I look at the guy blankly, not recognizing him, so he supplies his name and reminds me we played in a foursome at Pebble Beach last year in a charity tournament.
“Oh, yeah,” I say. “Hey, Frank.” I only vaguely remember him. He’s a CEO of something. But it’s not unusual for people to unilaterally remember meeting me.
“Hey, if you’re free to play here again tomorrow,” the guy says, “I’ve got an eight o’clock tee time that needs a fourth.” He name-drops the two other guys he’s already playing with tomorrow morning, and they’re both well-known, high-profile billionaires—guys who’d surely be able to give me some great tips on handling my business portfolio.
Normally, I’d accept the invitation. I won’t be playing football forever, so I’m always trying to maximize my knowledge on the business side of things. But this time, I’m not even tempted. Tomorrow’s my last day with Iris, unfortunately, and I’m not willing to miss out on a single minute with her. In fact, I’ve planned a spectacular horseback-riding date that’s going to turn Iris into a swooning puddle.
“I’m all booked up tomorrow,” I say. “Maybe another time.”
“Maguire!” a valet calls out.
I say goodbye to the CEO guy, stride to my car, hand a Benjamin to the valet, and practically peel out. And the minute I make it off the golf club grounds, I turn onto a quiet side street, park my car, and place a FaceTime call to my family: my parents, my brothers, and my cousin, Marco, who pops onto my phone screen with Nicola.
“Well?” my father says. Everyone on this once-in-a-lifetime call knows about my golf game with Coach today, and they’ve been waiting with bated breath for an update.
With my heart thundering, I pause for dramatic effect before shouting, “Coach said yes! I’m going to LA, fam!”
Everyone on my screen cheers and whoops, and I proceed to tell them everything that transpired today and what it all means, based on the verbal assurances Cameron’s already received from the Thunderbolts.
Mom wipes a tear. “I’m so happy for you, honey. And so happy for Maverick, too.”
Luca adds, “Mav’s gonna grow up with his daddy being there, just like Dad was always there for all of us.”
The comment sends a lump into my throat, so I don’t reply. Not verbally, anyway. Surely, my brother and everyone else on the call can see how deeply I’m feeling my brother’s momentous words.
“As your cousin,” Marco says, his voice laced with emotion, “I couldn’t be happier for you. As a football player in the NFL, however, I can’t wait to dog-walk your fucking Thunderbolt ass.”
We all burst out laughing through tears. Marco’s team, the San Francisco Knights, has had a storied, decades-long rivalry with the Thunderbolts.
“You’ve got that backwards, cuz,” I shoot back, as Marco and I share a broad smile.
We chat some more, but only briefly. Soon, I tell the group, “I need to call Cameron now so he doesn’t have an aneurysm waiting on me.”
After another round of kind words—even from Evil Levi, who looks uncharacteristically emotional—we say our final goodbyes. But after I end the call, I feel the urgent, thumping need to see my son’s face before calling Cameron. I can’t tell Maverick my good news, obviously. A four-year-old can’t be trusted with highly confidential information. Not to mention, Vanessa is always somewhere nearby while I’m talking to him. But even so, I’m determined to see Maverick’s face and hear his voice as part of my celebration.
I place the call, and after some brief pleasantries with Maverick’s mother, Vanessa, she hands the phone to our son.
The second I see Maverick’s cherubic face, I tear up. “Hey, Mav,” I choke out.
“What’s wrong, Daddy?” Maverick asks, his dark eyebrows cinched together. “Why are you sad?”
A car passes on the quiet street where I’m parked, so I look the other way to hide my face. “I’m not sad, buddy. I’m happy because I get to see you soon and for the longest time ever.” Vanessa and her husband, Jay, are going to some big wedding in Europe soon, so they’ve decided to do some traveling from there. When Vanessa first called to tell me about the trip, it was to inform me she was planning to take Maverick with her, but by the end of the call, I’d convinced her to let me take my son the whole time—six consecutive weeks.
“Can I bring my trains when I come to your house, Daddy?” Maverick asks. “Jay always plays trains with me before bedtime, and I want to play trains with you, too.” My stomach twists. Vanessa’s husband, Jay, is a solid, friendly guy who’s fantastic with my kid. Also, he’s never once disrespected me. Surely, a more mature man would feel nothing but thrilled to know Maverick’s got such a close bond with his stepfather, but if I’m being honest, in addition to me recognizing that’s a good thing for Maverick, I’m also jealous about it for myself. In fact, every time I think about Jay playing with Maverick or tucking him in at night, I feel like my hair’s on fire and my skin is physically hot with the desire to get to do those things with him, too.
“You don’t need to bring your trains,” I say, “because you’ll have all the trains you could ever want at my house.”
I’m expecting Maverick to express excitement. Maybe even to thank me for wanting to make our time together this summer as fun as possible. But he simply shrugs and says, “Can I go play with Jay again?”
My heart sinks. “Sure. Have fun, buddy. I love you.”
“I love you, Daddy. Bye.”
There’s a shuffle, and a moment later, Vanessa reappears on my screen. “He had so much fun with you and your family inHawaii. He hasn’t stopped talking about it. How many Hawaiian ices did he have per day?”
I laugh. “Two. He had everyone wrapped around his finger.”
“Please, learn how to say no to him when you have him this summer, or he’s going to become a little monster by the time you return him to me.”
