Page 34 of Home Game

My dad snags his keys and wallet from the sofa table and turns to walk backward toward the door.

“Me, too,” he says, pointing at me and winking. “But it’s pancakes.”

I drag my feet along the wood floors toward him, only half acting reluctant. I really am full, but these birthday traditions mean the world to me. I’ve been having pancakes with my dad ever since he retired. And before sunset, I’ll go for a long horse ride with Mom. The first year we did this one-on-one thing, which was totally my mom’s idea, I spent half of my time with my parents whining about it and insisting I had nothing to say. Funny the difference a year makes, though, because last year, these dates marked some of the most meaningful conversations I’ve ever had with my parents.

“Okay, the world of pancake syrup is at your fingertips. Where are we heading?” My dad turns over the engine on the Jeep and shifts into drive but waits for my final decision.

“I know it’s weird to want to eat where I work, but?—”

“Oh, thank God! I love Jack’s,” he says, racing down our driveway and hitting the roadway with a bit of a fish-tale move that thrills me. Mom would be so pissed.

The restaurant lot is fairly full, but I don’t see anyone waiting in the entry when we park. I feel a little guilty because I normally help open on Sundays. It’s the only day I work during the school year, and mostly because I love the owner, Maggie. Her son Neil went back to college this week, so she’s probably running around like crazy this morning with the two floaters she calls in when things get busy.

I snag two menus from behind the counter when my dad and I walk in, and I wave to Maggie from across the restaurant where she’s taking a couple’s order.

“Wow, this place is hopping,” my dad says as I guide him to two open stools at the end of the counter.

“I feel bad,” I admit, glancing around the joint. Everyone seems happy at least. That’s part of the charm of Jack’s.

“Nah, it’s your birthday. Plus, this place prints money, doesn’t it Douggie?” My dad sits up tall as he peers through the kitchen window. Doug, Maggie’s husband, pops his head up from the griddle.

“Hey, what’s my favorite quarterback of all time doing here?” Doug slips around the wall and through the swinging door as he wipes his hands on the front of his apron. He and my dad went to high school together, though Doug was two years older. Looking at him now, full grizzly beard tucked into a net, long hair knotted into a bun, two full sleeves of tats, and the upper body of a bouncer, you’d never guess he was once Coolidge High’s kicker.

I let the two of them have their trip down memory lane for a few minutes while I scan the menu, which I have memorized. It wouldn’t be right to come here andnotget pancakes, but I’d kinda like something lighter. I decide to get a short stack with berries and cream, and I’m about to make my request to Doug when a sudden chill takes over my dad’s face.

I follow his gaze to my right and spot Wyatt three seats down, doing his best to hide his face behind a very obvious propped-up menu. He’s pinching his brow with his other hand, probably wishing he could visualize one of those cartoon rabbit holes to dive into. I know I am.

“Speaking of great quarterbacks,” my dad says, his volume purposely lifted. Doug follows my dad’s gaze, and now half the restaurant is staring at Wyatt. He flattens the menu and forms a panicked smile on the good side of his mouth as he raises his hand.

“Coach. Good to see you,” he says, his eyes reaching mine briefly and flickering. I don’t think he really meant that.

The couple between us tosses down some cash and nods to Doug, complimenting the best breakfast they’ve had in ages.They must be out-of-towners because they don’t seem the least bit interested in the wild west showdown happening at the breakfast bar. I feel their absence immediately, however, and I’m sure Wyatt does too. Now there’s nothing between his lonely seat and my father and me.

“What brings you into this fine establishment on a Sunday morning? I would think you all would be watching our film. I know you had a guy there.” My dad shifts, getting comfortable in his seat. Doug’s gaze meets mine, one brow higher than the other. He’s probably trying to figure this scenario out.

“Dad, stop,” I say, not bothering to keep it under my breath.

“Doug, this is Wyatt Stone. He’s?—”

“Oh yeah, you’re the kid about to break ole Reed’s record,” Doug interjects. My dad clears his throat as Doug moves around the counter to shake Wyatt’s hand.

“I don’t really pay attention to that stuff, but I guess so,” Wyatt says, his eyeline sliding to Reed, then back to Doug.

“Sure you don’t.” Doug covers the back of Wyatt’s palm with his other hand, giving it a healthy couple of slaps as he verbally ribs my father. Doug’s grip is massive, and I catch Wyatt stretching out his fingers when he lets go.

“All right, birthday girl. What will it be?” Doug finally turns his attention to me. I place my order, and my dad orders his black coffee and a mega-stack, which is basically a week’s worth of carbs on a plate.

Maggie slides a plate of pancakes in front of Wyatt, and he drops his attention to the syrup and butter. I can literally feel the heat of my dad’s stare crossing me as he watches the poor guy try to eat, so I let out a heavy sigh and twist in my stool to face Wyatt.

“Why don’t you join us?”

“Oh, whoa—” my dad pipes in. Wyatt’s mouth is hanging open, and I’m positive he wants no part of my suggestion. Butit’s not like we can sit here now with two seats between us and carry on as if we’re two separate parties. And if I ever hope to somehow find a way to see Wyatt again without feeling like I’m sneaking around, the massive block of ice between them is going to have to start melting.

“It’s my birthday,” I say to my dad. “And clearly, you have questions for him. I’d rather not spend the next half hour pretending he doesn’t exist and you aren’t obsessed with him.”

“I’m not obsessed.Pffft.” My dad turns his attention to Maggie as she sets down a mug and fills it with coffee.

Maggie’s gaze slides to me and I roll my eyes. She laughs silently, then tightens her lips into a straight line before pulling the invisible zipper.

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