He had known it was coming. He had told himself he was ready for it. He had rehearsed what he would say: Of course, buddy, whatever you need. He had said it in the shower and in the car and lying awake on the pullout couch. Now, with the moment here, he found that every muscle in his body had clenched, and that something old and animal in him wanted to roll out from under the truck and say no, absolutely not, you're mine, nobody gets to have you, I don't care what your blood says.
He breathed. He counted to ten, the way Ray had taught him, a long time ago, for moments when the wanting was too loud.
"Why me?" he asked the truck. "Your mom could take you. She knows him."
"I don't want her to take me." A pause. The coffee can clanked. "I want you to."
Eric rolled out from under the truck. Tyler was looking at the floor. Eric sat up and wiped his hands on his jeans.
"Okay," he said. "Saturday?"
Tyler looked up at last. His face was so full of relief that Eric had to look away.