“Hey, Reed! It’s your dad.”
My dad is here?
My heart goes down to my stomach. He’s visited me at practice before, a couple of times, but I can’t get used to it. Every time, I can’t help feeling like something bad has happened—that he’s bringing me bad news.
He comes into view as he shuffles around players standing around in practice gear.
He’s about two inches shorter than me. He’s got a gut now, even though, up until maybe three years ago, he was trim and fit. He’s not exactly that way anymore. But ever since I joined the NFL, he’s started dressing better than he used to. And dating a lot more.
It bothers me. Even though my parents’ divorce was back when I was seven years old, somehow, a part of me has never gotten over it. I haven’t been able to exactly trust my dad since he left, even though he came to a lot of my games—especially the better I got.
“Dad, what are you doing here?”
He reaches up and pats my good shoulder. “I just wanted to stop by, see how you’re doing.”
He gives a little shrug, as if to say that it’s not a big deal, but I know something is going on. I can tell he has news.
I let out a breath. “Well, come watch the other guys for a minute. I’m just taking a break.”
We sit and by now, Foster’s moved to a group of guys watching what’s happening on the field.
“I saw they drafted Casey Riddock.”
That’s a subject I definitely don’t want to talk about with my father.
“It’s fine,” I say. “It’ll push me in spring training.”
My dad winces. “Riddock’s got talent, I can admit it. But he’s not like you. You’re the whole package and your coaches need to start seeing that.”
“I appreciate it, Dad, but can you not say stuff like that right now around my team?”
Dad’s face hardens. “I was only stating the obvious. It would be good for them to hear my thoughts.”
“No, no it wouldn’t. Just, please tell me why you’ve come.”
Dad recoils, like I’ve offended him. I love my dad, and I know he’s proud of me. He’s supported my career from the start, signing me up for expensive camps and trainers and all kinds of cool opportunities that Mom wouldn’t have been able to cover on her salary after the divorce.
But I always feel like it’s never enough for him. I was starting quarterback all four years of high school, and most of four years in college. I’ve worked my butt off for him to approve, but sometimes that isn’t working.
“You remember Jess?”
I sigh. “Is she the blonde?”
“No, the brunette. Come on, son, the one I brought to the extended family barbecue a couple of months ago.”
“Oh, that one. Yeah? Are you still dating her?”
Dad got remarried my rookie year with the Wolves to a woman named Breanne, who was fourteen years younger than he was. A couple of years later, he was divorced again. I feel stuck in a time warp from my childhood, still smarting from when he divorcedmy mom, still determined to get my family back together at all costs.
Obviously, nothing I did worked, and that still stings.
“Taysom, Jess is special.” He twists his mouth to one side. “I proposed.”
“What?” I feel the color drain from my face. “You’re engaged?”
“Yep!” My dad’s smile is wide. “We’re getting married next month.”
“Next month?”
