“Hey now! Hey, hey, Kiss of Death! There’s my team!” my father calls out. His voice is doing that auctioneer-high-on-cocaine thing I love so much.
“Jack Sprat could eat no fat!” Gordy calls back. My eyes automatically roll. Despite my intentions, there is nothing I can do to stop them.
“That’s my cue,” I say, pointing a finger gun at Gordy and promptly walking away to any other area possible to put down my gear and change my shoes.
My dad and Gordy exchange pleasantries, which I tune out in favor of listening to Dom spill the details of his most recent escapade with a girl he met at an axe-throwing bar.
“What evenisthat, bro?” I ask.
“It’s a fusion thing. There’s a bar at the front and then further back is the axe throwing, but there’s this big wall of glass in between so you can watch people throw instead of, like, watching TV or whatever,” he explains.
The image brings me back to Elle’s office yesterday. I would be deadright now if the chair she threw at me had been an axe instead, without a doubt.
“Sounds real entertaining,” I say. “That reminds me though. Can I file for a divorce modification?”
“For real?” Dom asks. “Why?”
“Because Elle’s an asshole, and you were right. I went way too easy on her in the split,” I say.
“I’m gonna need to hearallthe details accompanying this request, dude,” he says. His eyes light up, excited for the gossip.
“Some other time,” I say.
“Hey now, team!” Dad interrupts. “Let’s circle up for a quick chat! Over here by Gordy, so he doesn’t have to move,” he adds.
“Bench chat! Bench chat!” Gordy yells, clapping his hands in time with the words. He sounds like a damn fool, but I don’t say anything. Jess and Courtney roll their eyes and Rachel giggles. Everyone gathers per Dad’s instruction, ostensibly to mourn the loss of Gordy’s testicle.
“Okay, KOD,” Dad says. “We’re about to be really challenged. We’ve got a man down. That means the rest of us have to bring it, every single week, until he gets better. No breathing room. No days off. No slacking. Got it?”
A silent chorus of nods ensues as my father continues to drone on. I zone out, thinking about the axe throwing, and Elle, and Gracie, and the cop, and Gordy’s nut, and—
“Right, Colin?” I hear.
“Huh?” I ask.
“Isaid, we’ll have to treat every game like the World Series. Like elimination is at stake, right?”
“Uh, sure,” I reply.
“Which means we can’twasteour talent with a laissez-faire attitude. We can’t walk around like none of this matters.”
There is tension in the comment.Is he coming at me right now?
I shake it off.Don’t be so sensitive.But I look over at Daisy, who raises her eyebrows in what looks like concern.
“And if one of you gets hurt, I don’t want us to have to call in any more ringers,” he continues.
“Why not?” I ask aloud. “Mom did great.”
“Your mother got the team out of a pickle,” he says. His mouth curves down into a scowl.
“No, for real. She was amazing. We were down by two when you left. Mom brought some much-needed offense to our game.”
“Maybe that’s what trying looks like,” he shoots back at me.
Something snaps in my brain and my mouth opens before I can do anything to stop it. “Are youtryingto pick a fight with me?” I ask.
“No, Colin. I’m not twelve and this isn’t the playground,” he says in a condescending tone. “I’m just saying, with Gordon out, everyone will need to try their best.”
