One Look: A grumpy, single dad small town romance(7)

Dad accepted the glass and took a sip. “I asked for Captain and Coke.”

My eyes met Duke’s. We all knew Dad couldn’t have alcohol with his medication. Duke made a barely imperceptible twitch of his head in reassurance. “Tootie said no booze.”

Dad grumbled and sipped his drink again. “Worse than a warden.”

“How long are you staying?” Duke asked me, crossing his arms.

“We leave tonight.”

“In and out, huh?”

I pressed my lips together. “That’s the plan.” I looked around the house again. People were milling about, eating finger sandwiches and laughing. If I didn’t know better, it would seem more like a happy get-together than post-funeral mourning.

“Did you know with only twenty-eight seconds left in the fourth quarter, it was fourth and five on the ten-yard line. Couldn’t find an opening, so he tucked that ball and ran his heart out to the end zone. We won the national title because of my boy. It was a thing of beauty.”

Duke and I looked back at our dad, whose eyes were slightly unfocused, but a proud smile stretched across his face. He was talking about the game that helped launch my career.

I sat next to him. “Yeah, I remember. The defensive lineman was a monster.”

Dad shot me a look of disgust. “Not for him. My boy is fearless.”

“It was a great game,” Duke added. We’d learned a long time ago that Dad’s brain worked in mysterious ways, but he was calmer, more lucid, if you got him talking about topics he loved and, particularly, old memories.

It was those moments it felt like the dad we knew was actually still there. The dad who never missed a game and, even when we lost, called to pick me up and give me a pep talk. Red Sullivan was the strongest man I ever knew. When Mom died, he raised four young kids on his own. He made a point to speak her name every day. He said it was so that we would always remember our mother and the love we all had for her.

Lately it was considered a good day if he remembered his own name.

“Wyatt.” Dad’s voice pulled me from my thoughts as he abruptly stood. “Damn good to see you! I didn’t know you were coming.”

He pulled me into a tight embrace, then held me at arm’s length to look me over.

“Hey, Dad.” I smiled at him.

His brows pinched together. “Don’t you have a game this week?”

“No. The team is going into summer break. We’ll prep for the upcoming fall season, but the players are busy with finals this week.”

His wide palm slapped my back. “My boy doesn’t need to stress about finals. The draft is coming up, and you’ll be a top pick. I just know it. Maybe the Vikings? Or the Bears? The Bears. Wouldn’t that be something?” He laughed and slapped my back again.

It was then I realized he thought I was still a college player, an NFL hopeful, and my stomach dropped.

Acid rose in my gut, and I took a step back. “I need to find Penny.”

“You shouldn’t be worrying about girls, Son.” Dad’s stern voice floated over my shoulder as I walked away.

Duke saved me and picked up the conversation with Dad as I left them behind and weaved through the gathering crowd, looking for my daughter.

“Couldn’t hack it. You know that.”

“Not a chance. He knocked up that girl, and now he’s stuck.”

“He got old, that’s what happened. Damn shame.”

As I wove through the crowd, my ears picked up the pieces of gossip that were undoubtedly about me.

So much for a little respect after a successful run in the NFL.

I’d learned a long time ago that in a small town everyone was fair game when it came to the local rumor mill. It didn’t matter if you were once a celebrated NFL quarterback or were part of one of Outtatowner’s founding families. If there was gossip to be spread, it was out there.

I rounded a corner and heard Lee’s deep laughter in the backyard. Penny was sitting on his shoulders as he ran down the length of the yard. Her arms were raised above her head, and her infectious laughter floated on the early summer wind. A hot poker burrowed under my ribs.

I wanted to get the hell out of there and head back to our quiet apartment in St. Fowler. I had shit to do and a team to check in on, but the happiness filling the backyard made me pause.

A soft laugh to my left had me turning.

“Cute kid.” Outtatowner’s local artist, and Lee’s childhood best friend, balanced a plate of finger foods in her hand.

I smiled and tipped my chin in greeting. “Annette. Good to see you.”

She smiled at my use of her real name. Everyone in town had called her Annie since she was a kid. With her unruly red hair, she had acquired the unfortunate nickname Orphan Annie, which was more insensitive given that she was a literal orphan. At some point, as it so often did in Outtatowner, it was the nickname that stuck.

“You too, Wyatt.”

Annie smiled one last time at me before turning toward the house. Her gaze snagged a fraction of a second on Lee before she climbed the stairs into the house. It was obvious she had grown into a very pretty woman. Her coppery hair was pulled back, and she looked elegant in her simple black shirt and dress pants. Gone was the squirrely little redhead with unruly curls who’d followed Lee around and had chronically dirty knees.

Nowadays Annie was a stunner, and Lee’s head was probably too far up his own ass to even see it.