Page 84 of Puck, Marry, Kill

When it hadn’t worked, he’d skipped his next visit, claiming to be heartbroken because Amber left him. That wasn’t unexpected, after she saw through his bullshit, but he blamed Briar for that too.

And while Briar did her best to protect Harley, making sure he didn’t feel a bit of the tension from all of that, he’s a smart kid andquickly figured out that his dad was causing more drama than usual, which has him reluctant to go with Tyler today.

“Maybe he won’t come and I can stay with you and Dom,” Harley says hopefully.

Honestly, there’s a part of me that prays he’s right and that Tyler doesn’t show up. Briar and I have the whole weekend planned, mostly with activities to distract her from missing her baby, but I would love to do those same fun outings with him. As a family.

But every time Tyler bails, it hurts Harley, and I would never want that. Tyler may be a shit father, but I won’t be the one to drive a wedge between them. I’m going to be the one who’ll stand up for Harley and help get him back together. I won’t ever claim to be Harley’s father ... but I’ll do my best to be there for him, mentor him, and show him how a real man acts and behaves.

That’ll be good enough.

“I don’t know, kid. That arcade thing sounds pretty fun. I’d hate for you to miss out on that,” I remind him. He glances up at me, torn. He’s been excited ever since Tyler told him they were going to a nickel arcade, but anticipation comes at the risk of disappointment. Is his dad going to come? Is he actually going to take him to the arcade? Is he going to remember the promise of an entire bucketful of nickels and a whole day of vintage video games? Or will it be another broken promise? I give him a sad smile. “You’ll be alright, and if you end up not going to the arcade for some reason, maybe we can go next week?”

It’s not about the arcade. Not really. I’m learning that parenthood is about showing up, following through, and making it clear that you prioritize the kid. His feelings, his thoughts, his spirit. I mean, I knew that thanks to Mom and Dad’s stellar parenting, but I’m getting a quick trial-by-fire lesson with Harley. And I will not fail him. Or his mother.

“Thanks, Dom.” His lower lip quivers a bit, so I pat his shoulder comfortingly and he sucks up his tears before they can fall.

I hear Tyler’s truck in the distance a moment before Briar and Harley do, so I see the resignation on both of their faces when theyrecognize its loud rumble. The white truck turns the corner and pulls to a stop in front of the school, blocking the carpool pickup line, but there’s no one here so I guess it doesn’t matter.

Tyler climbs out and comes around the front of the truck, pointedly not looking at me or Briar. “Hey, Harley! You ready?”

Zero mention that he’s twenty-three minutes late. No cares that the after-school program workers have already left. Not a fuck given that Briar has arranged her work schedule to always be here for handoffs because Tyler is so unreliable.

“Yeah,” Harley answers almost morosely, slinging his backpack over his shoulder as we all stand. He gives Briar a hug, tells her he loves her, and then turns to me. He doesn’t hesitate. He gives me the same hug and says, “Love you, Dom.”

My heart stops. Or maybe it flies out of my chest. Either one would explain the sharp pain that hits me. “Love you, too, Harley. See you Sunday at four at the park.” I say the last bit loud enough for Tyler to hear, though, given the sour look on his face, he heard the whole exchange anyway.

“Get in,” Tyler tells Harley a little too harshly. He clears his throat, and with a bit of fake enthusiasm, he adds, “We’re picking up pizza for dinner.”

“Pepperoni extreme?” Harley questions.

“Yeah, whatever,” Tyler says, although clearly he knows it doesn’t fucking matter. He wanted to be Mr. Big Dad ... and now he’s not. When all he had to do had nothing to do with pizza, and everything to do with just being a man.

In seconds, they’re pulling out of the school parking lot. Tyler takes the corner a little fast for my taste considering the precious cargo he’s carrying, and I growl under my breath. “I hate this.”

Briar chuckles. “Me too. Every time.”

“You mean it doesn’t get easier?” She shakes her head and I hiss, “Fuck.”

She laughs even harder. “Actually, this is the ‘easier,’ because we can lean on each other. Before, I would say goodbye and they’d leave me here by myself. I’d drive home in silence and then sit in an empty house until Sunday afternoon. Not my best days.” She says it so matter-of-factly, like it was just her life, which I guess it was. But the thought of her alone and lonely, worrying about her son, guts me. Even though it’s an old hurt, I wrap my arms around her and pull her into me, doing my best to soothe it away.

“I wish I could tell you that it’ll never be like that again.” I sigh, finishing, “But I can’t.”

It’s the reality of the situation. I played two games this week already and got home late last night, which gave me the opportunity to be here for this handover and for this weekend with Briar. But there will inevitably be times that Tyler has visitation and I’ll already be at the arena or out of town for an away game.

“It’s okay. It’s not as bad as it used to be.”

“Because of me?” I nod with a cocky little tilt to my chin, but I’m only teasing, trying to fill the space Harley left with lighthearted humor.

Her soft smile is stunning, like sunshine peeking over the horizon in the morning. “Partially,” she allows, “but mostly because of me. I’m pretty badass, you know?” She tries to give me a dramatic wink, but accidentally closes both eyes. Laughing, she says, “That was supposed to be slick and cool, so pretend it was, ’kay?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say through a smile of my own. “That was the coolest shit I’ve ever seen.” I copy her double-eyed wink, doing it even worse than she did, and she laughs harder.

I am so proud of this woman. For what she’s been through, what she’s still going through, and the way she tackles every moment of every day with silliness and turns every bad into something good.

“Come on, let’s go home. I’m hungry.”

“Oh, we have long chicken nuggets, or I could make pasta?” she offers in perpetual mom-mode.