October 17th
The inside scoop.
Ainsley
“I’ve got the snacks ready,” Sammy yells to me as he’s spreading food out on the coffee table.
Not sure why he’s yelling this when I’m sitting at the kitchen counter, doing homework while he’s been cooking.
“So, Minnesota is up today. Should be an easy win,” he says when there’s a knock at the door.
Sammy rushes to answer it. He leaves the door open and turns to me and says, “It’s for you.”
I get up and am completely shocked and relieved to see my father.
“Dad!” I say, rushing toward his open arms to get a big hug. “How are you? Where have you been? Why haven’t you called?”
“Do you think maybe I could come in before you start in on the twenty questions?” he asks.
“Oh, sure. Sorry. We were just sitting down to watch a football game.”
“Yeah, the one your boyfriend is playing in,” Dad says.
“How would you know that?”
Dad shrugs. “I don’t know. Someone told me.”
“Oh, well, I would’ve loved to tell you myself. Seriously, where have you been? I’ve been worried about you.”
“I’m fine. Just getting my life together.”
“And does that life not include me anymore?”
Sammy slowly sits down on the couch. The volume on the TV is turned up, and I notice he doesn’t mute it.
“I went to the hospital to see your mom. They said she doesn’t work there anymore, and they wouldn’t tell me where she lives.”
“Why did you go to see her?”
“Do you think I could sit down maybe?” Dad asks.
I mean, we are standing in the open doorway, and it’s kind of chilly out.
“Sure,” I say with a wave of my hand toward the kitchen table. “Have a seat. Would you like a soda or something?”
“Whatever you have,” Dad replies.
While I’m pouring him a Coke over ice, I take a moment to study him.
He looks different. Hair cut shorter and in an actual style.
He’s wearing a bomber jacket with the words Versace on it.
And I wonder if it’s real. I sort of assume it is because he certainly doesn’t look like he’s been living on the streets.
“How did you get here?” I ask him as I set the drink on the table in front of him.
“Drove. Got a new car. It’s hot.”
“What kind is it?” Sammy interrupts.
“Maserati. Want to come see it?”
A Maserati?
“Can we wait until halftime?” Sammy asks. “Our game is about to start.”
Dad nods toward the couch. “Mind if I watch it with you?”
Sammy shrugs, but I say, “Yes, I mind!”
Dad rolls his eyes. “Fine. I left rehab because I didn’t need it. I don’t have a problem. I just made a couple of bad … we’ll call them business decisions. It’s all cool now. I’m golden. Back on top. Loving life.”
“So, let me get this right. You’re still gambling, and you’ve made enough to show up here in a Maserati, wearing Versace, but you didn’t ever have the time to call your daughter and tell her you were still alive? Or to give back some of the money that you lost?”
“Yes. That’s correct,” Dad says, shutting me down.
I stand in stunned silence.
But then Dad goes, “So, give me the inside scoop. I heard that Damon was questionable for today’s game.”
Sammy shakes his head. “He bruised his thumb at the end of the last game. He’s fine. I think, sometimes, they extend injuries so the other team doesn’t know what to expect.”
“So, he’s playing?” Dad’s eyes get big, and he grabs his phone. “That makes a difference.”
He presses a few buttons, and I suddenly realize what just happened. He placed a bet. He only came here to get the scoop on Damon.
“Why did you go to the hospital to see Mom?” I ask him.
“She changed her phone number, and I don’t know where she lives now, so I—”
“I didn’t change my number. Neither did your brothers. Also, did you know that you are now legally divorced?”
Dad looks quite surprised, but then a smile spreads across his face. “Sweet. That’s what I wanted to talk to her about. I’ve met someone new.”
“Awesome,” I mutter as he moves to the couch.
He stays for the whole game, constantly checking his phone and constantly asking me and Sammy for information.
I shake my head imperceptibly at Sammy, so he usually just shrugs.
When the game is almost over, Dad hops up and says, “Well, it’s been real.” He pulls out a card and hands it to me. It’s like a business card—white with gold embossed letters that spell out his name and phone number. “Keep in touch. I’d love to hear more about Damon’s season.”
The second he breezes out our door, I turn to Sammy, who looks at me with wide eyes and says, “What the hell was that?”
“He was making and checking bets the whole time. Do you think the only reason he came here was because I’m dating Damon?”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m thinking. I’m glad we didn’t tell him anything. Not that we know much, but still. It would be like a big deal if someone related to Damon was betting on his games. Like, it would be serious. He could get kicked off the team.”
“But we’re not related,” I argue as I look it up on the phone.
But then I read what all it says about it.
I set my phone down with a sob. “I’m never going to be able to marry Damon.”
“After the game, tell him what happened. Maybe he can tell his coach. Put it on record so they can never come after him for it.”
And I do, spilling my guts to Damon the second he video-calls me after the game.
“We didn’t tell him anything. Well, that’s not true.
He asked about your thumb injury. Heard you were questionable for the game.
Sammy was like, Oh, no, he’s fine. And then I know Dad placed a bet.
That’s all he did during the game—press buttons on his phone.
Scroll through statistics. And you know what that means, right?
” I ask him, tears filling my eyes. “This could jeopardize your career.”
Damon looks shocked, then concerned. “First of all, are you okay? I can’t believe your dad just showed up like that, unannounced.”
“If he shows up again, I will not be inviting him in. Mom’s right. We don’t deserve the stress, and he doesn’t deserve my love. At least not right now. Not when he’s like this. I don’t even know who that person was.”
“Let me talk to my dad about all this, okay?”
“Okay,” I tell him.
Later that night, when he calls me before bed, he tells me that he spoke to his coach.
“I explained the situation,” he says. “Told him what happened. That you don’t plan to have further contact with your father, but that you might have shared something others didn’t know before the game started.
We reported the violation, explaining the circumstances and what we expect to happen, going forward.
You really can’t talk to him about me or anything football related again. ”
“I won’t. I’m so sorry, Damon.”
“It’s not your fault, Champ.”
“Thanks. I love you. Good night.”
“Sweet dreams,” he says.