I stop a few feet from him, heart pounding. “Hey.”
Up close, he looks…unsure. The man who always had an answer for everything now seems like he’s trying to figure out which version of himself he’s supposed to be around me. And I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt.
He clears his throat. “Walk with me?”
I hesitate for a fraction of a second—enough time for Logan, still at the locker room door behind me, to straighten subtly, ready.
I nod. “Yeah. Okay.”
Dad turns toward the exit, and I fall into step beside him.
My palms are sweating. My pulse is too loud. And I have no idea if this conversation is going to start stitching things together…or rip the last threads apart. But either way I’m done running.
We step outside, the air cold enough to sting. The parking lot is mostly empty, the last few players driving off, engines fading into distance. Dad walks a few steps ahead, then stops near the bench by the side entrance and sits like his legs can’t hold him.
I stay standing for a second, unsure.
He looks up at me, eyes tight. “Sit, Todd.”
I lower myself onto the bench, hands clasped between my knees. My heart feels like it’s trying to claw out of my chest.
For a long moment, neither of us says anything. Just the light breeze and my pulse roaring in my ears.
Finally, he exhales and rubs a hand over his face.
“I owe you an apology,” he says, voice rough. “A real one. And I’m not good at this, so…just let me get it out.”
My throat closes, but I nod.
He stares down at his hands. “What I said…when you came home. Calling it a phase. Telling you to leave.” His jaw tightens, like the words physically hurt. “That was wrong. All of it. I shouldn’t have said it, and I shouldn’t have…pushed you out like that.”
My chest aches sharply. “Dad?—”
“No. Let me finish.” He looks up, and his eyes are wet. Actually wet. “I was scared. And confused. And I thought—Christ—” He breaks off, swallowing hard. “I thought I was losing the son I thought I knew.”
A tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it. He sees it. His own eyes break a little more.
“And then I realized,” he whispers, “I wasn’t losing a son at all. I was making him afraid of me. Afraid of being himself around me.”
I look away, blinking fast, but it doesn’t stop anything. The tears just keep coming, quiet and hot.
Dad’s voice cracks. “I’ll regret that for the rest of my life, Todd.”
My breath stutters. “Why didn’t you just… talk to me? Why didn’t you let me explain?”
“Because I thought I already knew the answers.” He shakes his head. “I thought I understood your life better than you did. I thought I was protecting you. Hell, maybe I was protecting myself.”
I press the heels of my hands to my eyes. It doesn’t help. The tears keep leaking through my fingers.
He continues softly, “You came to me being honest about who you are, and I threw that back at you. I hurt you. And I’m sorry. I am so damn sorry.”
A small, broken sound escapes me. I try to muffle it, but it’s too late.
Dad reaches out slowly—like he’s not sure he’s allowed—and rests his hand on my shoulder. The touch unravels me completely.
I choke out a sob and bury my face in my hands, body shaking. I don’t cry like this. I don’t cryever.But it pours out of me, weeks of pain and doubt and self-loathing cracking wide open.
Dad slips closer, his arm curling around my back and pulls me into him. “Hey… hey,” he murmurs. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
