Chapter 34 Drew #2
Stepping past the boards, I calculate how much time sits between now and the time I can get to her.
Every fiber of my being says to leave. To skip the game, find my girl, and make sure she's okay.
Make sure we're okay. But I can't do that.
Especially now. Not with the narrative already working against me.
"Drew! Drew!" The sound of my name floats above me as I step into the tunnel. I avoid searching for the source, but instead, I find Emma Dean waiting for me as I take just a few paces toward the locker room.
"Not now, Emma," I say, brushing her off. I take one step forward, but her trusty cameraman blocks my way. "Seriously, dude?"
He shrugs, hiding behind his equipment, as Emma tries again. "Oh, come on, Drew. Before the game—give us the Anderson Exclusive. Are you leaving Golden City at the end of this season?"
I part my lips to speak—or fucking tell her off—but the same voice from earlier answers first. "No, he's not."
I turn to see my dad standing behind me, and his eyes meet mine differently than they usually do. More genuine.
"I, um..." My head's fucking spinning. I can't keep up.
"Drew is happy where he is. The Flames are his family," he says into the camera. Emma's eyes dart back and forth between the two of us before Dad turns to face me. "One he desperately needed these last few years."
"And how do you know our star forward?" Emma asks, but I can't seem to tear my eyes away from him.
"I'm his father," he says, looking at me.
"Anything to add, Drew?" Emma shoves the microphone in my face, and I shake my head, still looking at a man I haven't seen in years. "Well, you heard it here first, G.C.—looks like we'll get number twelve a little longer."
I shoot her a look when she finally signs off, but Emma barely notices as she turns to walk away. With her out of the picture, I bring my attention back to Dad, questioning him with just my expression.
"I went to visit your mother's grave the other day, which was long overdue," he says, not quite making eye contact.
I tilt my head, curious about what he's getting at and how this relates to the rumors. "You were there. I saw you with that girl outside of the locker room the last time we actually talked in person." The creases in my forehead flatten. "Are you seeing her?"
"Uh, yeah," I stutter, still so thrown. "I am. Sort of. I guess." Hopefully.
Dad grins without showing his teeth, his eyes fluttering. "I barely recognized you between the hair and the smile. You looked happy there. With her." He clears his throat before continuing. "Happier than I've seen you in a long time."
"I am, Dad," I shoot back.
"Does she have anything to do with the changes you've been making?"
"Yeah," I jeer. "She actually does. And those changes are—"
"They're good," he interrupts.
The end of my sentence gets stuck in my throat. "They are?" is all I manage to say.
"Yeah, son. I—I didn't think so at first. But I see it now. That's why I've been trying to call you."
"My phone's broken."
He nods. "Well, I figured you'd assume I was the one who started that rumor, but—"
"Wait… it wasn't you?"
He sighs heavily, looking down at his feet.
"I don't blame you for thinking that. It's shameful really, but I get it.
It wasn't though, Drew. I swear. When I saw you at the cemetery, it all clicked for me.
Something else overdue, I guess. The fact that you talk to a tombstone more than your father probably should have been a hint all along…
not that it's a bad thing. You know what I mean.
" Dad cracks his neck to one side and nervously rubs his arm.
"But I haven't seen you laugh like that since freshman year.
Then, after the last few games, it all started to add up.
The play changes, the hair, the girl… it's like I saw a glimpse of who you were before… when your mother was still around."
I want to say so many things. Ask so many questions. But I can't seem to sort them out. So, instead, Dad continues. "This person you've become—the one I've forced on you—that's not you. "
My shoulders fall, the weight I once carried instantly gone. "It's not, Dad. It hasn't been for a really long time. I'm not sure it ever was."
"No, I know," he says, brushing the tip of his toe across the rubber flooring.
"And I'm sorry for not seeing that. When your mother died, I…
I didn't know what to do—how to carry that grief and still be there for you.
I think it was easier for me to just get lost in it all.
To avoid my new reality. To convince myself that I was doing what was best for you so that you didn't have to acknowledge it either.
Like if you were just bigger, better, more successful, that you'd somehow manage to forget that your entire world was uprooted when you were supposed to be at your most carefree. "
The locker room door slams shut, and only then do I realize that we're alone in the tunnel—the two of us left to soak up the silence. I picture Brooke again for the same reason as I did with Burns—who apparently was right—and I tell him exactly what I'd say to her.
"I didn't need to get lost in it, Dad. I needed to feel it. To live through it in a way that would make her proud."
"Oh, she's proud of you, son. That I'm sure of. And this..." He flicks his fingertips through the top of my hair. "This would make her happier than anything."
"The hair?" I ask, brushing my glove past my fringe.
"All of it."
I swallow hard—pain, happiness, frustration, peace—all of it passing through me at once. "I don't want to leave Golden City, Dad. I'm not going to."
"I know, son. And I'm done pushing for that. Hell, I'm done pushing for any of it."
His words settle over me, and for a second, I'm a teenager again. My mom is gone, but my dad's still here. And despite all of my disheveled pieces, it's as if he's helping me to press them back together. All of them but one.
"I don't know what's going to happen."
He looks at me, his eyes full of emotion, and the corners of his lips curled slightly. "With the girl, you mean." It's not a question. It looks like my dad still knows me after all.
"Brooke."
"Brooke," he repeats, and I'm taken back to the day I first heard her name spoken out loud.
"Yeah," I sigh, remembering how much has changed since then—since she came back to me. "There's just a lot of shit going on."
"Has she seen the rumor?"
I inhale, narrowing my eyes. "She might have."
"Well, is she mad?"
"It's possible."
He pauses, squinting at me. "Okay… what'd she say when you talked to her about it?"
My face scrunches up as I respond. "I haven't." Dad's lips fall open. "No phone, remember?"
He scratches the back of his head, then heaves out a deep breath. "Drew… do you love her?"
I smile genuinely for the first time all day. "I definitely like her," I answer coyly.
He purses his lips and smothers a laugh. "Then I think you should get the hell out of here."
"Dad, I can't just—"
"Yes," he says bluntly. "You can."
"I can't. I'll get—"
"Anderson!" My head snaps up to find Monte at the locker room entrance. "What the hell are you doing?"
I look at my dad, and he tips his head toward the door.
"Coach," I move toward him, my heart-racing in my chest. "Brooke, she's..."
"I know," he says. Then he exhales deeply. "Go."
"Wait, are you sure?"
"No," he answers, blowing another breath through his lips. "But Brooke's like family, and you… well, just don't fuck this up, okay?"
I don't need him to explain that he means more than just her. "I won't, Coach."
With that, he holds the door open for me, but before I step through it, I turn back to my father.
Tears threaten to well at the sight of him.
For the first time in a long time, my chest doesn't constrict when he looks back at me.
Anger doesn't burn in my chest. Bitterness doesn't swell in my gut.
For the first time in a long time, when our eyes meet, all I see is Dad.
"I love you too, son," he says, staring back at me.
I turn to leave, but at the last minute, I twist back around. "Wait… if you didn't tell the reporter then..."
He takes a deep breath. "There's only one person who would benefit from stirring up drama with you. And who would be pissed that you aren't listening to her."
I scoff. "I guess I have a few calls to make then."
Dad pulls his phone from his pocket and tosses it to me. I rip my glove from my hand, and it lands in my palm with a smack. "I don't have Brooke's number, but I have the rest of the ones you're probably looking for."
"Thanks, Dad," I say. He smiles at me, and I finally leave.
To fix this mess.
And get my girl.