“Sort of.”
“Your mom may have mentioned some”—he winced—“vibes with Adaline when you got home last night. And I will deny it if you ever say I’ve used that word to describe anything.”
“No one will hear it from me,” I promised.
“You know, I thought it would be harder to talk about relationships with the girls. But it’s just as awkward with you, if that makes you feel any better.”
“A little.”
He took a deep breath. “How’s Malcolm?”
The change of topic had me blinking. “He’s … doing okay. We talked the other day. Doctor thinks he’ll be walking again by fall.”
“Good. That was tough to watch.”
The laugh that escaped was dry, devoid of humor. “Yeah.”
“Is that when this started?”
My head turned toward him. “How’d you know?”
“I’ve been on those sidelines for more than half my life, Emmett.” He shook his head. “It never gets easier to see someone seriously hurt. All you can do is imagine yourself in his position. Imagine all the ways it can change your life because one play goes sideways.”
“It was awful.” I ran my hands up and down my thighs. “You work day in and day out together, figure out how to work as a team, but when it comes down to moments like that … there’s nothing you can do for the guy next to you when he’s really hurt. It’s totally out of your control.”
“Hardest part of being a leader,” Dad replied. “Hands down.”
I nodded. “It was after, though. At the hospital.” I swallowed. “I was sitting in that chair, watching Rebecca pray when she thought no one was watching. She didn’t care if he ever took another snap. She just wanted him to be all right.”
“It has a way of putting things in perspective.”
I almost laughed. I had so much fucking perspective since that moment. More than I could handle sometimes.
“I’d be alone,” I said.
He turned on the bench, concern stamped on his face.
“Sitting in that chair, I thought about how there’d be no one there to hold my hand while they prayed. Adaline was the first person I thought of. I can’t even tell you why, after so many years. Like I just … knew that I’d messed up something good—something special—because I thought I had to pick. Thought I had to pick one thing to be the focus of my life.” I held up my hand. “And I know if it happened, you guys would come as soon as you could. It’s not about having people who love you or support you. I’m well aware I have that, and I’m grateful for you guys. But you all have your own lives.”
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.”