Page 62 of A Shot at Love
It might be the adrenaline, or the joy, but it goes to my head a little. I grin at Sabrina Ionescu and say, “This was a battle, Ionescu. We all have a few war wounds.”
Sabrina laughs at that, and we hug briefly before she leaves to commiserate with her teammates. The moment of this win is about to slip through my fingertips, so I raise up Jadea’s jersey to the crowd and hear them roar one more time.
One moment of bravery down, one to go.
23
My father and I meet in the green room of HBO’s New York studio. The Arrows have a few days off until our next playoff series against the Fever, so our Sunday meeting seemed wise.
Now, I wonder if I’ve made a huge mistake.
I feel like I’ve just grabbed the power back, speaking against Trenton and his lies. It was easy to decide how I should feel about him; he was doing terrible things to me and my team.
Jack feels different.
He also did terrible things. His WNBA investigation wrapped up two days ago. He officially has to turn over team management to the minority owners and sell his stake in the team. He and Trenton must step down from day-to-day management and will incur massive fines. It’s a disaster for my biological family, but how exactly shouldIfeel about it?
I’ve never even met Jack before. Besides the few times he tried to call after the scandal, and was seemingly blocked by Trenton, I’ve never talked to him. He might have drafted me with fatherly intentions, but he’s not my father. It’s difficult to confront something when you don’t know exactly how to feel. I believe the WNBA punished him appropriately, but how to go forward with our relationship? Will we ever be fatherand daughter? Can he make up for the mistakes he made?
I have a few ideas, and now is the time to be brave. Again.
Why does bravery involve so much talking?
Daniel is prepping for the show in his dressing room, but I have my phone clutched in my hand, ready to text him 911 if needed. I’m sure he’s on standby. I talked through my tentative plan with him, Jadea, and my mom. They all approved of it, and hopefully we’ll be able to announce all the changes on Daniel’s show today.
Another reason to be nervous. Me, on live television?
When Jack and his wife Tiffany enter the room, ushered in by a frazzled-looking PA, they look exactly as I remember. Tiffany is a bright blonde that is clearly fake but well-maintained. She has a few wrinkles that show her lovely smile lines and the startling blue eyes that Trenton shares. Jack is a little older, in his mid-seventies, but in great health. His white hair is neatly trimmed, and his hazel eyes are shrewd. They both sport Arrows’ scarlet red. I don’t know if it’s calculated or not.
I nervously wipe my sweaty palms on my pants and stand up to greet them. Daniel assured me that I should dress however I wanted for the show, that just because he wore a suit, didn’t mean I had to. However, I was inspired by his look and am wearing a long red blazer with matching wide-legged dress pants and studded black boots with a three-inch heel.
It gives me a strange sort of pleasure to see I have a few inches on Jack when I shake his and Tiffany’s hands.
We all sit down, me in an armchair, them on the couch across from me.
It’s clear that Jack expects to run this meeting, even though I’m the one who called it.
“Annie.” He sounds extremely warm, shooting me a smile. “I’m so delighted to finally meet you. I know it’s not under the best circumstances, but I intend to start fresh—”
I can’t say I’m surprised. He sounds like a politician or anyone with lots of media training, not like a doting father. I cut him off. “Jack and Tiffany, I don’t know if it’s nice to meet you.” I let those words fall heavily between us. Jack shuts up immediately, but Tiffany almost looks curious. “But itisnecessary. I’ve been putting this meeting off as long as possible, and obviously, you know your son has been blocking a lot of our communications.”
Jack immediately jumps in. “Yes, and I have been talking more with Trenton, and he’s truly sorry—”
Tiffany shoots him a look. “What Jack means to say is thatwe’retruly sorry. Trenton was terrible to you and blamed you for Jack’s mistakes. You’re a victim in this story, and I’m sorry many people have taken his mistakes out on you.” There’s a hint of viciousness in Tiffany’s words that I appreciate. Maybe she hasn’t totally forgiven her son and husband for everything they’ve done.
“Thank you.” I smooth my pants nervously. “I don’t agree with what you did, Jack. It was wrong. You put me in an impossible position, one I will have to grapple with for all my years in the league.”
Jack opens his mouth, but I hold up a finger, and he relents. “But today, I have an idea for how we can change things for the better. It won’t fix the damage you’ve done, but it will be a sign of faith in women’s sports. And that’s really important to me.”
I lay out my idea, the financial schematics, which have already been checked by the other minority owners and team accountants, and explain what I need from the two of them. I show Jack the paperwork he would need to sign. It feels like a parallel universe, the memory of me signing damning documents from Trenton flashing through my mind.
Jack protests immediately. “Now, Annie, I know I’ve made mistakes, but they were all for you. I was trying to connect with you. Money won’t solve any of those mistakes.”
I raise a brow. “Spoken like a true-blue billionaire. This money is important. It’s symbolic. It’s equalizing. And you don’t need it. Billionaires shouldn’t even exist.”
Jack looks nonplussed at my statement, and he reminds me a little too much of Trenton. On the other hand, Tiffany nods along at my words. Jack tries a new tactic. “We can be a family, Annie. I can give that money to you. You can inherit, be a true Smith.” He leansforward, almost reaches to clasp my hand, but I inch mine away from him.
It’s a strange epiphany, staring at my birth father. I know the journey isn’t the same for everyone. Sometimes, meeting your biological father feels like a homecoming. Like a puzzle piece that fits. But, right now, I just feel like Jack is a stranger. He’s someone I don’t understand, and I don’t really want to understand. I have everyone I need already. Just because we share DNA doesn’t mean I have to make himmy dad. Maybe what he did, demanding I be drafted and bribing reporters to bring me attention, maybe that was done with something akin to love or affection or misguided loyalty. And so, I’m not furious. I don’t hate him.
