And that’s a goddamn shame.
13
ROXY
After that talkwith Debbie yesterday, I decided I can’t wait any longer. Because this will be ten times worse if my father hears my news from someone else. I can’t hide anymore.
In fact, today will be the day I rip off the Band-Aid for everything.
With trembling hands, I try calling Billy again. When he doesn’t pick up, I leave a message. As much as I want to text him and be done, that’s not how you treat a friend.
“Hey. It’s me. I just, uh… just wanted to touch base and let you know where I am with things. Can we grab coffee or something this week if you have the time? Let me know what works for you.”
When I hang up, I take several deep breaths to calm down. Letting go of Billy is the right thing to do.
Then why does it hurt so much?
Not even the practice I had with Paige this morning can get me out of my funk, but I take heart knowing I can help. When I called her last night, she immediately agreed to do some extra training with me.
Paige has the skills to make mat for nationals. She just has to believe she can do it. Plus, she needs to trust that her spotters will catch her if she falls.
We’re going to work on getting the right mindset. With a few more one-on-one sessions, I think she’ll be ready.
I grab the hoagies I picked up on the way to the stadium and lock my car before I make my way through the back parking lot to my dad’s office. A few of the players are hanging out in the hallways, and I give them brief smiles. I’m afraid if I stop to talk, I’ll wuss out.
When I make it to Dad’s office, he’s chatting with two of the assistant coaches. I make sure to locate the trash can in the corner in case I vomit. It’s a distinct possibility.
The other coaches greet me before they head out.
“Hey, Rox. How’s my girl?” Dad gives me a one-sided smile where half his mouth tugs up but the other side doesn’t bother making the trip.
“Hi, Coach.” I know it’s weird that I call him that, but I’ve spent a lifetime around his athletes, and it just comes out sometimes. “I’m good. Brought you some lunch.”
That brings up the other side of his mouth as he types on his computer. “I’m starving. What did ya get?”
“Italian subs.”
“Brilliant. Don’t tell your mom I had processed meat, though. She’s been trying to get rid of nitrates. Honestly, I don’t understand it except that it has something to do with getting healthier. And after my hoagie, I am one hundred percent on board.”
I chuckle. “No worries.” After I place his sandwich on the desk, I toss him a Diet Coke.
Maybe this won’t be so bad. Maybe I’ve blown this out of proportion and my father will take this in stride. And if we do this at work, he can’t lose his cool. Everyone always says he’s solevelheaded. So patient. That he lives up to his NFL moniker, the Saint.
Please, Jesus, let him live up to his nickname.
“You okay, kiddo? You’re unusually quiet.”
My heart feels like it might crash straight through my ribs. I’m definitely not okay. I take a deep breath. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Is this about Deacon? I meant to tell you. He said you were upset I hadn’t mentioned he was transferring, but you know how crazy things have been with the playoffs.”
My throat gets tight with the reminder that my entire family forgot to mention that my brother is transferring here in the fall. No biggie. When they disown me, at least they’ll have Deke.
I nod with acceptance I don’t feel. “You’ve been busy, Dad. I get it.”
“I knew you’d understand. How’s cheer going? I haven’t seen you around lately. Busy with classes?”
Tell him. Spit it out.“Actually—”
