“What are you talking about? It’s only been a month since I last saw Miley,” Samson protested. He smiled at the gurgling baby in the carrier Dean held.
Dean picked up the bulging baby bag he’d dropped to greet Samson. “That was an obligatory drive-by greeting of your goddaughter. Staying with us for a single night doesn’t count.”
Harris glanced curiously inside the apartment. “Couldn’t believe that you’d come to the big city.”
“I like it here. It’s nice.” He might have grown up in a sleepy beach town, technically, but they’d traveled a lot when his father had played ball, and then Samson’s own professional career had taken him to Chicago and Portland. The big city life wasn’t totally foreign to him.
He led the two men into the apartment. Dean placed the carrier on the dining table and unsnapped his daughter. “Want to hold her?” he asked.
Samson may have only seen the child once, but he knew the answer to that question had to be an eager yes or Dean would be mortally offended. “Can’t wait.”
Without ceremony, Dean deposited the baby into Samson’s arms.
Samson jiggled the child, who felt too squishy and bloblike for his comfort. He had nothing against kids, but babies weren’t his wheelhouse. “I’m holding her right, right?”
Harris had made a beeline for the food Samson had spread out on the island and already had crackers and meat headed toward his mouth. “Oh, yeah, hold the princess right or her daddy will kick your ass.”
Dean shot his cousin a quelling look. “That’s because you hold her like you’re about to throw her. She’s not a ball. Samson knows what’s up.” He gently adjusted Samson’s hand on her butt. “Or at least, now he does. There.”
Samson glanced down at the baby and couldn’t help but smile. Her thick black hair stuck straight up, like she’d been shocked. Dean and his neuroscientist wife had adopted Miley from Korea, and the retired player’s life had quickly devolved to answering only to the baby. She blew a bubble with her tiny rosebud mouth and returned Samson’s stare with fascination. “How old is she now?”
“Almost eight months.”
“Jesus.” Samson shook his head. “Time flies.”
“The days are long but the years are short.” Dean hesitated, then moved Samson’s other hand a tiny degree. Samson met Harris’s gaze above Dean’s head, and the other man rolled his eyes.
“How are you liking being a stay-at-home dad, Dean?” Samson asked.
“It’s great.” Dean beamed. “Miley’s an angel. So smart too. She can roll over now and should be crawling in about a minute.”
Samson made an appropriately impressed noise.
“Here, eat.”
Dean accepted the plate full of food that Harris nudged him with. He folded a quesadilla into a square, ate it in two bites, and then flushed when the two of them stared at him. “Sorry. Since Miley arrived, I’ve been hoovering my food whenever I get a second.”
“That sounds hectic.” Samson allowed Dean to adjust his grip. Again. Miley kicked her legs against his stomach.
Harris swallowed his bite of food. “If you trusted anyone but you or Josie to take care of your baby, you could have a free hand. Damn, man, get a nanny. You guys got the cash.”
“I’m not outsourcing my child,” Dean said with some affront. He accepted the beer from Harris and took a sip in a more moderated manner than he had eaten. “Besides, I need this. You have no idea how lost I felt after I retired a couple years ago. Miley’s given me a purpose again.”
Samson knew exactly what Dean was referring to. It was weird to go from playing professional football, that intense life in a tightly knit group, to nothing, your days no longer regimented and controlled by an outside force. About a year after he’d retired, though, Uncle Joe had started showing signs of illness. After that, Samson had had his hands and his head full with his uncle’s care. He hadn’t had time to dwell on anything else.
“You’ll understand when you go through it next year,” Dean added.
Samson raised his eyebrows in surprise. Football had always been Harris’s life. “You’re retiring?”
“I’m almost thirty-eight.” Harris braced his elbows on the counter and leaned back. “My knees aren’t what they used to be. I’d rather go out on top than wait any longer.”
“Dean’s not wrong about how you’ll feel after.” Samson turned his head so Miley’s little exploring fingers didn’t go right into his mouth. His arm was falling asleep, but he was conscious of Dean’s eagle eye on