Carrie and I headed back to the game area and played and laughed until I saw our pizza arrive. Then we demolished the entire pizza, and I was shocked at how much my tiny daughter could put away.

In the parking lot, I strapped Carrie into the booster seat and put the convertible top down at her request. “What kind of music do you like?” I asked her, expecting her to say Kidz Bop or something.

“This is a rock and roll car, Daddy. You got any Bon Jovi?”

I laughed in surprise. “Sure, but what do you know about Bon Jovi?” This kid never ceases to amaze me.

“Uncle Bode and I jam out all the time. Bon Jovi, Def Leppard, Guns N’ Roses.” I pulled up “Livin’ On a Prayer” on Apple Music and put the car in gear. “Uncle Bode said him and Mommy are having a terrible love affair,” Carrie said, and I almost ran over the curb.

“Uh, are you sure that’s what he said?”

She tilted her little head pensively and said, “I think so. Then he called her a honey pot, and Mommy kissed him. Then Uncle Beau made this noise.” She made a gagging sound. “And then Uncle Beau did the ugly finger. You know, this one,” she said, pointing at her middle finger. “He was maaaaad.”

What the actual fuck? “When did this happen? A long time ago?” I asked, keeping my eyes locked on the road but watching Carrie out of my peripheral vision.

“No. It was like this week or something. Or maybe last week. I can’t remember,” she said, shrugging her little shoulders. “Turn the radio up so we can sing!”

I cranked the radio up and sang mindlessly along with Carrie, my thoughts on Blaire and this Bode guy, whoever the fuck he was. Carrie must have been mistaken. She was just a little kid and probably misunderstood. We pulled up outside Beau’s house just as we finished up “Hysteria” with Carrie singing at the top of her lungs. She really was so freaking adorable.

Beau answered the door before we could even knock, and Carrie dashed inside. “Come on in and meet the guys,” Beau said, ushering me into the living room, where I found a dark-haired guy with huge arms holding Carrie. Beau introduced me to him first. “This is Hawk. And these reprobates are Woody, Cam, and Tank,” he said, pointing at each man. I shook hands with them, each giving me an assessing up-and-down stare. All of them were big, but the one they called Tank was nothing less than massive.

I glanced around, noticing that the room was masculine with black leather furnishings, but it was neat and homey. There was a little playhouse that I assumed was Carrie’s in one corner and pictures of her on every flat surface. This wasn’t quite the bachelor pad I had envisioned Beau and his roommate living in.