His warm lips kissed my forehead. “You’re fucking strong, standing in front of all of us like that.”
“I’m not strong. I’m numb.”
“I want to wrap you in my arms and go back to this morning.”
Blinking away the onslaught of tears, I pressed my lips together and nodded. “I’d do anything to go back. I’d call Dad and ask him to meet me for coffee. Change his route…” I shook my head. “I-I can’t think about it.”
Fin squeezed my hands. “What do you have to do…now?”
“Uncle Darin and I are going to the county coroner’s office. They need a positive ID.”
“But you said?—”
“I said we’re certain it was Dad. It was his car and the state police found his identification. They still want someone to make a visual confirmation.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No,” I protested with a shake of my head. “Thank you. I love you for wanting to go. You’re needed here. You’re starting in Vegas.” My lips curled upward. “Remember last game when the crowd was chanting your name? That’s what you can do for Dad and for me; kick the Raiders’ ass.”
“Tonight?”
“I’m going to my place.”
“I want to be with you.”
Pressing my lips together, I inhaled, too uncertain of anything to argue. “Then it’s a good thing you have a keycard.” I brushed my lips over his. “I need to go.”
“Vee, I’m so sorry.”
Fin held on to my hand until I walked away. The loss of our connection amplified my solitude. The pounding in my temples returned, growing louder as I acknowledged concerned players and staff, forced my emotions to stay locked away, and made my way to Uncle Darin’s office.
Without prelude, I passed his assistant and pushed open his door.
Uncle Darin and Aunt Rachel turned toward me.
“What the hell happened to you? You were with us and then you weren’t,” he asked.
“I’m here now. Let’s go.”
Chapter 3
Vee
The traffic through Lexington was stop-and-go as Uncle Darin drove us across the city. Our destination, the Fayette County Coroner’s Office, was roughly twenty minutes away from Maker’s Mark Football Center on a good day. Today, it seemed as if we were moving in slow motion and hitting red at most of the stoplights. Conversation was at a minimum as we both navigated our thoughts. About ten minutes into the drive, I noticed that the GPS was taking us by the University of Kentucky campus.
Memories from over fifteen years ago flooded my mind. During my junior year of high school, Dad took me on multiple college visits around the country. University of Michigan had one of the top sports management programs. University of Florida and Texas A&M were also highly ranked. As far as private universities were concerned, Rice University in Houston, Texas, was the Ivy League of options.
Together, the two of us traveled to and from different universities. For farther away destinations such as Texas, California, and Florida, we took the team plane. For the relatively closer options, Dad drove. The two of us piled in his car and headed north, five hours to Ann Arbor, Michigan, and six hours to Chicago.
I thought I’d like a bigger city. I didn’t.
While I’d managed to keep my father’s identity hidden from many classmates at the University of Kentucky, upon my various applications, the name Reid Hubbard stood out like a neon sign. We were often met by top counselors for private tours of the university. After each visit was over, Dad and I would find a local pizza parlor—never a chain. Together, we sat, ate greasy, cheesy pizza, and talked about the pros and cons of the recent location.
It might be hard to believe that a man with as much responsibility as my father would take two or three days at a time to travel the country with his only daughter, but he did. After all the visits, I narrowed the search down to University of Michigan and University of Kentucky. The Kentucky program wasn’t as renowned; nevertheless, in hindsight, there was part of the seventeen-year-old girl who wasn’t ready to be over three hundred miles away from her father.
I brushed an unwanted tear from my cheek.
Despite my choosing a university close to home, Dad wanted me to have the full college experience. That meant dorm life during my freshman year. The day Dad moved me into my freshman dorm, he gave me a hug and told me he was happy with my choice. Though he was surrounded by college freshmen, none recognized the man in blue jeans, a shirt, and sneakers as the owner of the Lexington Coopers. The next three years of my undergraduate study, I shared an apartment with Emma. She was from Indiana and kept my secret throughout our undergrad journey.
