“Come on, man! There’s a baby. You don’t want the baby to get hurt because you didn’t install the seat right, do you?”
He approaches hesitantly, with a steady, shrewd glare, mumbling about how this isn’t even his responsibility, so how could it be his fault. He’s a small, mostly unassuming man. Less than six feet, with a build closer to his dancer wife than to most of our teammates. But that doesn’t mean he’s weak or soft. Just different. He’s like a viper, and I’m watching him every bit as closely as he watches me. Just in case he strikes.
He goes to the car instead. He picks up the instructions that are lying on the seat. He opens the little booklet, scans it, flips it over. Looks around.
He can’t read it.
Fuck. But also, fucking hilarious. They make a big deal about the fact that Huang was actually born in China, but the dude can’t even read Chinese. This is great.
Except I need that car seat installed.
But then he looks inside the box the car seat came in and pulls out the contents. He sets the seat itself to the side and lays the cloth cover inside it, then pulls out the carton the whole thing was settled in. Finally, he pulls out another pamphlet the same size as the instructions he was just looking for.
He throws it at me and announces, “You are the dumbest goddamn person I have ever met in my life, and Allore can barely tie his own shoelaces.”
That hurts more than I want to admit. Evan Allore is incredibly dumb. But when I realize what I’m holding is the English instructions, I can’t really disagree. And the worst part is he doesn’t even need the instructions. It takes him fifteen seconds to click the base into place. In under a minute, he has the cloth cover and newborn insert on the seat, and then he clicks that into the base. With a firm shake to prove it’s steady, he closes the doors, grabs the giant box it all came in, and starts breaking it down for recycling.
He’s a better dad than me.
He’s got like six months more experience than I do, but it still hurts. Especially when I cave and mutter, “Thanks.”
“I didn’t do this for you. I did this for Tilly.”
“I’m taking care of her,” I grumble.
He stomps up to me and gets right in my face, in no way bothered by our height difference. “Then God help her.”
I shove him back into the car. I’m so fucked if anyone’s watching and has their phone out, recording us bickering in a parking lot in the projects on the south side of Wilmington,but the guy just hits all my fucking buttons. “Dude, what the fuck is your problem?”
“Myproblem? Are you serious? You’ve made my life a living hell ever since Kick-a-Thon!”
Kick-a-Thon. Yep, that fucking game even has a nickname that sports commentators still throw around. Any time Lin has a good game, it’sKick-a-Thonthis,Kick-a-Thonthat. If other games run up a bunch of field goals, they talk about that game. He didn’t even break a record. One good game, and suddenly, he’s the god of kicking balls. “Man, I never did shit to you!”
“Are you seriously going to claim you weren’t responsible for the confetti ball?”
Oh. Right.
But I school my face into the blankest face I can muster because I don’t think he’ll believe me if I try to pass on the rumor that flew around that it was a fan’s ball that got mixed into the bunch after I uhhhhhhhh had one of his practice balls switched for one that, when he kicked it, exploded confetti in my team’s colors.
And there was no way I could have expected him to be so startled by it he’d fall on his ass. I mean, it’s confetti. How can you be a pro football player and scared of confetti? Doesn’t make sense except he’s a prissy little bitch.
Yes, I felt bad that he landed on his wrist and was taken out of the game, but I don’t even get why it mattered that he sprained his wrist. He’s akicker.
And that sprain? It ended up causing an even worse sprain our premier year, and two losses might have been avoided if he’d been in. But that sprain ended with him meeting his smoking-hot wife, so if anything, I was the one most grievously injured by the confetti ball incident.
I’m not fucking owning up to that. It ruined my first season as a starting quarterback.
“Okay, let’s just fucking truce on this because there’s a baby that needs me.”
Lin rolls his eyes hard and straightens himself up. “Which is why, as much as I hate you with every ounce of my being because you are a grown ass adult who still bullies everyone, even his own teammates, I’m going to help you. Word got to us that Tilly’s got a long recovery. Wren’s made it clear I need to do whatever I can here to helpTillyout.”
I’m not a bully.
I’m not.
But that’s my son and Tilly isn’t doing well, so I’m going to take help wherever I can get it. “Can I trust you to not spread gossip about her?”
He raises a single speculative, exhausted eyebrow. “Canyoutrustme?Stop being your usual asshole self and spit it out.”
