43. Chapter 40
Sloan
The drive back home isn’t long, but Jax and I packed the car with enough snacks and extra belongings to be on the road for days.
Partially because I’m not quite sure this old red beauty of mine can actually make the drive.
It was different before dad died, because he’d work on it and fix little things that broke that didn’t exactly warrant a trip to the mechanic, but were an easy weekend fix.
She was his pride and joy, his second true love.
I don’t have the ability or knowledge to do those things, so I only take her in when something goes sideways.
Luckily she’s been pretty low maintenance, but you never can be too prepared if you break down in the middle of nowhere.
Jax doesn’t know that’s why we brought so much, and I really hope he doesn’t have to find out.
I keep rolling my hands over the steering wheel, biting my cheek and trying not to zone out while watching the lines on the road zip past, hoping we don’t break down. Jax wanted to drive, but I insisted that I needed to feel my dad’s presence on the way there, so he’s driving us back home.
I look over at him, and he seems so calm and collected, until I notice little things that are giving him away.
He made us a killer playlist of all the songs he loves to dance to on the field, but hasn’t even so much as mouthed one of the words. He keeps playing with his zipper, and won’t make eye contact with me.
I turn down the music, “What’s wrong?”
He looks at me, but doesn’t answer right away. He just stares, until I say his name trying to get his attention.
“I’m nervous.” His eyes look back out the window.
“About what?” I ask, worried that he realized driving this car was a bad idea, and we should have brought his instead.
“I’ve never met anyone’s dad before, and this…” He pauses. “This one means a lot to me. I’d want him to be proud of me.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I feel a lump in my throat, and tears sting behind my eyes, threatening to break free.
“Can you tell me a little bit about him? I mean, you’ve told me a lot about him as a coach, and the kind of dad he was, things you did together, but tell me what kind of man he was. What kind of partner would he want for his daughter?”
Shit, he’s killing me right now.
I swallow the lump in my throat and turn off the music.
“My daddy was the best man I knew, and not because he was my daddy and every girl believes her daddy’s the best, but because he genuinely was.
He paid attention to people. Like real attention.
He knew when someone was worried, hurt, happy and he talked them through it.
Through the good and the bad. He’d do little things just to let people know he loved them, the smallest things that most people would overlook.
Like one day when I was in my freshman year, I had my first final and was scared to death to take it.
It was the first game he coached that I ever missed—I stayed home to study.
It was getting late, and he knew I’d be too busy to pay attention to the time, so he ordered pizza and had it delivered to the house so I’d eat.
” I look over at him for a second before looking back at the road, and his eyes are glued to me.
“He always made sure I was happy. He never wanted me to cry, and if I did he would do anything he could to stop the tears. I dropped my ice cream one time at Disneyland, and everyone knows if that happens and a cast member sees it, they have to replace it. It’s park rules, but the poor girl didn’t even have a chance to ask what flavor I had before he got me a new one. ”
He laughs and it brings me out of the memory for a second.
“I remember his face that day. He was so set on me having the best time in the happiest place on earth that he couldn’t stand the idea of me crying.
It pained him to see me in pain. His eyes got all watery and he just hugged me while I ate my ice cream until everything was better.
He did the same thing the first time my heart was broken.
Oh, but when we were on the field, or I did something wrong, he turned firm as steel.
He was hard on me, and told me like it was.
He loved me hard, but didn’t raise me to be soft. ”
He wanted great things for me.
That thought has me considering the man next to me.
“He would be so proud of the man you are. I think he sent you to me,” I say honestly.
“You—” I swallow again, “You’re exactly like him.
You’ve done all those same things for me.
” I think back on all the times Jax has mirrored my dad.
Wiped my tears, sent me food, took care of things so I didn’t have to worry, and stayed firm with me.
He doesn’t beat around the bush. “Damn it,” I say, wiping a tear from my cheek.
Jax grabs my hand and kisses it for what feels like a hundred times until I stop crying.
The next few hours are silent. We just sit here in the car on the way to meet my daddy.
I pull up and put the car in park, and it feels surreal. I’ve been back here many times, but it never gets easier. It’s so final. Death.
People talk about it, but they never quite tell you how it feels to miss someone so deeply you can’t even feel where the pain is coming from.
When I tore my ACL and had to stop playing, it hurt.
The injury physically hurt and I could touch the pain.
The pain of losing my career stung deep in the pit of my stomach, but I could channel it and use it to become something greater.
When Tanner cheated, it split me wide open in the chest. I couldn’t breathe, but I was able to use it to free myself from him.
When my daddy took his last breath, the grief consumed me.
It didn’t arrive like a storm, it seeped in like the bitter cold of winter through cracked windows.
It was slow and deliberate. It curled around my ribs until breathing felt like betrayal.
His absence became an unwanted presence.
It sat across from me at the dinner table, and slept next to me on the couch. It taught me silence has weight.
Now I just carry him in fragments—memories that get harder and harder to recall. And it scares the hell out of me.
I just stare out the window, and Jax kisses my hand as I wipe away the tears. When I get out of the car, he stays for a few minutes—giving us space.
I fall to my knees and cry. It’s soft. Quiet. People passing by wouldn’t notice my pain. But Jax does, because he doesn’t open the car door until I stop crying. The small creak of the door followed by the creak of metal just before the door closes signals to me he’s coming.
He kneels down next to me, takes the pinwheel out I just placed and lays a piece of paper on the grass and then pierces it with the stem of a pinwheel to hold it in place.
I told him on the way here about pinwheels. Daddy always told me it’s how your loved ones wave to you from beyond the grave. Every time I visit, including today I bring a pinwheel. Every time, no matter how windy it is, it stays completely still until I leave. Then it moves like crazy.
Except for today. Today it was still, but the second it pierced the piece of paper it went wild. And then stopped abruptly.
I look around at all the other pinwheels spinning around and around. His is still.
When I look at Jax he’s crying, tears rolling down his cheeks, and I can’t help myself. I kiss him harder than I should.
“I love you.” The words come tumbling out, because I mean them. I have for a while, I just couldn’t say it.
For a second he doesn’t move. Almost as if his brain is lagging behind his heart.
His lips part first, followed by a sharp inhale in his chest like he’s just catching his breath for the first time in a while.
His eyes search mine frantically and his hands cup my face.
A quiet breath slips out of him, breathless and shaky, so I break the silence, “Jax, I love you so much.”
His smile breaks open wider than I’ve ever seen and his lips crash into mine. The motion is fast, but there is no urgency behind it, only love. He parts his lips, and I follow, and our tongues dance across each other, just once.
He presses his forehead against mine and whispers, “Hearing those words come out of your mouth is better than I imagined.”
He brings his hands down from my face and now his smile looks even brighter.
“What does that say?” I ask, pointing to the paper.
“I wrote him a letter. Introduced myself, and told him about who I am, what I stand for, and why I love you. And I asked him if I could marry you one day. I think he said yes.”
He says it so matter of factly, like it’s just a fact. Then he pulls out a ring, and my mouth falls open.
He doesn’t ask me, the ring is the lingering question. He just waits, holding my hand with one of his and the ring in the other.
“I really, really want to marry you,” I say, feeling something I’ve never felt. Warmth rushed through me replacing the bitter cold that was too harsh to place. This feeling is fast and deliberate, wrapping around me until it feels like home. And then he stands up and walks away.
“Where are you going?” Confusion takes over as I watch him walk back to the car and rummage through his bag. A moment later he’s back with an envelope and a pen.
He pulls out a fake printed marriage license and pen.
“We can’t get an official one unless we have an appointment, and we both have to be present, so I printed one off the internet.
” I look at the paper in his hand with a watermark across it that says, Unofficial document.
“I know he can’t be there to give you away when we do this with the rest of the world, but I really want you to have that moment.
” His voice cracks, and I can’t stop the tears.
“We can hang it in a frame in the living room, with a picture of us.” He uses his phone to take a selfie of us with dad.
I nod in agreement, unable to find the right words.
He signs the paper, and hands me the pen. I smile at my daddy and then scroll my name across the signature line.
“Can this be the anniversary we celebrate every year?” I ask.
“In my heart this is the day you became Sloan Calder.” He smiles and then hits play on his phone.
I sob, and bend over my dad’s headstone while Jax plays music soft and low, I sway slightly as I whisper the words to “Isn’t She Lovely” as they play behind me.
My heart squeezes and despite the tears already flowing, there’s a burning sensation building behind my eyes.
He remembered. When the song ends I look over my shoulder while Jax videos our dance.
Dear Mr. Barrett,
I’m Jax Calder. I wanted to formally introduce myself. I wish I could have met you with a handshake and a firm look in the eye. I’ve heard a lot about you, though. Enough to know the kind of man you were—the kind of man I need to be.
I love your daughter.
Sloan talks to you in the quiet moments.
I don’t even think she knows she’s doing it.
She lives by your lead. Love without condition.
Loyalty without question. Dedication and fierce determination.
She carries those things with her every single day, and they are the reasons I fell in love with her.
The way she protects the people she loves and protects herself.
The way she shows up, and believes in those around her.
She’s strong and brilliant, and I believe those are an echo of you, because she couldn’t be those things without you.
I value those same things. I believe in standing firm when life throws heat. I believe in choosing those you love every day. I believe family isn’t just blood—it’s commitment.
I love baseball and hotdogs and summer nights. I love watching football, and sharing it with her.
I can’t promise the perfect life. But I can promise love. I can promise loyalty. I can promise a family that will always come first.
So, I’m asking you, wherever you are, for your blessing. For your trust. For her hand in marriage.
Respectfully,
Jax Clader