Page 102 of End Game

“The life insurance paperwork is—”

“No, stop,” I tell him. “I don’t need to know.”

“Yeah, you do,” Dad says gently. “The life insurance paperwork is in the safe. There’s a policy that goes to you, and another to your mother. I want you to use it for something good. Buy a house. Don’t use it for school. It’s once in a lifetime money. I can’t give you much, but I can give you this.”

“You’re going to be alright.”

“Surgery is always risky, and we never know what will happen,” he tells me. “All of our assets are set up to go to your mother, and when she passes, they’ll go to you, so don’t expect any big inheritance next week.”

“I’m not. I don’t. That’s not—”

“I know, baby girl. I know.” He squeezes my hand. “There’s a spreadsheet on my laptop with all of the usernames and passwords for my accounts. The credit card is due in a few days. Your mom knows which checking account the payment will come from. She might need help logging in and making the actual payment. I submitted the mortgage payment a few days ago, and all of the other bills should be up to date.”

“Okay,” I sniff, holding back tears. “I can help her with that.”

“I’m going to be out of it for a while. She called my office and hers, and you should call your coach. I’ll be in the hospital for a few more days, and then they’ll release me to a rehab center for awhile. I don’t know how long you can stay away from school…”

“I’ll take care of it.”

He swallows. “Thank you for coming home. I’m glad you’re here. I wish it were under better circumstances, but I am glad to see you.”

I force out a laugh. “Yeah, me too. What happened?”

“I don’t remember.” He lets out a grunt of frustration. “I wasn’t trying to injure myself.”

“I know. I know.”

Around two o’clock, they take my dad over to pre-op. I hold his hand for a few moments and tell him how much I love him.

And then we wait.

Mom reads her book. I drink a bottle of water and stare at the wall behind where his hospital bed was. After awhile, I pull out my phone and text Coach Larsen, giving her a brief overview of what happened and that I’ll be away for a few days, maybe longer.

Athletic department rules state that if I miss practice, it’s up to the coach’s discretion if I play in the next game, and if I miss several practices in a row, she’s entirely within her rights to bench me until further notice. I can’t worry about that, though. The school can’t pull away my athletic scholarship if I miss a few games. My professors should all understand, too, once I explain the circumstances. It’s a legitimate family emergency. I’m sure I can get a note from the doctors if they really push.

As an afterthought, I send a group message to the defensive squad, giving them a broad strokes overview of what happened and that I’ll be away until further notice, and then I send another message to Johanna and the minions. I don’t expect them to respond, but at least this way they can’t say they didn’t know why I’m not coming home for a few days.

Barrett’s texted and called. I don’t know what to say to him, so I say nothing at all.

A little past four, a doctor comes out to give us a status update. My dad’s surgery went well. He’s in recovery now, and in a little while he can be released back to his room. The scary part is over.

When they wheel him back in, he’s out of it, still high from the anesthesia and the pain medicine. My mom kisses his cheek and speaks to him quietly, so quiet that I can’t even hear her, and I don’t think he can, either.

And then we wait.

The nurses come in and check on him. I stare unseeingly at the wall. The day passes on and on and on.

I want to go home. To school, to my parents’ house, I don’t care. I don’t want to go home without my dad. And he’s not ready to go home.

Chapter 30

Barrett

It’s been a week since Diana and I had sex. Aside from a quick “got to the hospital” text on Monday morning, I haven’t heard from her since then. It’s been radio silence. She’s been posting pictures of her dad on social media, old photos from when she was growing up. Nothing recent. I texted Stewart and asked how he was doing, but there hasn’t been any reply. I don’t want to bother Cecilia, but I’m half a minute from reaching out to her, too.

I’ve texted Diana, too, and I’ve called her twice. She hasn’t answered. By Wednesday, I got the hint and stopped reaching out. When she’s ready, she’ll pick up her phone. When she’s ready, she’ll talk to me.

Because we need to talk. We had sex, spectacular, earth-shattering sex. What started out as an innocent blowjob—if blowjobs can be innocent—turned into full intercourse, and from her reaction, I thought she was having a good time. She’s the one who escalated the situation from me going down on her to me being inside her. She’s the one who wanted more.