Page 19 of Over Time Advantage

Kennedy is doubled over in laughter. “Oh my god, Double Dees, that’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

David Debois is one of my closest pickleball friends. He’s a little over sixty, with a bit of a belly and a receding hairline, but he's a great player. Most people at the pickleball club call him Double Dees because of his initials. Kennedy took an immediate liking to his jovial, over-the-top personality. Dirty jokes are his everyday talk, and she gets the biggest kick out of it. He calls her Triple Dees, which I hate, but she’s begun to enjoy spending time playing pickleball with us, so I try not to complain about his objectifying nickname for my daughter.

Dave winks at me, and I shake my head while mumbling, “I don’t know where you come up with this crap.”

An ATP in pickleball is what you call a high-level shot that goes around the pole, not over the net, and lands on the court for a winning shot. It’s a bit of a trick play and very hard to do. I just attempted one and failed miserably. Dave yelled out, “ATP doesn’t stand for around the penis, Jett. You’ve got to get it around the real pole.” For some unknown reason, my daughter is wildly amused by it.

He lets out a laugh before whispering, “Whatever keeps her coming back, buddy.”

Dave knows about my relationship with Kennedy and how badly I want her back in my life. He also knows pickleball seems to be helping in that regard. He’s a good guy, doing everything he can to make it fun and appealing to her. I appreciate him for it.

Kennedy doesn’t help matters when it comes to men objectifying her. She’s a stunning young lady, standing at over six feet and in great physical shape. She more than knows it and loves to push buttons and prance around in next to nothing. I don’t miss the looks she garners from every man in this club. It takes everything I have not to punch each one of them in the nose for drooling over my daughter.

In fact, I see two older men pointing to her now and making what I assume are crude jokes. She notices. Kennedy is whip smart and misses very little.

We exchange knowing glances between points. I nod my head toward her midriff-baring, tight, revealing top. “Any chance I can talk you into toning it down when you’re here?”

She narrows her eyes at me. “Why should I have to dim my shine for those who can’t handle my light? Screw all of them. Let them drool over something they’ll never have.”

I exhale a long breath. “The man who eventually reins you in will have his hands full.”

She lifts an unamused eyebrow. “Don’t be so misogynistic. I’ll never be reined in. And I have no interest in saddling myself with one man anytime soon. I enjoy fucking around too much. A different guy in my bed every night is all that’s on the menu for me.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. I know my daughter likes to push buttons, especially mine, but sometimes she takes it too far. “I love spending time with you, sweetie, and I’m happy you’re growing more comfortable around me, but can we consider some boundaries? There are certain things a father should never hear about his daughter. I’m pretty sure fucking around every night with a different guy is number one on that list.”

She lets out a laugh. “Too much for you, Dad?”

“Yes, it is. Way too much.” I shake my head in disbelief. “I’ve never known a woman who talks like you.”

“No one in your bevy of bimbos has a mouth, or any self-confidence, for that matter? You only like weak women like Ginny?”

“What bevy?” I ask. My daughter thinks I fuck around, and I have no idea why. “And your mother isn’t weak.”

She harumphs. “You’re weak for continuing to defend her. She’s literally the Monday of all people.”

Double Dees shouts from the other side of the court, “Are you two ladies done gossiping? Let’s play another game.”

And we do. As always, Kennedy and I avoid a real conversation and do what we do best together. Compete and kick ass.

Maybe one day, when she’s ready, we’ll talk. For now, I’m just happy to spend the afternoon with her.

One step at a time.

I pour my glass of wine as I open the Zoom link to join the video appointment with Dr. Lucadamo. I see Pierce and Ginny together at her house in one window, and the doctor in another.

Dr. Lucadamo is a psychiatrist Pierce has been seeing for four years. Some weeks he meets with her alone, and others we do so as a family. It depends on how things are going in his life.

She’s an attractive woman in her forties with sandy blonde hair and a kind, gentle demeanor. She specializes in Pierce’s issues and has been helpful to him. He’s come a long way since working with her. My natural instincts are to give him the same tough love I received as a kid, but Dr. Lucadamo has helped me see that Pierce won’t thrive under that kind of pressure. It’s been a long, hard battle for my son, but I believe he’s finally in a better place.

She smiles into the camera. “Thanks for moving our appointment to tonight. Something came up for tomorrow night.” We usually meet on Monday evenings because the Camels mostly play on Sundays. Mondays are my lightest day during the season. “I understand it was a big weekend for Pierce,” she says excitedly.

I nod with pride. “His final home game was one of his best. Five touchdowns. I’m so proud of him.” She gives me a look I’ve learned means I need to reword. “I mean, I’m just proud of how hard he works, regardless of the outcome.”

She nods in approval.

Pierce’s face lights up. “The dopest part was that Kennedy came to watch me play. She mogged all the other families.”

Dr. Lucadamo’s eyebrows pinch together before asking what I am also wondering. “What does mog mean?”