Page 89 of Glitched Play

J.D. asks about the e-football league launch and if he can help. “I can have guys come sign jerseys to bring in more people to watch the digital game. Is that what I call it?”

Witt shakes his head. “It’s the EFL, e-Football League.”

“It’s called an offline event but it’s a game just like the one you coach. Witt, everyone doesn’t understand our world and that’s okay. I don’t understand why someone would want to get tackled by a 300-pound man either.” I smack Witt on the arm before I realize that’s not how a subordinate should act.

Witt asks, “Did they have time to produce jerseys?”

“Yes, merchandising took care of it. And I didn’t tell you this because I just thought of it this morning, but the winners will get bars to put on their jerseys like my brother and sister did in high school for lettering.”

J.D. smiles.

Greyson grins.

Parker blurts out, “Now I know why you love her so much.”

Everyone goes quiet before Parker realizes what he said. Annika, his fiancé, steps in and says, “Witt values you as an equal.”

Witt stays close without responding. And I’m wondering if he actually said he values me. I know, without a doubt he never said he loves me.

Everyone breaks off into different directions but Witt is never far. I guess he thinks his family is overbearing. They’re not. They’re the kind of family everyone should have, chaotic, loud, funny, teasing, loving.

When I need a napkin, he points to the stack before I ask. When I reach for the wrong pitcher, he says, “Diet is on the left.” When one of the kids nearly collides with me, his hand touches the small of my back for half a second, guiding me out of the crash zone before disappearing like it never happened.

But I feel it long after.

Eventually, Parker drags us toward the arcade.

“Team tournament,” he announces.

“No,” Witt says.

“Yes.”

“I don’t participate in rigged competitions.”

Parker grins. “Scared?”

“No.”

I lift an eyebrow. “That sounded like scared.”

Witt turns his head toward me slowly. “It did not.”

“It kind of did.”

His eyes narrow. Oh, this is fun.

The game Parker picks is a retro racing arcade with two steering wheels, cracked vinyl seats, and graphics that look like they were designed before physics became standardized. The kids gather around us immediately. So do several adults, because apparently watching Witt do literally anything is a family sport.

“You’re going down, Uncie Witt!” Witley yells.

“Unlikely,” he says.

I slide into the seat beside him. “You know, I’m very good at games.”

“I assumed.”

“You assumed?” I quirk a brow.