“I know.” My voice comes out raw.
“We went to one of your games,” Dad says quietly. “You remember? Junior year, state championship. She was so sick by then, I had to carry her into the arena—wheelchair wouldn’t fit in our section. We sat there and watched you play. You scored the winning goal.”
I remember that game. Remember seeing them in the stands, Mom wrapped in blankets, Dad holding her hand.
“After you won, she looked at me and said, ‘We did this. We made him.’ And I said, ‘He’s nothing like me, thank God.’ And she grabbed my face—weak as she was, she grabbed my face—and said, ‘Don’t give up on God, Robert. Don’t give up on yourself. The only thing that matters is what He thinks of us. And He already loves us.’”
He looks at me.
“I lost sight of that.” His voice breaks as he puts a hand on my shoulder. “And I think I made you lose sight of it too.”
“Dad…”
“I wasn’t a good father, Brody. I know that. But I want to be. I have to ask, can you forgive me?”
My eyes are burning, throat stinging. “Yeah, Dad. I forgive you.”
Dad gives me a watery smile. Wipes his eyes. “I love you, son.”
“I love you.” In that moment, I don’t care that I’m a twenty-eight-year-old man. I hug my dad. I hold on to him, bury my face against his shoulder.
God, please let this be real. Please let this last.
At last, he pulls away, clasping a hand on the back of my neck. “All right, now I think it’s time we talk about you.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“The girl,” he says, standing up. “I heard about what happened at that wedding. There are a lot of stories going around. Why don’t you tell me about it?”
We start walking again, and his words echo back inside my head.I lost sight of that, and I think I made you lose sight of it too.“I pushed her away. I told myself it was to protect her, but I wound up doing the one thing she was most afraid of. I ran herover. Made the decision for her instead of letting her in, letting us figure it out together.”
Dad winces as we round a corner. “So what’d she do?”
“She…uh.” I run a hand over the back of my neck. “She told me I was just like you. Said I was a charmer who makes people love them and then leaves them to pick up the pieces.”
“That’s fair,” he says. “That’s exactly what I taught you to do. To protect yourself. To charm people so you can keep your walls up. So you don’t get hurt.” We stop at the entrance. Dad picks up his bag from where he’d left it. “So you hold all the control.”
He stops outside the facility. Turns to face me again.
“Do you love her?”
I nod. Can’t trust my voice.
“Then stop protecting her from yourself. Stop performing. Stop trying to be perfect.” He smiles. “Stop thinking you have to earn love. Stop controlling everything because you’re afraid of being hurt. You’re already loved. By God. By me. By that girl who’s probably sitting at home right now thinking you don’t want her. I think it’s time you go win her back. Now, come on. Don’t you have a game tonight?”
I check my phone. 11:23 a.m. Game starts at seven.
“Yeah. But I was going to help you get settled at home?—”
“Absolutely not.” He grabs his duffel. “You’re going to that game. And you’re going to play like you used to play—not because you’re trying to be perfect or impress anyone or prove something. But because you love it. Because it’s who you are. Because it’s a gift God gave you, and you’re going to use it.”
“Dad—”
“I’m not asking, Brody. I’m telling you. Go to the game. Play your heart out. And after”—he claps a hand on my shoulder—“you find that girl, and you tell her the truth. That you love her. That you’re sorry. That you’re done running.”
“What about you?”
“I’m going to an AA meeting. Already looked up the schedule—there’s one at two o’clock at the church down the street from the house. I’ve got a ride coming. I’ll be fine.” He tosses his duffel over his shoulder and starts walking back toward the facility. “I’m proud of you, son. Your mom would be too.”
