Not with your daughter.
“I bet. Colby’s just grabbing a few things—some of her old clothes and such out of the spare closet. Then we can take off. You’ll get there early, but?—”
“Oh, I don’t mind. I like hanging out at the airport. I’ll look through my charts from today, catch up on emails . . .” I let my words trail off under Rick’s scrutiny. His lips are pulled tight in a puzzling smirk that makes me feel a little nervous.
“You know, you can always stop in when you’re in town. Or on your off season, if you ever want to work with a friendly face . . .”
“Friendly,” I repeat, not fully aware that I called that word out aloud. His eyebrows tick up. I chuckle on command, fake ashell. “I mean, yeah. Friendly would be nice. Not that you aren’tfriendly.” Fuck, I’m making this worse.
“Ah,” he says, nodding slowly.
“I’m exhausted. Sorry, I’m babbling,” I say through more forced chuckling. “I should . . .” I nod toward the stairwell, then head toward the landing. Rick’s hand grips my elbow before I’m more than a step away.
“Jayden, I hope you know . . . you’ve always been . . . I mean, you are like family. And I know you aren’t . . .”
His head wavers side to side, and the dozens of ways I imagine him completing that phrase pass through my mind.I’m not my brother. My father. Good enough. Expected to make it. Responsible for his heartbreak. Ever going to be with his daughter.
“I know,” I say, deciding he’s probably sorting through the same options. I’d rather not hear any of them.
I pull my lips into a tight smile, then drop my gaze to the floor as his hand falls away from my arm. I leave him in the loft as I zip down the stairs and double-check my bag to make sure I have my charger and earbuds handy.
“I think I’ll take these—” Colby stops at the end of the hallway, and I swear we’ve slipped through time. She’s wearing her old Katy High softball hoodie, the deep blue the perfect complement to the rich auburn streaks in her dark hair. She looks like the same girl I kissed on a whim years ago. Sheisthe same girl . . . a woman. Her lips part with a breath as her eyes shift toward the stairs.
“Sorry, I thought you were my dad.”
I shake my head.
“He said he’ll be right down. I think he was guarding the bathroom.” I chuckle at the incredibly stereotypical likelihood.
“Ugh, I’m sorry,” she says through soft laughter. She drops her forehead into the fleece sweatshirts folded in her arms. “He’s always been protective.”
“I’ll say,” I let slip out.
Her head tilts.
“I haven’t seen that in years,” I say, shifting the subject.
She drops her chin and holds out the stack of T-shirts and sweatshirts she’s holding to get a good look at the giant softball print on the front of her shirt.
“Number ten,” I say, knowing it has her high school number printed on the front and back. I didn’t get to wear ten until I got drafted. It was always taken by someone more senior, or someone who needed the corresponding small size. But the second I made it and had the chance, I picked her number. I always wanted us to match. Even when we were kids.
“This thing is just so worn in. It’s the perfect softness, and I thought it might be nice to wear around at night.” She shrugs and looks up at me through her lashes.
“You got a place yet?” She’s been staying in the hotel.
She shakes her head, and before I can ask why, her dad’s heavy footsteps break up our conversation.
“You two ready?” he says, and we both jerk to attention like nervous teenagers caught making out on the couch. We’re a dozen feet apart, and I still feel as though that isn’t far enough for Colby’s dad.
Thankfully, the trip to the airport is filled with reminiscent baseball conversation, Rick rehashing some of his favorite memories from coaching me and my brother. We steer clear of the topic of Adriel’s recent suspension, his excessive speeding ticket, his struggle with drugs and alcohol, and all the ways he seems hell-bent on replaying our father’s not-so-greatest hits in life. I’m almost breathing with ease when Colby’s dad pulls up tothe airport departures curb, but I don’t think my shoulders will ever fully relax in Rick’s presence.
The security lines are a mess, and by the time Colby and I make our way to our gate, we have maybe an hour left before boarding begins. I check the time on my phone and sigh.
“Yeah, it’s gonna be late,” she says, I think referring to the time we’ll finally get in and get home.
“Oh, yeah. But I was just thinking it’s probably too late to grab a beer. I usually build in enough time before takeoff?—”
“Jayden, are you afraid to fly?” Colby’s head leans to the side, and her eyes scrutinize me in an amused expression.
