My heart breaks into pieces as I look into the eyes of a little boy who knows too much.

Instinctively, I want to lie to him and tell him he’s wrong. It would make him feel better if he thought that Jared had any plans whatsoever to show up at a game or practice and watch him play. But it would be a lie, and by the look on Ethan’s face, he knows it.

Even though my heart is in the right place, and all I want to do is protect him, I need him to trust me. And that means being honest.

My mouth goes dry as I struggle to find the right words for this situation.

“Your dad means well,” I say because I can say that and mean it. “He doesn’t wake up in the morning and think about hurting you or—”

“No, because he doesn’t wake up thinking about me at all.”

Damn it.

I let my eyes flutter closed for a moment to help settle my nerves.

“Ethan, I can’t explain his behavior because you are the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing I think about at night. You are my whole entire world.”

He lifts his chin, but his eyes give him away. They remind me that inside that tall body that’s starting to smell funky if he doesn’t shower . . . he’s still a little boy. My little boy.

“I’m sorry that Dad makes you feel that way. It breaks my heart because I want you to be the happiest little boy in the world.”

He lunges across the middle console and wraps his arms around my shoulders. The suddenness of his movement takes me aback.

His face buries in the crook of my neck for a split second before he pulls away.

I search his face. “Do you even want to play? Did I even ask you that?”

“I don’t know. I’m pretty sure you just trusted me to tell you if I didn’t.”

“And you do or don’t?”

He bites his bottom lip. “What do you think I should do?”

“I think . . .” I study his face again. His freckles shine across the bridge of his nose. “I think you should do whatever makes you happy. It would be good for you. Fresh air and activity are positive things. But if you think baseball isn’t your jam, then we can find something else.” I muss his hair. “You’re old enough to know what excites you.”

“Girls. And Fortnite.”

I bop his shoulder as I pull my hand away, making him laugh.

“Yeah. I do want to play.” He puts his glove on his lap. “Want to know why?”

“Why?”

“Because I told Dad I would. I want him to see what it’s like for someone to follow through on their promises.”

Sweet, strong boy.

“How’d you get so mature?” I ask.

“I think it comes with getting pit hair. I have three strands now.”