Page 40 of Lay Down the Law

Starting toward the house, he shut out the annoying little voice in the back of his mind that called him a liar.

He strode toward the front door, intent on spending a few minutes with Steph before bedtime, but the unmistakable sound of a basketball against concrete stopped him. Curious, he skirted the sidewalk and peered around the side of the house, where a spotlight illuminated the portion of the driveway he’d concreted back when she’d first started playing basketball. Stephanie sat in her wheelchair, the bright orange basketball Erin had bought her poised in her hands, her determined gaze glued to the rusty hoop above the garage door. Concentration scrunched her features as she judged the distance between ball and hoop. An instant later, she leaned forward, thrust the ball upward and let it roll off her fingertips in a perfect arc. Nick held his breath. The ball bounced off the rim.

“Oh shoot!” she said, as the ball hit the concrete.

The sight of his little girl shooting baskets shouldn’t have moved him so profoundly. But as he watched her push her wheelchair forward to catch the ball, then lean forward and prepare for another shot, his heart convulsed in his chest. The ensuing jab of pain took his breath.

She needs to live her life to the fullest, risks be damned.

Erin’s words rang uncomfortably in his ears. She was wrong, Nick assured himself. Stephanie needed protecting. If he’d been there for her the night of the accident she wouldn’t be in that wheelchair.

Needing a moment to rein in his emotions, he leaned against the side of the house, telling himself he wasn’t overprotective. Steph needed someone to look after her. Someone to keep her safe. Someone to keep her from getting hurt again.

After a moment, Nick approached his daughter. He smiled, but his face felt plastic and he feared she would see straight through him. His little girl had become increasingly perceptive in the last couple of years.

She looked at him from beneath her lashes and grinned. “I missed my shot.”

Nick swallowed, terrified the emotion crowding his throat would overtake him. “I saw that.”

“I’m sorry I was so mean to Erin.”

“Erin’s fine. She understands and told me it’s okay if you don’t want the basketball. She’ll get you something else.”

Stephanie lifted the ball to him. “I never noticed this when she first gave it to me. Check it out, Dad.”

Nick looked down at the orange globe. Pain broke apart and scattered deep in his chest at the sight of his daughter’s name scrawled in sweeping black handwriting above the autograph of a popular Chicago Bulls player.

“Well, I’ll be,” he muttered.

“Pretty cool, huh? How’d Erin know he’s my favorite player?”

Nick didn’t know what to say. Not to his daughter. Certainly not to Erin, who must have driven more than two hundred miles, plus somehow wrangled a personalized autograph.

Stephanie looked down at the ball in her hands. “I was thinking about what she said.”

“What’s that?”

“About…you know, wheelchair basketball. I saw these guys playing on TV, but I didn’t think I could ever do it.”

“You can do anything you want, honeybunch.”

“Well, I thought maybe I could, you know, take some lessons or something. I used to be a pretty good player.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

“My back doesn’t hurt that much, if that’s what you’re worried about. Maybe we could ask Dr. Brooks.”

Nick cleared his throat, hoping his voice wouldn’t break and reveal the pain in his heart. “It’s past your bedtime, honeybunch.”

She cocked her head. The movement made her look like she was six again and challenging his authority, as she had so many times over the years. “Will you at least think about it?”

He stared at her, shaken and so full of love for this child that he ached with the need to hold her and keep her safe. Another part of him wanted desperately to make her happy—to let her play basketball and do all the things a little girl should be able to do. For the first time since the accident, he wondered if one was at odds with the other. He wondered if Erin McNeal was right.

“I’ll think about it as long as you promise not to become a professional basketball player,” he said after a moment. “I couldn’t handle you being on the road for long stretches.”

She turned thoughtful. “You think professional players miss their dads when they’re on the road?”

“You would.” Grinning, Nick leaned forward and tugged gently on her ear. “But I’d miss you more.”