At halftime, Josie and I make our way to the concession stand and stock up on everything warm. Parents and fans talk my ear off while we’re in line.
“Are you running for mayor?”
“Did you see the approved budget?”
“When are you getting such and such on tap at the bar?”
The questions continue until we have our order and head back to the bleachers. “This is why we need a box,” I tell her.
“If you run for mayor, you have to be kind to your constituents.”
“I’m not running for mayor.” I already don’t want to be a radio show personality, what makes her think I want to be mayor? If that’s not giving up my lifestyle, I don’t know what is. Can you imagine a mayor headlining a tour?
JD would laugh his arse off.
The start of the third quarter, Mack throws an interception. It was a bad read, and he’s forced it into double coverage. He slams his helmet against his thigh on the way to the sideline. Nick meets him at the bench. There isn’t a doubt in my mind Nick feels bad for his son. Right now, though, the coach is tryingto remind his quarterback to think about the next play. Nick keeps his hand on the back of Mack’s neck; their heads are close. Mack nods and then nods again, and then he puts his helmet back on.
“Don’t turn one mistake into two,” I yell but doubt Mack hears me.
On the next series, Noah sends in the play. Mack runs it to perfection. Play-action, three-step drop, hits the tight end crossing the middle for twenty-two yards. Noah doesn’t pump his fist this time. He just turns to Nick and taps the clipboard twice.
Paige’s squad runs a routine during the timeout. She’s in the front row, arms sharp, voice cutting through the cold. She’s good at this. Paige is good at most things she decides to care about. It’s getting her to care that’s the challenge. She’s strong willed and carries so much on her shoulders.
The fourth quarter is ugly. Both teams are grinding it out with short runs and incomplete passes. Beaumont holds a six-point lead with two minutes left, and Mack takes a knee to run it out. The bleachers empty slow. Fans stand, stretch, pull their jackets tighter. I stay in my seat and watch the field clear.
After the game, I stand at the railing, waiting for Noah to come over. I haven’t seen him since I got back. After he talks to Mack, he jogs up the stairs and then gives me a tight hug. I hold him longer than he does me. I need an extra moment for all of this to settle in. He’s no longer the boy I watched play or the man who guided his professional team to a title. He’s a dad, a coach in his own right, but he’s still the ten-year-old I met at the sports museum, who said he knew me because he saw me kissing his mom.
“Nice win,” I say when I release him.
“Tough one, but a win’s a win. We expected you to come by when you got home.”
He’s right. I should’ve stopped by. “I don’t want to interrupt.”
“You’re not an interruption, Dad. I want you to spend as much time as possible with the kids. They’re growing so fast.”
I nod and look down at my boots, which apparently are very fascinating. Noah claps me on the shoulder. “We’ll be over.”
Noah laughs. “Or we’ll be over. Just know the doors always open.” He goes to his mom and hugs her tight, then runs off toward the locker room.
I inhale deeply and stare off into the darkness. Finding the middle ground—the point where my life makes sense—is going to be hard. I want to be present as Liam the husband, father, and grandfather, but also as the rock star. It’s been my identity for so long I don’t know how to be me without it.
Nick catches my eye. I decide to walk down to the field, to show Mack and Noah that Nick and I can coexist.
“Nice game,” I say.
Nick shows me Mack’s stats on his clipboard. “He’s better than both of us were.”
“He’s better than you were. Let’s not get carried away.” I was outstanding. Nick was okay.
Nick almost smiles.
I beam.
Peyton’s Wagoneerpulls into the driveway two mornings later. I watch from the kitchen window as Noah gets out, opens the rear door, and Juniper emerges. He props her on one hip, then leans back in for another. Maverick.
Where’s Jace?
He heads toward the front door. I open it before he knocks.
