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“And . . . worth the wait,” I laugh out. I’m giddy talking about Brooklyn with him.
“Ah, Cam. That’s . . . man, son. That’s everything. What’s the status? Are you official then? I don’t know what they call it now, is it talking? Or dating?”
“I’d say we’re pretty official, yeah.”
My dad’s crackly laugh fills the phone line.
“I can’t wait for you to meet her,” I say.
“Me, too, Cam. Me, too.”
The line goes quiet again, and that strain fills the void. It took me a while to define what it was exactly, but I’ve decided it’s longing. We long for each other. I can’t even imagine having these conversations with him anytime I want, or sharing a beer on a porch somewhere, or sitting on the bleachers out at Fenway.
“She knows about you, too, by the way. I kind of told her the broken love story,” I say, my voice soft, words cautious. I’ve never really asked my dad how he feels about me talking to people about our business. He’s never been the one to lay down rules about who gets to know what, though, so I figure he’s all right with it.
“It’s a real tearjerker, isn’t it?” he says.
“I wouldn’t call it a comedy,” I respond. He breathes out a short laugh before letting the line go quiet again.
I want to tell him that it didn’t freak Brooklyn out hearing that my dad is in prison, but I won’t lie. It’s hard to explain the reasons why, and I’m afraid without the context, he’ll get defensive. He can be protective of me, even if it’s only with words.
“Your mom meet her yet?”
I shake my head as I answer, “No.”
“Well, that’ll be the test. I mean that and your grandparents.Oooof!”
I sit with his warning. My grandparents are an entirely different issue, and while they made life hell for him and my mom, they would probably make it twice as miserable for me. They’re not reasonable, even though they have given me a lot in life. They don’t like when family strays from the rules they laid out. My mom strayed by falling in love with my dad and look where that got them.
“Hey, they’re saying I’ve got to wrap it up,” he says.
I check the time on my phone.
“Yeah, I’ve gotta get my ass to the locker room.”
“You put a hurt on those other guys, all right? Don’t hold back,” he says, that sad pep in his voice. I wish he could see me play just once.
“I’ll do my best, Dad. And hey, I have a really good feeling about this one.”
He’s quiet for a few seconds, superstition getting the best of him at first. But eventually he comes around.
“Me, too, Cam. Me, too. See you next weekend.”
Our call ends before I get to say more, but my chest feels settled knowing I got to celebrate with him a little. I shouldn’t get my hopes up. There are still so many things that can go wrong with his hearing. It could also get delayed or put back to its original schedule in January or February. But something feels different this time. Maybe I’m happier and that’s all it is. Whatever the wave, I’m going to ride it.
* * *
We’re down by six with about four minutes to go. I want to win this game for James, but I’m getting my ass handed to me out on the field. The good news is the Lipson guys have given up a shitload of yards to us with penalties. It’s half the reason we’re in the game. The bad news, though—they don’t seem to care. It’s almost as if they’ve been given a green light to play as dirty as they can. I’m starting to think winning is secondary to breaking me in half.
Our team manager—a tough girl named Mai who honestly should probably put on a set of pads and help us out on the field—shoots a blast of water through my helmet. I lap it up like a golden retriever, wearing most of it on my face.
It’s strange that it can be so cold outside yet humid as hell at the same time. And I keep getting nailed in the places that are still tender from my fight. If my rib wasn’t broken before, it sure as hell is now.
Coach is pacing along the line, flipping through his playbook while our defense does their job. We manage to stop a third down and he spins around, scanning the line until his focus stops at me. I was really hoping he was searching for someone else.
He lunges toward me and places his hands on either side of my helmet, pushing his face into the mask part so I can hear him.
“Hass, I know you’re tired, but I need you to get in there for a few more drives. We need your blocking, and you’re the only one who can pound out those yards.”
