Page 92 of Playing It Forward

“And that is what you call skill.” She bows.

I snort. “Skill? The ball committed insurance fraud.”

She pats my cheek. “Don’t be jealous. Hurry and hit the ball; I’m ready to ask my first question.”

Unlike Terri, I try to putt correctly. And end up needing five swings to sink the ball.

“Five embarrassing strokes,” she mutters as she fills out the scorecard. “Now, first question.”

I groan. I made a lot of stupid choices when I was a rookie player.

“What did you want to be growing up? Did you always want to be a football player?”

I don’t call her out for asking two questions. I’m happy to answer. She’s asking about my life, getting to know me – the person, not the player. It’s what I want.

“I didn’t want to be a football player. I saw how my dad was, and I didn’t want to be him. I actually wanted to be an actor.”

“Really? Tell me more.”

“I used to participate in all the plays and musicals back in junior high. Then, in my freshman year of high school, I landed the role of Biff Lowman in Death of a Salesman. He’s a former high school football hero whose life has stalled.”

“Wow. You weren’t kidding about the acting thing.”

I shrug. I loved pretending I was someone else. That I wasn’t Danny Allen’s kid. That I didn’t have to go home to a house with an absent dad. That I didn’t have to help Mom raise the kids.

“Anyway, I thought I’d go all method and learn how to play football. I tried out for the high school football team, and before I knew it, I was the quarterback on the varsity team.”

Her nose wrinkles. “You stayed on the team despite the pressure from your dad?”

I blow out a breath. How to explain it to her? “I didn’t want to be like my dad. But when I throw a ball and it sails in the air to land in the hands of my teammate? There’s nothing like the thrill.”

“You love it? You love football?”

“I do. I’m not sure I know what to do without football.”

I remember helping Beck. How good it felt to show him some quarterback tricks. I frown. I’m not ready to coach. I’m too young. I still haven’t won the Super Bowl. And I will play in the Super Bowl if it’s the last thing I do in my career.

Terri grasps my hand. “Thanks for opening up to me.”

I smile down at her. She doesn’t get it. I’m happy to open up to her. Because she’s not just the mother of my child. She’s Terri. I want her as much as our little mermaid.

I need to convince her I’m serious. I’m real. And I’m here.

“We can’t have a relationship if I don’t let you in.”

“True. But I didn’t expect you to open up your heart at the second hole of Mermaid Midget Golf.”

“For you, my heart is always open.”

Her eyes widen and her foot bounces. She’s ready to bail. Time to give her some space. In the meantime, I’ll show her I’m serious by my deeds. Actions matter more than words after all.

Chapter 30

It’s difficult to keep pretending you're alone when an entire team disagrees.

Terri

By the time I park at the stadium at Coastal State University, my heart is banging in my chest. This is a bad idea.