Truth of the matter was, I would welcome dog poop with open arms if given the option between it and Rob. At least stomping profusely on an enflamed poop bag would make the problem go away.
He motioned to his right leg with his hand, choking on the revelation. “I broke my femur.”
You broke my heart.
“So I see.” I maintained my businesslike tone. “Still doesn’t answer my question.”
“I can’t play football anymore. Can’t really coach, either,” he choked out.
“My heart bleeds for you.”
“Seriously.” His brows knitted. “I’ll never get back on that field, Nessy.”
“Well, you are thirty-one and never made it to a pro league, so I’m pretty sure the world will survive the loss.”
Were we really talking about his amateur football career right now?
“But that’s not why I came back to Fairhope.” He shook his head, like he was trying to remember his lines. He made an attempt to catch my gaze.
I focused on his receding hairline, not ready to see what was in his eyes. My heart beat a thousand times a minute. I simultaneously couldn’t believe he was here and prayed Bear wouldn’t wake up for a glass of water.
“It’s not?” I drawled.
“It’s time I face my responsibilities. As I lay in a hospital bed two weeks ago with no one around me, I realized I’d been missing the point of life all along. I want to be with my family. With my aging parents. To establish roots, find a purpose, spend holidays and vacations with the ones who matter. I want to play ball with my son.”
“He hates football,” I pointed out, relishing the fact Rob’s and Bear’s personalities were about as different as could be.
“What’s he into?” he asked, his throat clogging around the question.
The need to wind him up and say cemeteries and animal sacrifice was strong in that moment. But I pursed my lips.
I wasn’t playing that game.
“Heard he looks just like me,” Rob continued. “Tall, dark hair. Handsome.”
I gave a modest shrug. “You just described half the population of North America.”
His eyes lit up with hope, and something inside me loosened. As a young woman, I’d dreamed of this moment. Of Rob showing up and reclaiming Bear and me as his. Saving the day.
But the years had dulled whatever optimism I still had left in me, and now I was all out of expectations when it came to the human race.
Men, specifically.
And even more specifically—Rob.
Selfishly, I admitted to myself that it wasn’t fair. That Rob didn’t get to just walk into the movie on the third act, so close to the resolution, and become a part of the happy ending.
He had missed all the awful parts.
The sleepless nights, the colicky newborn, the teething, and all the checkups. The urgent care visits, the ear tubes, boo-boos that needed to be kissed, and stories that had to be read, and ABC’s that had to be learned.
He wasn’t there to teach his son how to ride a bike, or to skateboard, or to angle his penis down when he peed (this, I especially held a grudge for). How to fish, how to hang a picture on a wall, how to be a man.
A ball of tears blocked my throat.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
“No.”