Page 102 of The Trouble with Players

“I didn’t say you need to forget it,” she said. “I asked if you’ll be able to forgive him.”

“Isn’t it the same thing?” I asked.

“Forgetting means not remembering something. Forgiving means sparing yourself the emotional burden of something painful. It means releasing it from your body, your mind, your soul. Don’t you want to release the anger you feel?”

“I smashed a ton of stuff,” I explained.

“That’s a momentary release of anger. The anger you’re holding onto toward your father is within you. It’s going to take more than just smashing things to release it.”

“So what else can I do?”

“Well, for your own well-being, I think you need to start forgiving him,” she said.

* * *

I sat on the beach the next day in a hoodie and cutoffs. Today was another overcast day, and the wind had begun to pick up. Since August was winding down, the hot days of summer were too. It was hard to believe so much had happened this summer. Over the span of a few months, I’d left for Europe but ended up back on the Cape—a place I never planned to return to again. But, strangely, it turned out to be the one place where I was meant to be.

My phone pinged, and an email alert appeared on the screen. I knew right away it was from the lab. Before I opened the email, I texted Crew to come over.

I stared at the email preview, but I couldn’t bring myself to open it.

It was a crazy thing to know my fate would be determined by a single email. Right now, I still had hope. Once I saw the results, that feeling would all be gone, and it would be replaced by one of two emotions: elation or despair.

Unable to wait any longer, I clicked on the email and opened the pdf entitled DNA Test Results. There were three columns of numbers: the first was a bunch of letters and numbers; the second was titled child with a line of numbers beneath it; the third was titled alleged father with another line of numbers beneath it. I had no idea what it all meant, but down below was a box entitled interpretation.

I made it bigger, reading the interpretation. “The alleged father…” I swallowed hard. “…is excluded as the biological father of the tested child…”

I couldn’t even finish reading it because tears welled in my eyes. I fell back on the sand and squealed as a rush of emotions flooded me. Relief filled my mind, happiness swelled in my chest, and excitement overflowed in my heart.

Knowing Crew would be there soon, I stood up and jogged to the house. I entered the kitchen through the patio door and stopped short. My father sat at the island. I don’t know what came over me—maybe Blythe’s words or maybe the results on my phone—but I stepped up beside him.

He jumped, startled by my presence. “I didn’t see you there.”

“I forgive you,” I said, a huge weight lifting from my shoulders once the words left my lips.

“You do?” he asked.

“I don’t want to carry this hate in me anymore.”

“I’m glad,” he said.

“I want to trust people again and not expect the worst from everyone. I hated baseball players because of you.”

“Not all ball players are untrustworthy.”

I knew that. Crew taught me.

“So, what does this mean for us?” he asked.

“It means, I want Mom to be happy. I want you to go your separate ways for good. You’re not the man she married, and I think you know that. She doesn’t deserve to be in a marriage where she can’t trust her husband.”

“You’re right.”

“We’re gonna be okay,” I assured him.

“You and Mom or you and me?” he asked.

“Mom and I will definitely be okay. You and me will take some time. I need to get used to the idea that you’re not the man I thought you were. Maybe that’s on me. But it’s gonna take time to get used to the man you are.”

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