The Right Swipe (Modern Love, #1)(50)

They’d met up at a popular Irish pub that was owned by a well-known retired basketball player. It had been a trek to get here, but Samson was glad they’d come. It was busy, and they were relatively anonymous.

More people than usual had started recognizing him since the Matchmaker/Crush collaboration had hit the digital airwaves. He’d stayed off the internet and out of the comments. He didn’t want to really know what people were reminiscing about him or what the campaign had stirred up.

The Lima Curse.

He’d known, going into this gig, people would talk about his retirement. So long as he wasn’t slapped in the face with it, he was fine. If he could go the rest of his life without hearing about the Curse, he’d be better.

“Do you want me to take Miley back?” Dean wiped his hands on his napkin.

Samson wrapped his arms around the child protectively. So long as she was happy, holding a baby was rather soothing. Like having a therapy animal. “No. Finish your burger.”

The new dad took another bite, but Samson noticed that he kept an anxious eye on his daughter. “Have you asked Harris why he ribs you so much about Miley?”

“He says I’m going overboard.” And then, surprising Samson, Dean continued, “I think he’s right.”

“Do you?”

Dean took another bite of his grilled portabella burger. His friend wasn’t eating at a breakneck pace today, Samson was happy to notice. “I’m working with Josie to dial it back. Miley’s my world, but I don’t want our marriage to get lost in being parents. Josie’s mom’s gonna come stay in our guesthouse for a while. Give me a break.” Dean’s face brightened. “So when my best friend’s in town, I can actually see him without toting a diaper bag along.”

Samson smiled, and nodded, relieved. “All that sounds good. Bonus: you’ll get Harris off your back for a while.”

“Godsend. Can you imagine growing up with that ass—” Dean stopped, gestured, and waited until Samson cupped his palms over the oblivious baby’s ears. “Asshole,” he whispered.

Samson smoothed Miley’s fuzzy hair. “I don’t have to imagine it. I basically grew up with both of you.”

“So you did.” A half-reminiscing, half-regretful smile played over Dean’s face. “I honestly don’t know how you did it, man, retiring so early. After I retired, I felt . . . I don’t know if I can describe it.”

Samson could describe it. “Aimless and trapped?”

Dean snapped his fingers. “Yes! Exactly that. I didn’t know you could feel both those things at once.”

Joe had been the one to guide Samson out of his immediate post-retirement funk. Son, I know what it’s like to go from being a part of a pack to being alone. His uncle had coaxed him out of the house, gone on runs with him, had helped ease him from that regimented life to solitary retirement. “Neither did I, until it happened.”

Dean nodded, thoughtful. “Yeah. At least I was somewhat prepared. You got shoved into retirement.”

Samson hated the tinge of guilt in Dean’s voice. “I’m fine with my decisions. And yeah, it was tough for a time, but I had you and Harris and most importantly, I had Uncle Joe. Not long after, he got sick.” Samson shrugged. “I didn’t have much time to worry about anything else then.”

Dean’s gaze was sympathetic. “Big Joe was kind of like your Miley, huh?”

Samson almost jerked back, but then he remembered the baby in his arms. “What do you mean?”

“He gave you a purpose. Distracted you from your own feelings.” Dean’s expression turned contemplative.

“My uncle wasn’t a distraction.” His words were sharper than he intended, but he’d be damned if anyone considered his uncle anything but a whole human in his own right, sickness or no.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant, you had someone other than yourself and your feelings to think about. It’s not a bad thing. People like you and I, we function better when we can focus on a team objective over a solo one.” Dean leaned over and pulled out a round blue plastic snack container from his daughter’s diaper bag. At the sight of it, Miley bounced in Samson’s lap. “Do you want some cereal, angel?” Dean crooned, and opened the container, setting it next to Samson’s empty plate. “Check out that pincer grip, will you? She’s so advanced. Gonna be a surgeon, this one.”

Samson pretended to admire whatever a pincer grip was, but his brain was occupied. When Uncle Joe had gotten sick, he’d sat Samson down on the deck of his home. Your aunt badgered me into going to the doctor, and it’s not good.

Almost a decade later, he could vividly recall the bolt of fear that had run through him at the news, the trauma of his father’s decline far too fresh. It had been Joe who had consoled Samson. Joe who had suggested Samson come live with him and take care of him. At the time, Samson hadn’t questioned it, they were each other’s closest living relatives, it made sense.

But now, he wondered if it was because Uncle Joe, even in the midst of his own fear and uncertainty, had known what Samson needed even if he didn’t.

A lump of quiet grief rose up in his throat. “You’re right.” He moved his fork out of the baby’s range. “I didn’t feel so aimless so long as it was me and Uncle Joe against the illness. When he passed away, I guess it was like I was lost all over again.”