“I fired Oksana. I can’t call her up now. Even if she did come, what if she took out her annoyance with me on Hazel?”
“Good point. What about that girl you were seeing? Larissa.”
“Things didn’t work out. Besides, she lives kinda far, and even if she could teleport here, Hazel doesn’t like her.”
He hums for a minute. “Bring Hazy Daisy to the game.”
“What?”
“Bring her. We have nine assistant coaches. I’m sure someone has a girlfriend at the stadium who can help out. Or maybe one of the locker room volunteers can watch her.”
I’m not crazy about this idea, but it’s better than nothing. “Tell Coach I’m on my way and that I have to bring Hazel.” I cringe. “Or if you don’t want to face his wrath, just tell him the first part, and I’ll tell him about Hazel.”
After I race around the house and shove as many toys, coloring books, and snacks in Hazel’s bag as I can fit, I brush the crumbs off her pajamas and kiss her forehead. “Honey, I hate to do this, but I need to bring you to the game today because we don’t have a babysitter.”
Her little eyes light up. “Can I watch you play football?”
She means in the stadium. She’s been asking to come, but I don’t trust a babysitter to watch her in a crowd of seventy thousand people. Hazel’s a squirmy little thing. It would be too easy for her to walk off and not be noticed until something terrible happened.
“I’m not sure where you’ll be, but maybe we can put it on the TV in one of the meeting rooms.” I try to ignore her pout, but it pains me to disappoint her. As I slide on her shoes, I go over everything I can think of. “There’s money in your backpack for food if you get hungry. I also included a bottle of water. Be sure to hydrate. And remember that Daddy’s phone number is in the front pocket, with all of the emergency numbers. So after the game, you can always have someone dial that number for you.”
Saying those words strikes a panic in me I have difficulty shaking by the time we reach the stadium. I fucking hate that I don’t have anyone in my life I trust to watch my daughter. This shit’s not fair to Hazel, who I have to drag around town all day. She’s going to miss her nap and be out of sorts at bedtime. Who knows what she’ll get fed today? Stadium nachos and soda? French fries and ice cream? Crap and more crap.
I’m sorry, Gemma. I feel like I’m failing our daughter.
I never had a chance to see a therapist after my girlfriend died, but I got a few books on grief that helped as I waded through the five stages of grief.
This morning instantly slams me back to the anger stage.
I’m pissed that my daughter is still in her pajamas. That her hair’s a snarled mess. That I didn’t spend time with her last night because I wanted to take Coach’s advice and hang out with the guys for once.
And even though Gemma’s been gone almost three years, I feel guilty as fuck for flirting with Abby.
Which I don’t understand. I didn’t feel weird about going out with Larissa.
That bagel I gulped down before I left the house feels like it might surge back up.
What would Gemma tell me? She was always good at talking me off a ledge, but for the first time, I can’t remember what her voice sounds like.
After I park, I get Hazel out of the car seat and jog with her into the stadium. The volunteer who opens the door looks relieved to see me and clicks his walkie talkie to say, “QB1 is here.”
Coach is probably pissed if he wanted an update like that. I’m two hours late. Even though there’s plenty of time before the game starts, we all have our pre-game routine, and Coach always emphasizes how important it is to mentally prepare, which is why he likes us to arrive at the stadium early.
When I reach the locker room, I pause. Can I take Hazel in there? Shit. I’m not prepared to do a biology lesson with my four-year-old today.
But when the door swings open, Coach Santos walks out. “There you are.”
“I’m sorry I’m late, Coach.”
He nods and smiles at my daughter. “Hey, darlin’.”
She shoves her face in my neck, and I pat her back. “She’s shy.” Sometimes.
His eyes go serious again. “I have a stadium volunteer who can watch her. She’s been with us for years, and I’d trust her with Marley if I needed to.”
“Really? Thank you so much. I’m so fucking sorry—”
Hazel lifts her head. “Daddy, you said the f-wowd.”
