Page 81 of Hard Count
I wipe between her legs and toss the cloth in my dirty hamper. She crawls into my arms as soon as I’m back in bed. I breathe in her orange and citrus shampoo and it’s like entering a sanctuary. She’s my refuge. The place I know I can go when everything else becomes too much.
“I love you,” she says, kissing my chest. The words still make my body react when she says them. I know how hard it was for her to finally give all of herself to me.
“I love you, too.” I pull her closer and let my exhaustionkick in.
“Are you kidding me?” Gavin yells at the television. “These refs need to get their eyes checked. How did they miss that hold? Unbelievable,” he grumbles.
“They can come back after halftime. There’s still plenty of time. Calm down. You’re too old to yell like that. You’ll give yourself a heart attack,” Drew says, dipping a chip into some kind of dill pickle dip. It sounds disgusting but it’s surprisingly good.
“Old? I’m forty-three. And that’s not the point. They should do their jobs. I’m getting more food. Do you need anything?” he asks, standing up from his recliner.
“I’ll get a refill in a few minutes. Thanks,” Drew replies.
“I’m good,” I say, waving him off. I lean over her and snag a chip off her plate.
“Hey, mister!” She lifts her elbow to block me from getting any more. “This is mine. You can get your own in the kitchen.”
“But you’re mine. So that makes this mine by default.” I take another chip.
She narrows her eyes. “I don’t think so.”
“Everything okay over there?” Gavin’s eyes bounce between the two of us with concern.
“I took a chip,” I explain.
“With dip,” she adds.
Gavin lets out a low whistle. “I would advise against that. I remember her raising hell when she was around eight years old because I ate the last of something she wanted in the middle of the night.”
“I don’t remember that. It must have been your other daughter,” she jokes.
“Good thing the one I like is here,” he banters back.
Drew smiles down at her plate as she pushes a chip around, painting it with her dip. I drop a hand on her thigh and squeeze. It’s only been a week or so since their heart to heart but already there seems to be a weight lifted off both of them.
In the past, she would arm herself with a shield and sword in preparation to see her dad. It got better with each visit but her guard was always up as if she was waiting for him to push her away again. When we left my house this morning, she didn’t hesitate. She was ready before I was and had groceries in hand to come over and cook for the game.
“The writing is on the wall for the Blazers’ head coach,” one of the announcers says during the halftime report getting my attention. “The organization is currently making a short list of prospects.”
“This should surprise absolutely no one,” Drew says. “He wasn’t the right choice to handle an expansion team.”
“The dark horse in the running might upset some of our Alabama residents,” he says, as they flash a photo of Gavin on the screen. Drew and I both whip our heads in his direction. He curses under his breath and wipes his hand downhis face.
“Wait,” Drew says, when he opens his mouth to speak. “I want to hear what they’re going to say. Then you can explain what’s going on.”
“His winning record at Newhouse University makes an impressive resume. He led the Knights to another playoff berth this season. The Knights aren’t just winning games. They’re breaking records. They lead their conference with passing and running yards, defensive touchdowns, sacks, fourth down conversions. It’s truly remarkable what they’ve accomplished this season,” he says.
“Do you think he’ll be able to leave everything he’s built at Newhouse to start over with the Blazers?” Spencer Hamilton, a retired quarterback, asks.
“In a recent interview, he said his home is with the Knights. I think we all know he’s not going to confirm or deny anything until after their season is officially over. The real question we should be asking is if he takes the job, can the Blazers also scoop up Nash Pierce with their number one draft pick?” the first announcer says. My palms grow clammy and the room begins to spin at the possibility of playing for my home team.
“He’s put on a show every time he's walked out on the field this season. It’s been incredible to watch.”
Drew lowers the volume on the television as they move on to talk about the current game and potential playoff lineups. “Is it true?” she asks.
“They reached out a few weeks ago and let me know they were watching. My commitment is with Newhouse. I’m not making any decisions before the season is over and we’vewon the championship,” he says, looking me dead in the eyes with a smirk.
“Talk to us—to me—like I’m your future son-in-law not your player.” I smirk back at him. “Is this something you’d consider?”
