But the guaranteed cash the team’s offering would take my portfolio to the next level. It’s the kind of money that would establish generational wealth. I don’t have to worry about money, but if I take this deal, neither would Liam.
And yeah, the two-year timeframe would give me some more breathing room to win that elusive championship.
I run a hand over my head. But my body, and more importantly my brain—and the fact that I find myself wanting to hang with Liam and Amelia more and hit the gym less, be on the phone less—
“So that’s a no?” Miguel asks.
“Don’t be a dick. Let me sleep on it, okay? When do they want an answer?”
“Before training camp starts.”
“Okay. Yeah. Yeah, I’ll let you know by then.”
I hang up and drop the phone onto my lap. Stare at it for a long beat, my stomach working itself into a neat little knot.
What the hell is that about? Excitement? Dread?
“Hi,” a little voice says, and I glance at the monitor and see Liam sitting up in his crib. “Hi. Lili say hi.”
I’m bone-tired and not at all excited for the day ahead. My feelings about—well, everything and everyone are all over the place. I just blew a load into my sheets having pornographic dreams about my high school girlfriend for Christssakes.
My nanny.
Everything’s a fucking mess. Still, I watch Liam babble to himself and smile.
“Hi!” he says when I walk into his room a couple minutes later. I smile. He doesn’t smile back, but he does let me pick him up and cuddle him against my bare chest.
“Morning, buddy. What should we have for breakfast? Some waffles?”
“Waffle,” he replies.
“Done and done. But first”—I sniff his diaper—“whew, we gotta change you. Son, that’s downright rude.”
This turd isn’t nearly as traumatizing as the first. Maybe because I’m actually getting the hang of this diaper changing gig, and it feels good to kinda-sorta know what I’m doing.
Liam watches me, his expression serious. When I’m done, I take his little hand and put it on my chest. “Dada.” I move his hand to his chest. “Liam.”
“Lili and Dada eat waffle,” he repeats. It’s a simple thing, small, but him saying my name—adding his—it makes my chest swell.
Grinning, I pick him up and head down the stairs. “That’s right. Dada and Liam are going to eat some waffles for breakfast. Do you want blueberry or chocolate chip?”
“Lili want bee-is,” he says, which I take to mean blueberry.
I put Liam in his high chair while I wash my hands, turn on the coffee pot, and pop some frozen waffles into the toaster. Liam starts to fuss, and I scramble to make him a sippy cup of milk—shit, or is it water first thing? Whatever, milk it is—which he eagerly grabs out of my hand and gulps down.
Watching him, his blue eyes wide and his blond hair sticking up every which way, I smile again.
“You’re cute. I’ll give you that,” I say, smoothing back his hair.
I do not smile when Liam gets maple syrup in that hair as he scarfs down one waffle, then another, plus a handful of blueberries (the “bee-is” he was talking about) and half of an overripe banana that just adds to the enormous, and enormously sticky, mess.
He screams when I wipe him down. Throws his toothbrush and toothpaste on the floor when I offer them to him. Flails as I unbuckle him, finally calming down when I have him in my arms.
“Poop,” he says.
“Again?” Lifting him up so I can smell his butt, I groan. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Another diaper change later, and I’m legitimately sweating. Who knew caring for a toddler was a total-body workout? I make a mental note to call my mom and thank her for not running away. I can’t imagine doing all this for five kids.
I put Liam down with his toys in the family room, and then I hustle back into the kitchen where I scrub down a sinkful: high chair tray, toddler plate and spork, the other spork I gave him when he threw the first one on the floor, bib, sippy cup.
I glance at the clock on the microwave. Good Lord, it’s not even eight o’clock yet. I feel like it should be ten. At least.
Is this how it’s going to be every morning?
Twenty-seven minutes until Amelia arrives.
Only when I start to get a headache do I realize I forgot my coffee. I pour myself a cup and head for the couch. Liam’s playing happily with his little kitchen. Another good call by Beau—he said it’s Maisie’s favorite toy right now. He also mentioned something about limiting screen time, but I’m beat, and I need to take a minute to finish my coffee if I’m going to get through this day. So I put up my feet and turn on SportsCenter and sip.