Page 128 of Through the Storm

Tyler notices.

“Man,” he says gently, “you gotta stop doing that.”

“I know.”

“You still gonna wait for her?”

I don’t even hesitate. “Yeah.”

He nods once like he expected that. “You’re a better man than me.”He huffs a quiet laugh. “I love Rebecca, but if she pulled that on me, I’d already be on a beach somewhere pretending I never met her.”

I lift an eyebrow. This guy’s full of shit. He’s completely whipped.

Coach blows the whistle again. “Break’s over!”

Tyler jogs back toward the field, but I sit there for one second longer. Then I get up, grab the ball, and run the next drill. If I stop moving, I’ll start thinking about her again.

And I’m not sure I could stay away.

By the time I get back to my apartment, my body is exhausted, but my brain isn’t. I toss my keys onto the counter and stand there for a second, staring into the silence.

I wish I could call Katy. I would tell her about practice and complain about Coach trying to kill us. We would talk about what fruit the baby was this week. It must be a watermelon by now.

Instead, I just stand there like an idiot.

My eyes drift involuntarily toward the second bedroom.

The nursery.

I don’t know why I walk in there. The crib box is still sitting in the corner, the dresser half assembled.

I stare at the room for a minute, then grab the screwdriver, and get to work.

An hour later, I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor tightening the final screw on the dresser. The room is quiet except for the occasional sound of traffic outside.

And suddenly it hits me. I don’t know if this baby is mine, I don’t know if Katy wants me, I don’t know if any of this furniture will ever get used. This whole room might end up being for nothing. The thought should make me stop.

Instead, I keep building. If there’s even a chance, I want to be ready.

I lean back against the wall and look around. At the perfectly assembled furniture, at the football-themed wall art hanging on the light blue walls, at the little lamp shaped like a football sitting on the nightstand.

I realize it’s a future I might not get. What if I finish every piece of this furniture, and the test comes back and none of it was ever mine to build?

My throat tightens, but I reach for the next piece anyway.

Maybe that’s the thing about me. I’ve never been the smartest guy in the room. Not compared to Katy or to Logan.

Hell, not compared to most people.

But when this baby gets here? He’ll never spend a second wondering if I love him, whether he’s biologically mine or not.

I know how to do that.

I know how to show up.

I know how to work hard and not give up.

Maybe I won’t be the dad who helps with math homework or essays. But I’d bet my entire future I’ll be the one who loves them the hardest.