of him. But, honestly, Dad’s rule was ancient. And downright wrong. My body, my choice.
I gave him a chiding look and stirred the chili that had started to simmer. One of our Sunday traditions during the off-season was chili, cornbread, and whatever Netflix show he was binging. It was our one time to be just Dad and Savannah as opposed to Coach Goodman and Coach Goodman’s daughter. I cherished these moments. It became a staple of ours ever since…well, ever since we lost my mother when I was five.
My fingers absentmindedly traced the tiny star necklace that hung on a thin chain around my neck. One of my most cherished items. The last gift my mother gave me before she got into the car accident that ended her life.
I could still remember the way she smelled, like cinnamon and vanilla. I could still remember the way her arms felt as she carried me to bed and tucked me in. She cinched that star-covered blanket over my five-year-old body and flicked off the light only to reveal an entire galaxy on my ceiling. I may have been a little bit obsessed, and she always indulged me. Always called me her star.
I crossed the expanse of my father's kitchen and wrapped my arms around him in a quick hug just because I could. It didn't matter how long it had been, the grief of losing my mother was like a tiny hole in my heart that never would heal. It wasn’t an all-encompassing grief that threatened to swallow me whole, but it was there nonetheless.
"What did I do to deserve that?" Dad asked as I released him and opened the fridge to grab a sparkling water.
I twisted off the cap, tossed it in the trash, and took a small sip. "Just love you is all," I said, and I meant it with all my heart. Regardless of my issues with his overprotectiveness, he was an amazing father. Sure he may have been a little overbearing in the early years, and even now, with his off-limits rule for his team, but he’d done everything he could to raise me right.
And now here I was about to embark on my own career, something I'd worked toward for half my life. The thrill of being in the epicenter of a professional athletics team was a rush you could only understand if you’d done it before. And I'd done it since forever, and I loved it. I loved the fast action, the strategy, and the quick-thinking with each new problem that arose.
I chewed on my bottom lip, something sticky and heavy gnawing at the center of my chest.
My father frowned at my obvious switch in mood and nodded toward me. "What's eating up my baby girl?"
I blinked out of my thoughts but was unable to shake off that slight guilt sucking at my heart. I took another drink of my sparkling water, trying to collect my words. I didn't want to sound ungrateful but…
"Do you think it's unfair?" I finally asked him as he headed toward the stove with a giant wooden spoon in his hand.
He stirred the giant pot of chili like a conductor instructing a symphony. The smells of spice and pepper and tomato filled the kitchen, doing everything it could to rid me of that icky feeling. All the smells of home. My father's home, which used to be mine before I left for college. "I'm gonna need you to be a little bit more specific," Dad said as he sat the spoon down on the holder next to the counter by the stove. He plucked the cast-iron lid on top of the pot and turned the burner down to low. He spun to give me his full attention.
"The fact that I have a position waiting for me with the Raptors," I said, finding the tile along our kitchen floor incredibly interesting. Again, I wasn't ungrateful. I just wanted to earn it. Wanted to do something on my own and not have merely been given the position just because I was Coach Goodman's daughter.
A deep groove furrowed my father's brows, and then he huffed out a laugh. "You’re serious?"
I nodded, finally meeting his eyes straight on. He must've noticed the seriousness in them because his expression softened. "Savannah," he said, and I felt like I was ten-years-old again. "Do you know how many candidates applied for that position?"
I shook my head. In all honesty, I didn't know if Weston had looked at anybody