Chapter 4 #2
He flinches, gripping his armrests, and it takes a split second for him to recognize me.
“Drake!” He stands, shoving himself up with shaky arms. I don’t rush in to help him. He’s capable, and I know how defeating it would be for him to think he was weak in my eyes. I’ll never let that happen. “How are you, boy?”
Dad pulls me into a hug. He pats my back and runs a hand along the top of my head like he did when I was a child.
“I’m good,” I say, as he releases me. I search for the remote and turn the TV down. No wonder he didn’t hear me come in. I can’t hear myself think. “How are you? You look great.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m doin’ just fine. Your mother takes damn good care of me.” He sniffs. “Do I smell bacon?”
Laughing, I take a seat on the sofa under the window. “Yeah, I don’t know how you can smell it over the sound of the TV.”
Dad chuckles. “That’s what your mom says all the time. Tells me to turn it down. Hell, if you can’t hear it, you might as well turn the damn thing off.”
“She might not be mad about that.” I toss one of the million throw pillows out from under my ass. “She’s making me a sandwich. You know Mom. She has to feed me as soon as I walk in the door.”
“Yeah, you gotta let her do that. It makes her happy, and there’s nothin’ I like more in this world than to see your mother happy.
” He takes his seat again, exhaling in a rush as his back rests against the chair.
“How was the trip out here? You came in from Chicago—no, you’re in Nashville now. That’s right.”
“Yeah, I’m in Nashville. The drive up was easy this morning. No farm equipment hogging the roads. Great weather. Couldn’t have asked for a better trip, really.”
He nods. “I heard your sisters are coming today.”
“Why does everyone call them my sisters? They’re your daughters.”
He chuckles, his cheeks growing rosy.
“Yeah, Mom said they were coming this afternoon to hang out with you for a while.” I make a face that makes his chuckle turn into a full-bellied laugh. “Lucky you.”
“Your mother thinks I can’t be here alone.
” The laughter subsides and a somberness sweeps across his features.
“She hid my keys from me. Hell, she hired a neighbor boy who doesn’t know shit from Shinola to mow our lawn.
” He throws up his hands in exasperation.
“Can you believe that? The kid doesn’t even get the lines right, and he just about killed your mother’s rose bushes.
” He huffs, clenching the armrests. “I don’t know what we pay him but it’s double too much. ”
“I think she just wants you to enjoy your retirement, Pops.”
He scoffs again but lets it go. “How’s work going? You still with the podcast?”
My chest warms. These days are infinitely easier than the days he thinks I’m still in high school. Or the days he tries to ground me for what he construes as “talking back.”
“Yeah. Still with the podcast. It’s going really well, actually. I might get a new spot in the lineup, so that’s exciting.”
“What about a woman? Have you got a girlfriend yet? It’s up to you to carry on the Bennett name, you know.” His brows tug together. “I don’t know how old you are these days, but you sure as hell aren’t getting any younger.”
I exchange a smile with Mom as she enters the room. “I think I have a few good years ahead of me yet, Dad. I wouldn’t worry about it too much.” Mom hands me my sandwich. “Thank you.”
“What are we gonna do with this boy, Barb?” Dad asks, grabbing for Mom’s hand.
She goes to his side and laces their fingers together. “I think he’s doing just fine. Although, I wouldn’t mind having some grandkids.”
“I hope you are having this same discussion with your daughters. Otherwise, this is quite sexist and I’m offended.”
“Oh, hell no,” Dad says with more emotion than I’ve seen him have in a while. “My little girls aren’t having kids for twenty more years. You watch your mouth.”
I take a bite of my sandwich, the bacon perfectly crisp yet buttery, and try not to laugh. I’m not sure if this is one of those confused moments where he thinks his girls are teenagers, or if he’s going into protective dad mode. It’s hard to tell.
“Have you met any nice ladies lately?” Mom asks, batting her lashes. “Since Dad brought it up.”
“Do you mean have I met anyone in the grocery store or biblically?” I ask, smirking at her.
Mom gives me a look that elicits a chuckle—and that just makes her stern side-eye sharper. And funnier.
“You’re a Bennett,” Dad says, puffing up his chest. “I know you’re getting nookie somewhere.”
Mom smacks him in the chest.
“Happy to talk this out with you, Pops, but not sure Mom needs to hear those details.”
He pokes Mom in the side. “Your mom’s still pretty frisky.”
My teeth sink into my sandwich, but Dad’s words hit just as I start to swallow. The combination isn’t great. I begin to choke as Mom chastises Dad and I try not to die while erasing that sentence from my brain.
“Well, you are,” Dad says, staring up at her like she’s a pin-up model.
“Edward.” Mom’s cheeks flash bright pink. “Enough.”
“You wanna continue this conversation, Mom?” I ask, clearing my throat. “Or do you want to use this opportunity to segue to something else?”
“I just want grandkids,” she says. “I don’t care about your … exploits.”
“Well, when I meet a candidate to have my children, you’ll be the first to know.”
Mom pats Dad’s chest. “Make it sooner rather than later.” She winks before heading upstairs, telling Dad she’s going to change their bedsheets.
I take another bite of my sandwich as Dad settles back in his seat again.
The house settles and grows quiet. Occasionally, Mom’s singing flows down the stairs and I’m reminded of her cranking up the music on Saturday mornings when I was a kid, giving no fucks that I was trying to sleep. It was infuriating then. Now? I don’t hate the memory.
I finish my sandwich and let my mind wander to the work I have to do at home and what my schedule looks like next week. Just as my eyes get heavy and I start to yawn, Dad speaks.
“When you do find a woman, find one like your mom,” Dad says out of nowhere.
My gaze whips to him, surprised that we’re still on the topic. Has he been thinking about this the whole time?
“She’s always been beautiful,” he says, his voice almost distant. “But she’s smart as a whip. Funny—my lord, that woman could make me laugh.” His chest rumbles as he chuckles. “I was a sucker from the moment that I saw her.”
“From the moment you saw her, huh?”
He shrugs. “I was in love with her from the moment I saw her smile. I knew right then that I was going to forget about trying to play sports. I’d give it all up just to be able to take care of her.”
I shift in my seat, setting my plate on the coffee table.
This isn’t a conversation we’ve ever had before.
Dad’s always been open to discussing anything with me, but we’ve never broached his feelings for Mom.
I know he’s always loved her. That’s never been a question.
But even when I was having problems with a girlfriend or we’ve offhandedly talked about marriage or families, he’s never told me their origin story like this.
“One day, Drake, you’ll know the reason none of the other women ever made the cut. It’ll be because the woman standing in front of you was out there waiting on you to find her.”
“I think the woman for me has been hiding because I’ve had my eye out for her for a while.”
He gives me a half grin. “Of course, the woman for you is hiding, kid. If she knows you, she knows you don’t accept anything that you don’t have to work for.”
“Oh, come on, now ….”
“The hell if that ain’t the truth. Think about it. Have you ever been happy with anything that was just given to you?” He rolls his eyes. “No. You haven’t.”
Is that true? I ponder his statement, going back through my life to test his theory.
In high school, I was pretty much given the point guard position because no one else could handle the ball—and I quit after my freshman year.
I double majored in college because my communications degree felt too easy, and I worked my ass off to take the tight end position with the Illinois Legends from a talented veteran who thought he had the spot secured. Hm ….
Dad sighs, lifting the footrest of his recliner and getting positioned for a nap. “One day, you’ll meet a woman who makes your heart beat different. When that happens, your heart is hers. There ain’t no fighting it, son.”
He exhales, closing his eyes and resting his head against the chair. His breathing evens out and soon, he’s snoring.
The sun’s rays beat down on me through the window, bathing me in warmth. It’s cozy and peaceful, like I’m insulated from the world’s troubles. I, too, close my eyes and rest my head against the sofa with Dad’s words rolling through my mind.
I’ve always believed in a love like he was talking about.
I guess from watching my parents show love and affection not just to us kids, but to each other, the idea of finding my soulmate has always been something I expected would happen one day.
I imagined it would just happen—that I’d turn a corner and she’d be standing there.
The problem is that I haven’t found her.
My career was all-consuming for a decade, and football was my life well before that.
I’ve had more than my share of nookie, as Pops calls it, but none of those women were the one.
That was fine because I didn’t want to spend my time in that arena, anyway.
Then I shifted trajectory and things changed.
A grin touches my lips.
It all changed when I started armchair quarterbacking.
I stifle a chuckle.
Gianna Bardot—you kill me.
Among other things …
Gianna is the only woman who has made me pause.
She’s the only woman who I can’t just slide out of my brain.
It’s like she holds a spot in my head and refuses to let go, overriding my defenses.
I look forward to seeing her, finding things to talk about over coffee in the break room, and wondering what it would feel like to have a woman of that caliber beside me.
It’s not just sex that crosses my mind when I imagine her—although I’ve imagined bending that woman over every surface known to man. Fuck. But I also imagine watching movies together, making dinner, and sharing a bottle of wine. Laughing. Living.
That’s great—perfectly normal, even. But it’s not realistic.
Gianna is a dream girl. She’s the kind of woman who really only lives in men’s dreams. The fact that she’s real is wild … but it doesn’t change reality.
I’ve listened to her podcast enough to know that she doesn’t look at love the way I do. I’ve also seen the men she chooses to date and there’s not one commonality among them and me. Although I have theories about it all, it doesn’t really matter. I simply can’t get involved with a dream crusher.
Not unless I want my own heart broken.