.” After some stink-eye to our dad, who’s too busy doting on the baby to pay attention to the salty attitude, my brother takes off.
My pulse skyrockets the moment the door closes. I fist my hands by my side so they don’t tremble. “Guys, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about before Billy gets here.” Not because I don’t want him to be a part of this conversation, but because it’s time I do the right thing on my own without his help. Because Billy has helped me witheverythingfor the last several months. I honestly don’t know how I would’ve gotten to this point without his support.
But this? This I need to do on my own.
Billy texted that he stopped by earlier today when I was sleeping, and he’s heading out to run a few errands, but he’ll return to take me and Marley home in an hour.
My mom stops folding my clothes and comes to stand next to the bed, where I’m sitting and trying to motivate myself to get dressed.
Coach hands me Marley. “What’s up, honey? Is everything with you and Billy okay?”
“Yes, he’s wonderful. It’s not about him.” That’s not exactly right. “I’m not saying this correctly. Actually, I haven’t been honest with you two about something, and now that Marley’s here, I see how wrong that was.” I drag a finger over her dark hair that looks so much like Ezra’s. “I want to be the kind of parent she can be proud of, and lying isn’t the way to do that.”
