The Crush (56)

My dad leaned in. “Son, if you want to quit football and do something else so you can build a different life, do it. If you want to play for another decade because you love the game, then do that.”

“I know.” I rubbed my forehead. “And I don’t want to quit. I love it. I love playing football. But I want both. I want to build something with her because I can see that as the backbone of my life. I can see it in a way I never saw football completing me. And that is hard to admit when I’ve ignored everything that could distract me from the game.”

“The hardest part is done, Emmett. So many guys never quit chasing the idea of being the best. They sacrifice everything to that altar.”

“I did until now,” I said. “Because I felt like I had to chase down this legacy that you built, stamp my name on my own. Not because you and Mom ever made me feel like I needed to, but because of something in here.” I tapped my chest. “Like that was the foundation I was meant to build my life on.”

“Emmett,” he said incredulously, “football is not my legacy.”

My brow furrowed.

He settled his hand on my shoulder, his face hard and serious. “I love this game, just like you. I loved it when I played, and shit, I lucked out after retirement when I turned out to be a good coach.”

I blew out a breath because he was doing the scary intense eye thing that he only did when he was about to set me straight.

“But if I never stepped foot on a field again, it wouldn’t touch my legacy.” His hand tightened on my shoulder. “You, the girls, their kids, your mom”—his voice got rough—“that is my legacy. I might be good at football, but the only reason I am on this earth is to take care of the family that I love more than anything.”

My throat was locked tight, my eyes full of hot, pressing emotion, and I nodded slowly.

His eyes went red-rimmed as he tried to speak. “I hope I live for another forty years, so I can see your kids—your sisters’ kids—grow up. But if I died tomorrow, Emmett, I hope no one talks about a fucking game when they bury me. I hope they talk about the kind of husband and father and grandfather I am.” His voice cracked on the last word. “That is the only legacy I care about leaving behind.”

I cleared my throat and swiped at my cheek. A world without my dad in it—even as a hypothetical—was impossible to imagine. He tugged me in for a tight hug, pounding his fist on my back.

“I love you, Emmett,” he said into my ear. “I am proud of you, no matter what came before or what comes after this. And it has nothing to do with how well you play that game.”

I pulled back, taking a deep breath. “I love you too.”

“You’re so much like me, kid.” He gave me a rueful grin. “When you fall, you fall hard, and there’s no stopping it.”

“That sounds about right,” I sighed. “It’s the first time that I know exactly what I want, and I can’t do anything about getting it because there’s so much I can’t control. And now that I know, I hate the idea of waiting to start a life with her. Every chance I have feels like my last. If I don’t take it … I’ll regret it forever.”

“Ahh. That impatience comes from your mother.”

I laughed. He wasn’t wrong.

He smiled. “You hone in on the things you can control and do your damnedest to make sure she knows how you feel. You do yourself no favors by sitting on the sidelines in your own life, kid.”

“I know. I’m trying, Dad.”

“You want to leave Ft. Lauderdale?” he asked carefully.

When I was in college, my dad and I agreed that Washington would be a tricky place for me to start. I’d always be the coach’s son. Always have people who trusted me less as a leader, who’d doubt my abilities more.

Slowly, I nodded. “I need to be closer. She can’t leave her family.”

His face grew serious. “I won’t offer to step in because you don’t need me to. But you know we just want you to be happy, right? I trust you’ll let us know if there’s anything we can do.”

As we walked to the car, I felt better.

And I felt worse.

The things I’d chased for the last decade weren’t bad. I wasn’t wrong for wanting them. But it was hard to look back and see where I took some wrong turns.

Now I just had to hope I could right them.





Emmett



“You’re not doing it right.”

“I know how to fix it,” Anya said, shoving me out of the way.

I shoved her back. “Look, if you hang the hook there, it won’t distribute the weight evenly, and the swing will fall.”

She mumbled something under her breath.

“What was that?” I asked.

With a hard puff of air, she blew a strand of her white-blond hair out of her face as she adjusted the drill. “Oh nothing, just bemoaning the presence of pushy quarterbacks who like to tell people what to do.”

I snatched the drill out of her hand when she didn’t move it where I told her.

Behind us, my mom, Molly, Isabel, and Claire laughed.

“This is fun,” my mom said. “I like watching the young, energetic ones fix everything around our house.”

The tree house in their backyard had been around since before I hit double digits and had undergone many rounds of fixes and upgrades to allow for my sisters’ kids to enjoy it like Anya and I had when we were younger.