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He shakes both of their hands. Neither of them say anything strange or embarrassing…thank goodness.
“This is Leo.” I gesture toward my mother’s boyfriend, and then point to the stairs of the porch, where Libby is. “That’s Libby.” I turn to my brothers. Their eyes are even wider than before. “My brothers. Kyle and Steven.”
They tumble forward. Kyle almost trips Steven in his haste to get to us. Steven shoves Kyle before he can get too far away, and they scuffle for a second before halting inches away from Slater.
Thank goodness for their competitiveness, because it takes the focus off me.
They pepper Slater with questions and listen with rapt attention when he answers. We slowly file into the house, and they keep talking. They have zero interest in the potential drama between my mother and our father, which makes it a little easier for me to ignore the fact that my parents and their partners are in the same room.
After dinner, Slater goes out back and throws the football with Kyle and Steven. I settle on the bottom step of the deck and watch them. My heart is lodged in my throat, because while this evening has been surreal, it’s also been amazing.
No matter what happens in the future, the present is perfect.
SECOND EPILOGUE
SLATER
One year later
Decimated. Devastated. Demolished. Destroyed.
There are altogether too many words starting with the letter D that could be used to describe the mood in the locker room right now.
We lost.
Again.
And this time it wasn’t close. We weren’t the better team. We didn’t deserve to win.
That doesn’t make it easier.
No one cares that we won our division. Or that we made it this far. All that matters is that we’re not going to the Super Bowl. Again. Is there a word for being inches from your goal and never reaching it? If there isn’t, there should be.
I peel off my jersey and toss it into my locker. It’s still pristine because I didn’t play. Randy was out for a couple of weeks in the middle of the season with a high ankle sprain, so I started four games then, but none in the playoffs.
It sucks because I want to play, but I am glad I stayed with Sacramento, even if I didn’t get to play as much as I wanted to. We had a good year…until now.
Randy slips into the space to my left. Our eyes meet, but there isn’t much to say. Neither of us is interested in empty platitudes, and we don’t have to pretend with each other. Losing sucks. You never get used to it.
After a beat of silence, Randy leans toward me.
“I’m retiring,” he whispers.
For a second, I think I misheard him. But the expression on his face confirms he’s serious. “You can’t,” I say, because Randy is this team. It’s impossible to imagine it without him.
He huffs and smiles a little. “Every year, I think that if I stay, I’ll win another one. And every year, it ends like this. I’m tired, and I’m ready to hang it up.”
“But—”
He shakes his head. “It’s time. I’m ready for the next chapter of my life.” He pauses and looks me directly in the eye. “You’re ready, too.”
I understand what he is hinting at, but I’m on another one-year contract, and there’s no guarantee Sacramento will offer me more. They like me as a backup, and even though I’ve never had an epically bad game while playing for them, they know my history. I’m not sure if they’re crazy enough to offer me the starting job.
Randy smiles like he knows what I’m thinking. “I’m the past. You’re the future. This team is yours now.”
I’m not sure I believe him, but he looks so confident that I can’t argue.
“Thank you,” I say softly. There are so many things I’m thanking him for. He’s been a mentor to me even though he didn’t have to be. I was his replacement—his substitute—but he never treated me that way, and I’m so grateful I could cry.
