Chapter 20
My ass was freezing on the metal bleachers, but you wouldn’t find me complaining. There were about thirty minutes left in Sage’s practice, and against her wishes, I’d snuck in early to watch how it was going without the glittering presence of a few professional football players.
Her hair was falling out of its braids, she had grass stains on her back from a catch she dove to make, and her cheeks were red with exertion. I could stare at her like this forever and be happy.
Because my kid was absolutely in her happy place. Few things made a mom’s heart feel more overwhelmed with emotion than that. Which was really strange, if you think about it.
I wasn’t an athlete in school. I would’ve done more harm than good on any team I tried to join. My idea of extracurriculars was like, the yearbook staff. Reading every book I could get my hands on over the summer. A few mild to moderate hikes where I didn’t risk falling to my death over a mountainside or something.
In truth, until I had Sage, I’d never understood the whole youth sports culture. Didn’t understand how families could sacrifice all their extra money and time for something designed for ten-year-olds. And now, I’d do just about anything to make sure she had this in her life.
It was her thing. And on that cold metal bleacher, with frozen fingers and desperately wishing I’d worn a hat, I wanted to burst into tears when Sage listened intently to the play call, clapped her hands, and lined up with her teammates, took the snap as quarterback and delivered an absolute bomb down the field where the receiver—a skinny redhead with impossibly fast legs—ran it in uncontested for a touchdown.
I was on my feet in the next breath. “Yeah, Sage! That’s it, baby!” I screamed. “Great throw.”
She looked over at me—the only parent currently treating this like it was a championship game—and rolled her eyes so mightily, I worried a bit about the state of her retinas. I held up my hands and mouthed, “Sorry.”
Sage grinned, then ran off to celebrate with her team.
My eyes were a little shiny, the field looking a little blurry when I sat back down.
“She looks good.”
The sound of my dad’s low voice had me whirling.
“Dad, I didn’t expect to see you,” I said. I slid over, and he gestured that he was fine.
“Rather stand, but thanks.” He had his hands tucked into the pockets of the same brown work jacket he’d had for probably thirty years. Because of his back, he’d always hated sitting on bleachers. “Your mom told me they let her on the boys team, huh?”
I nodded. “There were a couple of girls who wanted to play, and they might see if there’s enough interest here and in Redmond to do a girls’ team in the spring.”
He took that in quietly, as was his way. While he watched the team line up again, this time with Sage in a receiver position, I studied him. His face was lined, and he looked older than his sixty-seven years. Likely because he’d worked his ass off in a mill until just the year before, wanting to go one year past the requisite sixty-five.
From what my mom had told me in stilted phone calls over the years, my dad had never quite known what he’d do with himself in retirement, but apparently, he’d done fine. He was always tinkering with something around the house or in the garage, keeping their small square yard manicured to precision.
If I was honest, I didn’t really know how to talk to my dad. I’d never known how. He was a stoic man, never prone to talking about what he was feeling or what was going on in his life—or anyone’s life, to be honest. But he was still somehow gentler in that silence than my mom was in her easily voiced judgment.
Over the years, I’d seen him quiet her with a simple look if she got too worked up about something. Or he’d simply sit back at the dinner table and say, “Well now, I think we’re ready for some quiet after supper, don’t you?”
He must have felt me staring because he took a slow, deep breath. “I saw the kids on the field when I was driving back home,” he said. “Then I saw your car. Thought I’d see how she’s doing.”
“She’s doing great,” I said. “Did you see the touchdown?”
He made a low noise of assent. “Good arm. She didn’t get that from you.”
A shocked laugh burst from my lips, and I gave him a quick glance to make sure I hadn’t imagined that. Was he … teasing me?
“No,” I mused. “She certainly didn’t.”
Dad sighed, then adjusted the beat-up red hat on his head. “Your mother said she asked you about Sunday dinner to celebrate your birthday?”
“I don’t know if asked is the right way to phrase that,” I admitted. “But yes, she did send me a text. Honestly, I got distracted and forgot to answer. You can tell her we’re coming.”
It was the most critical I’d ever been of her in front of my dad, and my eyes lowered to the ground, waiting for the quiet chastisement. But it never came.
This time, he was the one looking at me with a thoughtful expression on his face.
“You two have never gotten along, have ya?”
I blew out a slow breath and tried to weigh the pros and cons of brutal honesty when I was already feeling a touch emotional. It wasn’t just my mom, but I think he knew that too. He’d raised me and Rachel, so our fights were probably still seared into his memory. But not getting along with Mom set the tone for everything else.
“Not really,” I agreed.
“But you still moved back?” he asked.
Slowly, I nodded. “Sage wanted to be around family. And I knew having you guys around would be good for her. Good for me to keep doing the thing I love with a little bit of help with Sage, even if you don’t understand why I want to do it.”
His brow furrowed slightly, and he gave a low whistle when Sage caught a nice pass. She looked over and beamed, giving him a quick thumbs-up.
“At least one of us is allowed to celebrate,” I muttered.
To my shock, my dad let out a small chuckle.
“I’m no expert, but I think there’s something different about moms and daughters. Sage looks at you and sees a little glimpse of herself down the road, and maybe she can’t imagine ever embarrassing her daughter.”
The truth of that knocked the breath from my lungs, and I had to blink against some sudden tears again. “Yeah, probably.”
Had I thought the same thing whenever my mom did something that drove me crazy? Maybe I had.
“That relationship,” he continued. “It’s either easy as breathing or riddled with land mines. And I think you and your mom are a bit of the latter.” Dad ducked his chin down to his chest and exhaled quietly. “You had dreams so big, it scared your mother. I think that’s why she works so hard not to even try to understand them.”
Well. Okay then. It wouldn’t be my daughter sending me into a mess of ugly tears. It would be this unexpected truth bomb from my dad, who spoke an average of fifteen words a day.
“I know why you don’t want to come over for lunch, Harlow,” he said. “Doesn’t change that we still want you there. Maybe it won’t be easy for a long time, and maybe it won’t ever be easy. But I think if you both keep trying, you can hop over those land mines more often than not.”
I rolled my lips together. There was no chance of me answering because it felt like someone wrapped an ice-cold hand around my vocal cords and squeezed tight. Eventually, I nodded, and when he looked over at me, I know he saw the tears threatening to fall.
He wasn’t the guy to wrap me up in a hug or tell me it would be okay, but I was still thankful for what he’d just given me. Insight, more than we realized, was one of the greatest gifts in being able to let go of your past. We could study it and pick it apart, but until we got some of those missing pieces, almost an element of our own story could haunt us.
I blinked a few times and then swallowed hard. “I refuse to let me and Sage be like that,” I said quietly. “I think that’s why it took me so long to come home.”
Dad nodded, then he gently set his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “I know, Harlow.” His hand dropped, and I fought a swell of emotion as it clawed straight up my throat. “Tell Sage she’s doing well, all right? I need to get home.”
“Sure, Dad,” I said quietly. Then I watched him walk back to his truck. “Holy shit,” I whispered.
It seemed like everywhere I turned, there was a slight tonal shift to all my relationships, and I wasn’t sure how much more I could handle.
Ian, as it turned out, was immensely huggable and smelled really delicious and that didn’t help anything. He teased me when I needed teasing and let my daughter braid his hair because she wanted to learn. Now my dad was dropping emotionally deep insights and making me view my mother and my own relationship with Sage through a different lens.
I closed my eyes because honestly, there was only so much one could take before the only option was to just hide under the covers and nap excessively.
“Did Grandpa leave?”
My eyes popped open to find Sage, bag slung over her shoulder and sweat beading her forehead.
“Yeah, he said to tell you you’re doing great, though,” I said.
She smiled. “Are they coming to my first game?”
“I sent Grandma the schedule a couple of days ago. But maybe you can ask her on Sunday.” I paused. “We’re going there for lunch.”
Her eyes lit up. “Sweet. Do you think my cousins will be there?”
When I nodded, she started talking a mile a minute. With my arm slung over her shoulder, we walked toward the car, stopping when Coach Scott yelled my name. I handed Sage my purse, which held the car keys. “You can wait in the car. I’ll be right there.”
She nodded, skipping ahead of me while I turned to watch Coach Collins jog toward me. He wore a bright blue sweatshirt and a black ball cap turned backward on his head, and it made him look younger than the last time I’d seen him.
“Harlow,” he said. “This’ll just take a couple of minutes, if you’ve got the time.”
I glanced at my watch. “Yeah, should be fine.”
He smiled at some of the kids as they passed, tucking his hands into the pockets of his cargo pants. “Having a good week so far?”
I exhaled a short laugh, tugging a stray hair out of the way when a gust of wind kicked it across my face. “So far, yeah. You?”
His grin was wide and infectious. “Getting better now.” I groaned a little, and he laughed, holding up his hands. “Sorry. That was lame.”
It was, but ugh, it was also just the tiniest bit flattering. I couldn’t remember the last time someone flirted with me—albeit badly. So I found myself smiling, eyeing the expression on his face.
“Can I help you with something?” I asked.
Scott cleared his throat. “Yeah, uh, I was wondering if you’d be willing to meet with me so I can pick your brain on something.”
Slowly, my eyebrows rose on my forehead. “What about?”
“About flag football,” he answered. When my eyes narrowed slightly, he let out a quiet laugh. “The league Sage played for in New York. I’m not against putting together a girls’ team if there’s enough interest, but I’d love to know more about it if you’ve got the time.”
“Oh.” I rocked back on my heels and peered over my shoulder at the car. “I guess. I’m not sure how much help I can be, though.”
“A lot, I’m sure.” He tugged on the back of his hat, a decidedly nervous gesture. “Maybe we could grab a bite to eat next weekend, and I could ask you some questions about it.”
I opened my mouth, not even sure exactly what I was going to say, and Sage yelled my name from the car.
“Mom, your phone is ringing! Should I answer it?”
“No,” I yelled back on a laugh. “Just let it go to voicemail.” I turned back to Coach Scott. “Lord,” I said under my breath. “It never ends, does it?”
He waved it off. “No worries. Just, uh, think it over, okay? You don’t have to let me know right now.”
I managed a small smile, trying to pinpoint exactly what the fuck was going on with the men in my orbit right now. Maybe a planet was in retrograde, causing emotional upheaval and weird non-date date requests. Whatever it was had me feeling the slightest bit unsteady as I walked back to the car. I set a trembling hand on my fluttering belly and wished desperately for a sense of normalcy. A settling.
Some peace.
Nothing felt peaceful right now, like all the relationship stakes in my life kept getting cranked on high volume. And as I drove us home, I knew where I’d go to try to find that peace.