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"I'm going to go out with some teammates for a bit tonight. Not sure when I'll be home...probably late."

"Roger dodger," she says merrily, and because my eyes don't naturally roll at her goofiness, I realize I'm starting to get used to her dorky nature. "Want to speak to Ben?"

"Yup," I acknowledge, and I hear her pull the phone away from her mouth and call out, "Hey, Ben...put down that stick of dynamite you're playing with and come talk to your daddy."

That causes me to issue a half-smile/half-grimace.

I'm torn between being amused at her humor, because there's no doubt she's trying to get a smile out of me, and annoyed that she references me as his "daddy." Ben has always called me "Dad," but Kate always says "Daddy," because that's apparently what all southern girls call their fathers. She doesn't mean anything by it, I know that logically. She's just going with her habit...a southern custom, so to speak. And now Ben has started calling me "Daddy" lately and it actually shames me that I find irritation in it rather than thinking it's cute.

Yup...it irritates the shit out of me. But then I give myself a mental slap and make myself try to think of the positives that Kate brings. Such as that while she focuses most of her energies on Ben, she also gladly steps away from him when I'm home, seeming to sense my need to also provide a caretaker role. I grudgingly admit she goes out of her way not to step on my toes as his father, and she always defers to me in all child-rearing matters.

"Hey, Daddy," Ben says as he takes the phone, and fuck...is that a little southern accent he's mimicking? I grit my teeth over my new moniker.

"How's it going, buddy?" I ask him gently, so he can't hear the disgruntlement in my voice.

"Good," he says simply. "Kate and I are playing with Play-Doh. She showed me how to make a snake with it and said we should hide it in your bed to scare you tonight. That would be funny, wouldn't it?"

I hear Kate mutter in the background, "That was a secret, Ben."

And there's just no stopping it.

I laugh...genuinely...pleased to see how Kate still tries to involve me even when I'm absent from home. "That would have been funny for sure."

Ben then whispers into the phone, "Maybe I should hide it in Kate's bed."

I laugh harder now, because that would be fucking funny. I love my kid. "Tell you what, if you promise to keep it a secret, we'll buy a fake snake that looks even more real than the Play-Doh one, and we'll hide it in her bed. But it has to be a secret, okay?"

"Okay," he whispers as he giggles.

"So, listen...I'm going to go out with some friends tonight, so I won't be home to tuck you into bed. Is that okay?"

"Okay," Ben says, completely unfazed, and it makes me feel better to know he's seemingly secure enough with this. I've been home every single night since I was released from the hospital following the accident and I think he's forgotten what it was like before when I would be on the road traveling a lot.

"Good boy," I tell him. "Okay, I've got to go. I love you and I'll see you in the morning."

"Love you too, Daddy," he says.

"Dad," I correct him automatically, but he's already handed the phone off to Kate.

"I swear the snake was Ben's idea, not mine," she says when she gets back on.

I can't fucking help it...the corners of my mouth tip upward involuntarily. While Kate's main duties are to take care of Ben and her secondary duties are to help me take care of the house, she's also apparently put it on her chore list to try to make me laugh. She is a complete and utter dork sometimes, always dancing around and making up stupid songs to sing to Ben. She makes up a different nickname for me and Ben each day, refusing to call us by our real names unless we acknowledge her use of the nickname at least once. Ben always gives in because he thinks they're hilarious. Just yesterday he was Mr. Tadpole Climbing a Beanpole and I was Miss Sparkly Skates.

Yesterday, she asked, "Hey, Miss Sparkly Skates," which caused Ben to double over in laughter, "I'm doing a grocery run today; anything special you want?"

I refused to answer her, instead continuing to surf on my laptop while I sat at the kitchen table.

"Hey...Miss Sparkly Skates...I'm talking to you," she called out in a singsong voice.

I took a sip of coffee and ignored Ben's conspiratorial giggle.

"Hey...Miss Sparkly Skates...what's wrong? Did you lose some rhinestones or something?"

I looked up at her and she just stared at me from behind those thick eyeglass frames, her head tilted to the side in anticipation.

"More bottled water," I muttered, and bent my head back down, trying hard not to smile and thus encourage her. I didn't miss the high fives she and Ben exchanged over my defeat.

I take a look over at Alex and Garrett pulling their towels and shower kits from their lockers. Maybe I shouldn't go out tonight. What if something happens to Ben? He gets scared? Or needs me for something? What if he can't go to sleep because I'm not there to read him his favorite story, The Giving Tree, before I tuck him in?

"You there, Hell on Skates?" Kate asks, breaking into my insecure thoughts, and I swing my gaze back to the front of my locker.

"Much better than Miss Sparkly Skates," I say drily. "Are you sure you're okay by yourself with Ben tonight?"

"We'll be fine," she assures me confidently. "Besides, I don't let him play with dynamite after dinner."

I suppress the snort that wants to break forth and instead tell her, "If anything happens, call me. Also don't hesitate to call Michelle either."

This time it's Kate who snorts, rather loudly and unladylike, at the mention of my neighbor. She clearly wasn't impressed with her when I introduced them this past weekend, and I totally get why. Michelle was...well, sort of a bitch to Kate, which is not surprising. Michelle is always sort of bitchy to most people, with the exception of Gina, and of course, after Gina died, she became much nicer to me.

I mean a lot nicer.

Almost...too nice.

Not to Kate, though. When I introduced them, Michelle slowly rolled her gaze over Kate, taking in the baggy clothes she favored wearing, the hair pulled up and away severely from her face, and the thick-framed glasses she sported. She gave her a plastic smile and ignored Kate's hand that was outstretched to her in greeting. Instead, she turned to me and said, "If she needs any help or guidance or you have any concerns, you know I'm here for you and Ben."

Now, as a man who has pretty much ignored everything and anything around him for the past four months and has been basically immune to the world, even I was appalled at her snub to Kate. I felt the weird need to stand up for Kate, so I just said, "Kate's doing a great job. She has it all covered."

Michelle is a piece of work. She's twice divorced, having dumped husband number two more than a year ago because he was cheating on her. It didn't make her give up on men, though. Gina told me that within a week of the papers being signed, Michelle proudly stated that she was already on the hunt for husband number three. Since she was getting up in advanced age--to her, turning thirty was like a death sentence or something--she decided to get some enhancements to help in her quest.

Gina and I couldn't help but laugh as she first got breast implants, then cheek implants, and then hair extensions, and finally capped it all off with a new slutty wardrobe. She pranced around the neighborhood in low-cut shirts, Daisy Duke shorts, and high heels...in the fucking wintertime.

I shit you not.

Looked fucking ridiculous, but Gina was partial to her, and Ben and Beau got along great, so I put up with their friendship and tolerated her with a friendly smile.

I'll admit she's become frustratingly more annoying in the last few months, taking it upon herself to cook for me and Ben a few times a week, which in my estimation gave her an excuse to come over with Beau and try to flirt. Luckily, I was so immersed in depression and guilt, most of it slid right off me. But lately, as I've been trying desperately to find things to grasp on to and open myself back up to life, it's been grating on me.


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