“You were aterriblecoach,” I say. “I made it in spite of you. You know what good coaches do? They inspire. They empower. They don’t kick you when you’re down, they light a fire underyou that gets you moving. You know how I know that? My team won the national championship, Granddad.Myteam.”
Granddad rounds the car, boots crunching over the packed snow. “Watch your mouth, boy.”
“No,” I say, louder now. “You don’t get to call me that anymore. You don’t get to call me anything. You acted like baseball was the family business, but we were your products, not your partners. Dad, me, Evan. We were one failed prototype after the next, modeled after your image, of course. At least with Evan, you had an excuse. The world had taken your finest product out of commission. Did it make you feel bigger to make Dad and me feel so small?”
I glance around and realize we have an audience. Evan’s college roommate. A couple of Mom’s cousins. Even Sloane’s maid of honor is standing by her car, keys dangling from her hand, watching.
And I don’t care.
“Show some respect,” he barks, jabbing a finger toward me.
“For what?”I shoot back. “You broke your own son, and you’ve been trying to break me ever since.”
For a heartbeat, it’s just the wind between us, blowing sharp and hollow. Granddad’s eyes glint like frost.
“I was injured in Vietnam!” he finally explodes, the words echoing across the lot. “You think Ichoseto quit? I lost everything out there!”
“Then why did you have to make sure we lost it too?”
“I gave you everything I never had! Private coaches, year-round training, the best facilities and equipment?—”
“I didn’t want it! You know what I wanted? Support! Unconditional love! A family who came to watch meplay,notwin.I was only useful to you while I was succeeding. But guess what? That injury was the best thing that ever happened to me! I was so sick of trying to perform at all costs, I’d gladly get injuredagain if it meant finally escaping this chokehold you’ve had over me my whole life.”
The words leave my mouth and hang there, heavy. But I’m not done.
“And you know what else? I met someone this week—a woman who showed me my worth has nothing to do with my old career. You know she took the time to look me up? After only four days, she was more proud of me for coaching than you ever were for me playing.” I laugh bitterly. “I’m such an idiot.”
Granddad steps closer. “You ungrateful little?—”
“Enough!”
The voice is sharp enough to cut through ice, but it isn’t mine.
It’s Dad’s.
Granddad freezes. He’s two steps from me, but it’s Dad who feels closest.
My father has never interrupted him before. Not once. Not when I was benched at thirteen and Granddad tore into me in front of my entire team. Not when he called me greedy for leaning into the pitch or weak for needing surgery.
But now, in this snow-choked parking lot, he does.
“Rod,” Granddad warns, his voice low and dangerous. “Think about what you’re saying.”
“I already did,” Dad says. His breath shakes, but he stands firm. “I’ve thought about it for thirty years.”
Granddad takes a step toward him. “You work for me.”
“Not anymore, I don’t.”
My jaw falls. Granddad’s face turns so white, it looks like he’s turning to ice on the spot.
“Son, don’t be stupid,” Granddad hisses. “You’ve got a family to feed.”
“No, I have one toprotect. You’ve threatened me with that long enough, Dad.” With every word, his voice gets stronger.“I don’t need your money, your … golden handcuffs. I wish I’d never taken a job with you in the first place.” Dad says.
For a long second, none of us move. The snow settles on their coats, on the car roof, on my shoulders. All I can hear is my own breathing—and the soft sob Mom’s trying to hide behind her gloved hand.
Granddad finally turns, stiff and shaking with rage. “You’ll regret this,” he says, but his voice has lost its bite. He walks back to the car, slams the door, and the engine roars to life.
