Shattered Pieces

Eighteen

Spencer

"Woah. Careful lil monster." I run over to my now eleven-month-old, who is trying to climb up my tv stand.

"Your mama will kill me if there's even the tiniest scratch on your precious little head." He wiggles in my arm, desperate to wreak more havoc on my sanity.

"Mama. Mama. Mama," he claps his tiny hands together as I walk into the kitchen, placing him in his high chair.

"I know the feeling. She makes me that excited too, kid."

Right on cue, my phone rings, and my wife's name pops up on the screen.

"Hi, Liv."

That feels strange. So proper... devoid of any emotion. I don't know how to greet her. I still don't fully understand how to navigate this separation.

"Hey, ba... Spencer." She quickly corrects herself. "I just wanted to let you know the traffic is basically at a standstill, but I'll hopefully be there soon."

"Take your time. I'm just about to feed him dinner. We'll be waiting for you." I can't help the smile that forms on my face at the thought of seeing her.

I'm stealing glimpses of my wife between exchanges of our child. It's been two days since we got back from New York, and all I can think about is how my heart beat outside of my chest the moment I walked into my hotel room and found her waiting for me. It was natural to sink into her arms after my first NFL win.

I think about the look on her face as I grabbed my daughter into my arms. It wasn't a look of fear or pain like the first time she saw my little girl. She had the same look in her eyes as she does every time I hold Grayson— pure love.

The microwave beeps, bringing me back to reality. I pull the food out, setting it aside to cool because my crazy boy will smash his hands right into his dinner with little concern for how hot it is.

My phone dings again. This time the name on the screen makes me nauseous.

Kennedy: The results should be back in 48 to 72 hours. We can set the meeting with the lawyers once they're back.

Spencer: 👍🏾. Is it possible for you to be in Arizona for my game this weekend? I want my daughter to be there.

Kennedy: I'll make arrangements for Aaliyah to be there.

I let out the breath I was holding during that entire text exchange. First, it's insane that I have to establish paternity for a little girl who already has my last name on her birth certificate. Second, I still very much intend for my daughter to live where I live, here, in Arizona. Third, it's Kennedy; enough said.

"Be kind. Play the long game." My wife advised me. The long game has an expiration date. My daughter's home will be here in Arizona before Thanksgiving. I've already missed three years of holidays.

After deciding the food is sufficiently cooled enough for Gray, I walk the plate over to him. He throws the green beans over the side of his high chair one at a time. He is staring right at me as though he's daring me to stop him.

My kid is an absolute menace, and I don't understand why.

"You like being a little pain in the a—" I mumble while grinning at him just as the front door opens.

"A little pain in the what?" My wife's voice creeps through as her heels clack on the floor.

Her face comes into view, her brow arched. She's clearly amused.

"A pain in the a... aren't you a sight for sore eyes, Mrs. James. Mama is stunning, isn't she, Gray?"

"Mama! He tosses the entire plate this time, grinning from ear to ear, hectically flapping his arms for his mom. I stifle a groan as I glance at the mess I'll have to clean up.