Page 63 of A Shot at Love
But I don’t really like him.
I sigh a little. “Jack.” I try to infuse some kindness into the words. “I can’t be the daughter you want. I’m never going to be a Smith. I’m already a Larger and a WNBA All-Star. I don’t want your life.” His brow wrinkles. “But you gave me the Arrows. You love St. Louis, just like I do. And for that, I’ll always be grateful.”
Jack smiles a little at that. The one thing we have in common. He looks back at the papers I gave him. His expression eases, and he says, “Do you have a pen?”
I hand him one and hope he doesn’t notice my hand shaking. I can’t believe he’s agreed to it. This wouldn’t work without his permission, sad as that may be. He signs, and we shake hands again. “Goodbye, Annie. If you don’t mind, could we meet every few months to catch up?”
It’s the first genuine thing he’s said to me. “Fine,” I relent, smiling a little. “We can give it a try.”
He waves goodbye and immediately backs out of the room, already on the phone with one of his many lawyers. I straighten my suit, feeling the adrenaline leave my body. It’s so strange to talk to my father and keep it impersonal. But it would be even stranger to pretend he’s something he’s not.
It only takes me a few beats to realize Tiffany is awkwardly hovering by the door. I clear my throat. “Yes?”
She takes a few steps back in the room. “Jack would prefer I not say this, but he and I are getting a divorce.” My mouth must drop open, because she laughs bitterly. “It’s been a long time coming. We separate every few years, then get back together because we don’t want to deal with the trouble of divorcing. Well, after this whole debacle, I couldn’t ignore how toxic my family has become. Unlike Jack and Trenton, I genuinely hope we can change.”
I finally stutter out a response. “That’s great. I hope you get everything you want.”
There’s another awkward pause. Tiffany looks unsure and strangely vulnerable. Should I say more? Does she want comfort? Before I can uncomfortably launch into a pep talk, Tiffany takes it in another direction. “We don’t have a prenup, you know? I’m about to become one of the richest women in the world.”
Even more surprises. “Congratulations?”
She laughs again, this time with more sincerity. “I’m only saying this because I genuinely love the Arrows. It’s my favorite investment Jack’s ever made. Those games are home to me. The arena is my favorite place. I know every play, every draft pick. I have a business degree.” I’m trying to follow but failing. She senses it. “In college, I was on a D1 volleyball team. We were really good, and our stadium was packed. It felt like my life was volleyball, that’s how much I loved it. But after five years of college, I got my master’s degree, and then I was done. Volleyball doesn’t have a professional league, despite its popularity as a college sport. This could be a homecoming of sorts. I want women’s sports to grow, and I think I can help it along,” she shifts uncomfortably, “with the Arrows. After my divorce, I want to put in a bid for majority ownership.”
“Whoa.” Tiffany suddenly appears to me in a new light. I don’t know her well enough to say whether she’d be perfect, but I do remember that picture of Trenton reading Ayn Rand at a playoff game. Who was screaming and watching every second of the game? Tiffany. It might just work. “I have no authority over any part of that, but it would be great to have a true believer on our side.” I smile at her and she grins back, relief showing on her face.
“I wanted to ask you first, to see if it made you uncomfortable. I wouldn’t want you to think I was pushing into your life.” It’s a courteous attitude and one I wish her son and husband would employ.
There’s a lump in my throat, and I swallow thickly. “Thanks, Tiffany. I hope things work out for you and your family.” I mean it, even as I hate Trenton’s games and Jack’s arrogance. Tiffany’s life was blown apart by this too. I want her to survive the damage, just like I have.
She nods and waves goodbye.
Only a few minutes later, there’s a knock on my door. Daniel pokes his head in. “How’d it go? Are you crying?”
He waves a travel tissue pack, and I laugh. “No tears today, I promise.”
He steps fully into the room, handsome in his navy suit and sexy glasses. “So, did you convince Jack? Are you going to be on the show?”
I nod and he fist pumps like a dork. I laugh and walk his way, winding my arms around his neck. “This is the finish line. Soon our lives will be normal again. Can you believe it?” Sometimes, staring up into his face, it all feels like a dream. Do I really get to keep it all? His love, the ghost of his fingers on my waist, the sweat dripping down my temple as I shoot the winning shot, is it all mine? It doesn’t seem possible.
Daniel grows serious, looking at me thoughtfully. He reaches a finger to my cheek, tracing the bone and down my chin. I stifle a shiver. “Larger than life,” he whispers and it feels like our version ofI love you.
The moment is heavy with love and joy and everything deliciously gooey and it’s the same PA that ushered Jack and Tiffany in who interrupts us. “Fiveminutes, Daniel.” He shoots us a knowing look and closes the door again.
Daniel gives me a quick, scorching kiss and then backs away. “Show time.” He must see the fear on my face because he says, “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, Annie.”
Daniel understands debilitating anxiety because he’s experienced it. He knows that sometimes you can’t force yourself to feel better. But I know this isn’t the same. If I tried to be a whole new person, someone who put herself out there all the time and was loud and enjoyed the spotlight—that wouldn’t work. But this, this is a ten-minute segment talking about basketball and the scandal. This is well within my grasp.
“Show time,” I say firmly, and he smiles. “And before you go, I have a gift for you.”
He raises a brow. “A gift?”
I hurry over to the side table, pulling two shoe boxes from underneath. “I saw when we were at Fire Town that you still had those ratty Converse that I doodled on. I figured we deserved an upgrade.”
I hand him his box first, carefully watching his face as he opens it. “Annie,” he says with wonder, pulling out the first shoe. They’re still high-tops, but the canvas is white. He pulls out the second one, his fingers tracing over the numerous doodles I’ve drawn onto them.
His fingers graze the Olympic rings. The St. Louis arch. A small caricature of his terrier, Dustin. A stethoscope for his mom’s job as a doctor and a book for his father’s job as a professor. Stanford’s logo. A balletslipper. A glow stick. The Arrows logo. LGL—larger than life—made of a font that looks like lightning bolts.
And lastly, on the heel, the original basketball and Daniel’s track cleat.
