consensus is reached to hold a holiday charity ball. We’ll all dress up on a Friday night, command the players to appear and smile for the cameras, and auction off luxury prizes for hefty donations.
In my opinion, that still doesn’t make the team accessible to the average fan who can’t afford a thousand-dollar dinner plate, but my opinion doesn’t matter. Average fans don’t believe in the team enough according to the latest data, so we’re apparently going to stick to marketing to the season ticket holders who have money to burn.
My phone rings as soon as I’m in the hallway.
“Hey, Daddy.”
“Hi, Princess.” His tone carries the usual gruffness, but I hear the undercurrent of love most people miss. “I haven’t heard from you in a few days. Haven’t seen any new pictures online either. Is everything okay? Mitchell still being good to you?”
“Well…” I want him to trust me to be independent, but I sure could use a trusted ear, too. “I’m busy. Mike’s busy. The Wolves have secured a playoff spot, but fan engagement is down. I actually just got out of a meeting about that.”
“Is your scholarship in jeopardy?”
That’s my dad. Short, sweet, and straight to the point. You can retire the Captain from the Navy, but you can’t erase the bureaucratic efficiency from the man. I’m pretty sure that’s how he was able to raise six kids all on his own, actually.
“No.” At least not that I know of. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to make it home for Christmas though.”
“We’ll come to you.” His word is his bond, and his tone leaves no room for argument.
I cough out my shock. “Dad. I have a one-bedroom apartment. We can’t have Christmas at my place!”
So much for seeming successfully independent.
“We’ll make it work. What else is on your mind? I can tell you’re holding back.”
This. This is why I will jump through hoops for this man. Even from hundreds of miles away, I can’t put anything past him. He cares enough to dig deeper, even if it’s uncomfortable for him.
I sit down in my cubicle, gathering my things for the day. No one else is going to eavesdrop on my conversation when they’re all so eager to flee, too. “How did you know Mom was the one?”
He makes a humming noise that carries clear as day over the line, like I’m sitting with him in the living room, watching his expression turn serious. “This about Mitchell?”
“Yes.” There’s no point beating around the bush.
“You have doubts?”
“So many, Daddy.”
“I see.” He pauses for a few moments, but I don’t consider that the call has dropped. My dad is the type to always think before he speaks when it’s important. “Was your meeting today good or bad?
“Bad. No one cares what I think. Since I’m just the intern, no amount of research I do matters. They walk right over me, even though they don’t have any better ideas.”
He hums again. “And who did you want to talk to about it? Don’t think. Tell me your immediate gut reaction.”
“No one.” My answer is honest. “If you hadn’t called just now, I probably wouldn’t even have mentioned it to you.”
“That’s a problem, baby girl. I knew your mom was the one because she was the first person I wanted to share every joy and every heartbreak with.”
“What about now?” I press. I’ve lived my whole life without my mother. Who’s been the person my dad runs to all this time?
“She might not be here physically, but I still talk to your mom first about everything. She’s probably mad as hell that I’ve raised you to be so independent that you feel like you can’t count on anyone to be there for you.”
I snort in spite of myself. Dad hasn’t raised me to be independent at all. The problem is that I can count on him—to do everything for me.
“I’m serious, princess. Everyone thinks relationships are about give and take, and they are. The mistake is thinking you only have to give your best. If you can’t show someone your worst and expect they’re going to love you anyway, then that’s not a relationship at all. That’s friends with benefits, as Theo would say.” He practically pukes out the last part.
I am absolutely alone in this room, but my cheeks fire to life anyway. My dad didn’t even have the birds and bees talk with me. He signed a form to give the high school health teacher permission to do it.