Page 45 of Fearlessly Us

I think there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.

“I haven’t been. But I think maybe I could be now.”

The words come out before I can process them. The absolute, unvarnished truth.

When my dad doesn’t say a word, just wraps his arms around me and holds on tight as the sounds of family filter out through the front door, I sink into his comforting warmth and think that in this moment, the truth isn’t so scary at all.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

DREW

“What’s your deal today?” Tyler asks as we jog off the field after I dropped what should have been an easy catch that ended our drive on fourth down. It’s my third dropped pass of the day, and we’re down six with less than thirteen minutes left in a game we’re probably going to lose because of me.

Lazy.

So fucking lazy.

Can’t even catch the damn ball.

“Sorry,” I mutter, yanking my helmet off and keeping my eyes firmly fixed on the grass to try to banish my dad’s voice from my head and avoid the disappointed looks of the fans, shoving down thoughts of the way I’ll be excoriated in the Pittsburgh press tomorrow, article upon article discussing whether I’m washed up. A drag on the team. Nothing I haven’t believed myself a hundred times in the last few months. I’ve had the thought so often I even accidentally texted it to Caitlin, and I’ve thought about that a hundred times too. “I should have caught that pass.”

As we approach the sideline, I see Tyler shake his head, grabbing my arm and pulling me to a spot at the edge of the bench the cameras are less likely to reach. He grips one of my shoulders and waits to talk until I’m looking at him. “Fuck the pass,” he says, with an intensity that’s rare for the most cheerful quarterback in the league. “I’m not worried about the game. I’m worried about you. You’re not yourself today. Is everything okay?”

I toss my helmet onto the bench and grip the back of my neck, blowing out a breath and trying to order my chaotic thoughts. A mixture of anger and unease roils in my gut, and my arms feel like they weigh a thousand pounds. For four quarters, my head hasn’t been in the game but rather back in the locker room, on the phone sitting on my locker shelf and the four messages I read just before we took the field.

Dad

I miss you, son.

I’ve been working hard to get my life together, and a big part of that is talking to you.

I have so much to tell you. So much to explain.

Can I see you? Please. Anywhere you want, whenever works for you.

I can’t decide which bothers me more—that he’s texting me at all or that there’s a small part of me that wants to tell him yes.

“Hey, you okay, Drew?” Cam jogs up to us, instinctively situating his body in a way that would shield me from view if any cameras were to catch us, and I am deeply, pathetically grateful for his thoughtfulness. He dips his head to catch my eyes. “You’ve barely said three words the whole game, and Ty threw the last pass right at your chest. The only way you miss that catch is if your head is somewhere else.”

I don’t know whether it’s the texts or the shitty game or the fact that the two men who are the closest thing I’ve ever had to brothers are looking at me with concern, but I’m talking before my brain even registers the words. “My dad texted me before the game and it fucked with my head.” The urge to grab the words and shove them back into my mouth is strong, but there’s also an undeniable sort of relief at finally saying the scary thing out loud.

“You have a dad? Shit, sorry,” Tyler mutters, shaking his head. “Sophie’s always telling me I should think before I open my mouth. This is probably one of the times I should take that advice.”

Cam rolls his eyes. “You should always take her advice. Soph is a million times smarter than you.” Turning to me, he squeezes my shoulder over my pads. “What he meant to say was, you’ve never mentioned your dad before. Do you talk to him often?”

Cam’s voice holds no judgment, only curiosity. I wouldn’t blame him for judgment. He’s been my best friend for eighteen years and I’ve never mentioned a parent before. But Cam isn’t that guy. Despite the roar of the crowd and the people milling around, Cam watches me like he’s happy to wait until I’m ready to respond, and I wonder for the millionth time how it’s possible someone like me found a friend like him, and what would happen to us if I walked away from the game. Despite it all, sometimes walking away sounds way more appealing than staying.

Especially on days like today.

I shake my head. “I haven’t talked to him in years. A lot of years. There are reasons why but…” I trail off, not sure how to finish that sentence.

“It’s okay,” Tyler says, squeezing my other shoulder. “You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to. If you’re not ready.”

Raking a hand through my hair, I look back and forth between my friends. “We don’t…have a good relationship. Any relationship actually. He texts me sometimes. I never respond, but it fucks with my head.”

It’s not a lot, but I hope it’s enough for now.

When Cam nods, eyes full of understanding, I know it is. “We’re here if you need us. You’ll tell us if you do?”