Page 49 of sWitch

“Mine too,” I added.

The crowd stood and roared in applause as Trevor’s team jogged onto the field. Dad crossed his arms and shuffled on the bleachers before checking his watch.

Fauna whispered in my ear, “How about I go get us some slushies?”

I pulled out my wallet and tried to shove cash at her, but she refused, bouncing away to fetch drinks my Dom Pérignon champagne father would surely turn his nose up at.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I searched for a neutral topic to pass the time. “So…Mom’s in Berlin?”

Dad rubbed his chin, leaning forward with his gaze fixed on the field. “Some film festival” He stood abruptly. “That’s a yellow card!” he shouted. “For Christ’s sake, is the ref asleep out there?”

Fauna appeared, and I took my slushy in shock. “Dad, you…know soccer?”

“Know it? Liverpool has been my team since college. Your mother took me to a home game in England when we were dating, though it’s been some time since I’ve watched, being that I work every Sunday and that’s when—offsides!”

“Who is this person? What the hell is happening?” I asked Fauna, checking to make sure she was witnessing this as well.

She giggled and passed my dad a slushy, which he accepted. “Trevor’s had eighteen goal involvements this season. He’s remarkable.”

“Eighteen?” My dad took a sip of blue slushy. “That’s unheard of for college ball.”

Fauna tugged at me to move and switched seats with me so she could…talk to my dad. What universe was this again? “You should have seen him at playoffs. Five goals in ten minutes. He slaughtered them. I have it on video if you want me to send it to you?”

They both quit mid-phone exchange to yell in unison, “Shoot it!”

“Shoot what?” I asked. Fauna shoved me, and I laughed.

“He’s offsides.” My dad put his hands on his head.

“He can do it. Go Trevor!” Fauna yelled, jumping up and down and clapping.

My brain was befuddled, confounded; somehow, I’d jumped timelines again. Trevor was apparently killing it on the field, I’d gotten my dad to come, and he was drinking blue food coloring and inputting his phone number and email into my girlfriend’s rhinestone-covered phone. Not only that, but he was also cheering—my father, Mr. Businessman Monroe, had actually pulled his head out of his ass for an afternoon, and I was there to witness it.

Half-time started, which is apparently a break in the middle of the game, or so Dad and Fauna needlessly explained. Sounds pretty self-explanatory to me, but I didn’t give them hell about it, especially as my twin sense pinged and I looked up and caught Trevor’s glance on the field. He glanced at me and to Dad, and his mouth dropped open before patting his teammate on the back and jogging over to the stands. When he made it up the bleachers, he stopped, as if approaching an unpredictable wild animal. Or maybe he thought he was seeing a ghost. I covered my mouth to hide my satisfaction in pulling my own scheme over on my twin.

“Um…” Trevor rubbed the back of his neck. “Hi, Dad.”

My father put his hand on my brother’s shoulder and smiled. “Son, that is some fine sportsmanship out there. Really, I haven’t had this much fun at a game since I was a young boy. But watch the other team’s center back the ref is ignoring. I don’t trust that kid.”

Trevor glanced at me with awhat the fuckexpression, and I shrugged with a half grin. He was happy. “Yeah, good advice, Dad. I’ll do that. I, uh, better get back on the field. Stay and say bye after?”

“Stay?” My dad arched an eyebrow. “I’m hosting the victory party, son. Invite the team and all your friends to the house. I’ll call Watson to bring in a full-service staff.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Serious as death, Trev. Now, get back out there.”

Trevor’s smile reached his eyes, and he cleared his throat of emotion. “Okay, thanks, Dad.”

Dad wasn’t just being optimistic when he declared we’d celebrate the team’s victory. They rocked the other team, Trevor was swarmed with scouts, attention, and praise for his hard work. He fucking deserved it— and Dad didn’t deserve to be apart of it, but his presence made my twin happy, and my father was suddenly being very supportive, so I guess it worked out.

Back at the house, the gate was wide open, welcoming an onslaught of jocks and sports people, fans… I’ll be honest, I didn’t know who any of those people were. But Trevor did, and this party was about him.

I popped open a beer on the side of my dad’s prized jade table while he regaled a group of listeners about some grand soccer game in Barcelona. Fauna nuzzled at my shoulder while I watched Dad wrap a proud arm around Trev and give him a squeeze.

“What has happened to my father?” I asked in awe.

Fauna giggled. “Game day is a powerful, magical thing.”

---