Page 42 of Honeyed

He nods his head, as if I passed his test in remembering correctly everything he’d told me. As if those words aren’t seared into my memory.

“When you broke your hand, I came with you in the ambulance to the hospital. Do you remember that?”

What is this, twenty questions? My frustration with Thomas grows because he’s not cryptic and closed off with me. At least he never has been before. Our relationship has always been one of mentorship and good will. Now that I’ve apparently crossed him, he’s going all monosyllabic holier-than-thou on me.

“I guess I do. It’s a bit of a blur.” Not only because it was so long ago, but because I was half-conscious with the pain.

“The day you picked up a football, I was there. I took you and Patrick to practice at twelve years old after first signing you up, and you weren’t sure you even wanted to play. It was a Pop Warner league, nothing crazy, but the coach handed you a ball during drills and, my God, I’d never seen a more perfect spiral. I think half the men on that field were stunned to silence. You clearly had this natural gift that can only be given from birth, and you were just discovering it. Watching you on that field was incredible.”

That day, I finally felt like I belonged somewhere, or maybe it was because everyone told me that’s where I belonged. I threw a football like most people breathe air; it was effortless. I immediately joined a more advanced team and started working with coaches who had ins at the top leagues and colleges. The buzz started around the country about this random kid from Pennsylvania who’d never played until he was nearly thirteen. In high school, I was being recruited by every program you’d seen at bowl games, and I thought my future was to play the sport on a professional level.

Until homecoming my senior year, when a lineman from an opposing team ran through my guys and sacked me. He landed on my right hand and bent it in such a way that I broke my wrist and a bunch of bones inside the hand. The doctors did all they could, but because of the way the bones broke, they said I’d have a slim chance of having full mobility in my hand.

While I could live daily life and do everything everyone else could, my hand would never be up to professional football standards. At my checkup a year ago, the ortho doctor I saw told me I had about ninety-five percent function in my hand. It’s not something I ever noticed, but if I were a professional quarterback, I definitely would.

“When they told you you couldn’t play football, might never gain full mobility of that hand again, you looked so … unaffected.” Thomas wipes a hand over his face. “I never asked you this, but you didn’t care all that much, did you?”

In my mind, I go back to that moment. “Sure, I did. I mean, I loved football. It was something I was good at. But … I guess it wasn’t my passion. I played because everyone told me what a talent I was, and I enjoyed it. When it was taken away, it sucked, but it wasn’t something I couldn’t get over.”

I have no idea why he’s bringing this up.

“The expressions you made during that conversation about Alana were depression and devastation, compared to the moment they told you your football career was over. The thought of never having her was so severe, it bowled you over. I don’t think you looked in my direction for weeks after that talk. I should have known that night in the hospital, should have talked to you then.”

He’s not wrong, but a lightbulb goes on in terms of what I think he’s trying to get to.

“To tell me what?”

Thomas’s eyes flit down to his shoes, then he squares them up to me, holding my gaze.

“To tell you that she could search the world far and wide, and my daughter would never find someone as loyal, true, and worthy as you. To tell you that it would be an honor to welcome you officially into our family, if falling in love with her was what you truly wanted. To tell you that I’d been an overprotective, short-sighted asshole, and to disregard the warning I issued years prior.”

Shock radiates through my body. And something akin to relief because how long have I waited to have that caution tape lifted by him? It’s like he’s taken the key to the chains he placed around my heart and is giving me full permission to use it.

“Which is why you haven’t spoken to either of us since we told you about our marriage?” I can’t help but give him some bluster back because it’s been a bit ridiculous.

“You surprised me. I truly never thought you’d defy me, and that was … damn, that was a hard pill to swallow, kid. You’re a man now, and you’re more than capable of making your own decisions. I’m a proud man, Warren, and a stubborn one at that. I’ve raised you kids with a tough hand, and my old bullish ass can’t stand to be wrong most times. But about this, I am wrong.”

My eyes flutter closed because I’ve dreamed of hearing those words for so long, it felt like they’d never actually come. Before I can say anything, though, Thomas continues.

“She’s my little girl, the only one I’ve got. I’ve never wanted to let her go. I thought no man would ever be worthy, and Alana is a lot of woman to handle. She deserves to have every ounce of respect and value placed on her. You do that. You see her for exactly who she is and let her be that woman. You love that she is that woman. I’ve been too stuck up my own ass to call off the dogs, but I see the way you look at each other. I know true love when I see it. You may have pissed me off doing it, but I can’t be mad anymore. I’m sorry for my reaction. I’ll have a talk with Alana, too, because you two deserve all my congratulations.”

I think hell might have frozen over, and I barely keep those words from popping out of my mouth. It’s an ass-backward day when Thomas Ashton admits he’s wrong, but here he is, almost groveling at my feet.

“This is … not at all what I thought you’d say.” My voice croaks because I think I’m still in disbelief over his apology.

Thomas chuckles. “Thought I was bringing you out here to rip you a new one?”

“Honestly, yeah.” I rub the back of my neck, some of the cold sweat that sprung to the surface of my skin dissipating.

“I have to admit where I was wrong, and life is too short not to celebrate the love of two of my favorite people in this world.” He shrugs, sticking out his hand for an olive branch shake.

I take it, only for him to pull me into a hug like he’s always done when we have heart-to-heart moments.

“Love you, kid,” he says gruffly, never the kind of man who hasn’t told his children he loves them.

“Love you, too.” I have to swallow a sob because it feels like a boulder has been thrown from my frame.

As I back up, I catch the grin on his face.

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