Annika looks up at me, eyes wide and lips trembling as we get out. We hike back to our clothes and despite getting caught by a teenager, my body hums knowing that Annika and I can stretch our boundaries together.
We dress, then I hook my arms around her waist. “That was fun. Exhilarating even.”
“Skinny dipping. Marked off my bucket list.”
I sigh, then push her hair behind her ear. “I’ve marked something off my bucket list too.”
She purrs, “What’s that?”
“I’ve fallen in love with you, Doc.”
No matter what she didn’t finish telling me, I know I love her.
TWENTY-NINE
ANNIKA
The stadium roars, but all I hear is the warning under it. Something feels like it’s about to go wrong, very wrong. I’ve learned to trust my instincts and right now, they’re screaming.
Even though the sun is shining on a chilly day and the stadium is at capacity, filled with fans here for the pre-game activities for Parker’s foundation.
The air feels tighter, pressing on my lungs like today might be the day I lose him.
Why? I don’t know.
Last night, I didn’t get a chance to confess what happened with my dad since he was on the phone with his foundation all the way home. I know I need to tell him the full story, but I’m not ready for him to let me go.
I stand near the end zone, just off the sideline, arms folded across my stomach trying to hold myself together.
I’ll tell him after the game.
After he’s won and is flying high. He’ll understand.
Won’t he?
But I can’t shake the feeling that it may be too late.
Parker is everywhere at once, moving between groups, clapping hands, smiling for cameras, and crouching down to talk to the kids lined up for his foundation’s first event. The forty-yard dash is set up across the field, gold cones bright against the turf, staff buzzing around trying to organize the contestants.
He’s in his element—controlled chaos, like his family. Well, not just like his family. They’re not to be controlled. They just live.
And for a moment, I let myself watch him.
How at ease he is with people of all ages.
How his purpose is wrapped in performance.
If he’s not in the league, his foundation might fail and he’s told me other than playing football, giving back to the community is his goal. To help kids that have lost a parent, been abused, or are sick or who just need mentoring.
I watch him drop to one knee in front of a little boy, adjusting his stance and saying something that makes the kid grin and hug him like he just met a superhero.
Parker laughs, unguarded and easy like none of the weight he carries about failure or comparison matters. It’s all about the foundation.
This is the version I didn’t see of him in college. The version I’ve come to understand. Because now he shows me what he didn’t back then.
The one who cares about giving. The one who shows up for others.
The announcer’s voice crashes through the stadium, yanking me from my thoughts.
