Page 39 of Double Fault

“Daddy!” my little girl cries, running straight for me.

Despite how worn out I am, I pick her up and hug her close, soaking in the scent of her shampoo and a hint of sweat.

“You did so good! I’m so proud of you.”

My throat gets tight. The words are simple, but coming from her, they mean so much. “Thanks, princess.”

After I set her on her feet, she pulls something out of her pocket.

“For you, since you won.”

I hold out a hand, and she drops a sticker into my palm. It’s a smiley face giving a thumbs-up, and above it, it readsYou’re #1!

Fuck.

I might cry.

There’s no point fighting a smile as I peel the backing off the sticker and press it to my chest.

Lips quirking, Sabrina assesses me, then turns her attention to my daughter. “Maddie insisted that win or lose, you deserved a sticker, so we picked some up before heading over.”

I tap the smiley face with my index finger. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”

We load up, and as the car pulls away, Maddie turns to face me, eyes bright. “Did it feel good to play again for real?”

My heart clenches. “Yeah, it did.”

It wasn’t the same, but it did feel good.

Sabrina watches me, but I avoid looking her way. With my luck, she’s already seen the interview. Maddie, thankfully, hasn’t said a word about it.

By the time we make it back to the hotel, I’ve gotten a handful of calls and twice as many texts. Mostly from Fisher. I ignore them all. He’ll probably show up at my door, but maybe by then I’ll be in a better state of mind.

After I’ve helped Maddie out of the car, I stuff my free hand in my pocket and rock back on my heels. “I’m going to grab a coffee. Do you guys want anything?”

Sabrina watches me with a far too knowing expression. Fuck, it unnerves me to know she can read me so easily.

“Coffee would be good, thanks. Come on.” She takes Maddie’s hand. “Your dad needs a minute.”

My daughter looks back at me, brows creased in confusion.

It’s hard, navigating the grief of losing a spouse while doing the best I can for my child, who lost her mother. Sometimes I think Maddie has coped better than I have.

I watch the two of them through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and only after they step into the elevator do I stride down the sidewalk.

I’d love nothing more than to get drunk, but I know better than to anger my coaching team like that.

While I wait for our coffees, I sit at a table in the corner.

I’m entitled to my reaction—it’s okay to be hurt by the casual way my wife’s death was brought up—but this is myjob. I can’t fuck it up. Regardless of the anger or hurt inadvertently caused, I have to put on a brave face and get through it. I can be upset about it when cameras aren’t capturing every minute flicker of emotion on my face.

When my order is ready, I stride back to the hotel, head down. All sorts of people from the tournament are staying in the same place, and I’d like to make it back to my room without running into anyone.

Luckily, I have the whole elevator to myself. Leaning against the stainless-steel wall, I focus on breathing steadily, wondering whether Annie would be embarrassed by my reaction or if she’d understand.

Even a year later, my feelings are still raw. It doesn’t matter that we had months to “prepare.” It’s impossible to ever really be prepared to lose a loved one. Even when the doctors said there was no hope, my brain refused to believe it. There had to be something we could do to change her fate.

Annie was far more resolved.

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