Page 60 of Fighting Chance

My only tell? I find myself between the legs of women…a lot. I’m sure a psychologist would say it’s how I could safely find comfort from a woman without being vulnerable or getting hurt, but the why doesn’t matter. I was fucked in the head at that time…because I sawhimat one of my games.

Ice runs down my spine at the memory of seeing his face in the crowd behind the home bench. I vomited nonstop that night, and it took months of throwing myself at women and drowning every night in alcohol for the feelings to fade.

So no, I don’t remember Emmy’s mom. If I was with a woman at that time, I was closing my eyes and forcing myself to forget.

Maybe I should hire someone to figure out who she was.

Suddenly, I feel eyes on me.

I lift my head from my phone and lock it, silencing Emmy’s voice. She’s peering up at me from her bed. I still haven’t been able to sleep in my own room. She’s found me here every morning,but so far, she hasn’t given any indication that she doesn’t like it.

I tried to leave and let her sleep alone last night but at the reminder of her very first night in this house, when I turned the light off only for her scream to pierce my heart and her room. When the image of her terror filled face as I turned the light back on floods my mind every time I go to leave…I find it impossible to make my feet walk away, even if my bedroom is just one door down.

Emmy’s fear of the dark is apparent and I’ve made sure to never have her in a room without light since.

“Are you hungry?” I ask.

She shakes her head, her hair sticking up in every direction as she clings to the golden retriever teddy. I’m going to have to kidnap Bambi at this point.

“Do you want a bath?”

No again.

Frowning, I wrack my brain for options before Allie and Carlton come over. This is the first day I’ve had her to myself with no plans and no long to-do list.

Our first Saturday together, and I feel like a fish out of water.

What the hell do I do with a three-year-old?

What do other parents do with their kids on the weekends?

Parks?

I can’t help but grimace at the thought of going there with Emmy. What if someone saw me with her and leaked it to the press?

Bunnies would come out of the woodwork then. My body is wracked with a shiver. Fuck that.

My mind drifts to the delivery that arrived yesterday, the stacks of boxes sitting in my backyard waiting for me to open them.

The corner of my mouth lifts into a smile. “Want to help me build something?”

Her eyes widen and I finally get a nod. She scrambles out of bed, her hair appearing as if she was doing gymnastics in her sleep, she runs across the room, still clutching the teddy’s paw.

I scoop her up into my arms. “Let’s get ready to build then.” Tapping her nose, I tease, “You can be my apprentice.”

Awater bottle held by two small hands shoots out in front of my face. Wiping the sweat off my brow, I take the bottle. “Thanks, Emmy.”

She nods, waiting patiently while I guzzle before taking the water back and running off to what I deemed “Emmy’s work area” in the yard as I assemble the playground. There were far too many pointy nails for my liking. Meanwhile, Emmy has decided her job is to make sure I’m hydrated while she plays with her golden retriever plushie she only allows me to call Bambi and the Barbies she smuggled out here.

The longer time goes on, the more her personality shows, and empathy seems to be a large one. I’m a little concerned there’s a bit of people pleasing, too. She watches me like a hawk, trying to guess my needs, and that shouldn’t be the case. I should be the one focusing on her.

I see far too much of myself in Emmy, stuff that goes beyond genetics. It’s psychological. I was a people pleaser in the foster home, and it was a trait I had to hammer out of myself in college.

Just because you take care of others and anticipate their needs and wants doesn’t make them love you.

When I was younger, I tried to be perfect. Tried to pay attention in class, tried to be the kindest, tried to be friendly to everyone. Grades, friends, sports—fuck, even brushing my teeth. I received one compliment on how white my teeth were and from that day forward proceeded to brush my teeth for over ten minutes, four times a day.

I was six.