Page 26 of Game Face

“Fuck me.” Bryce’s voice is low, but it’s easy to read his lips. I’m sure his father did.

Unlike everyone else with a special guest here today, Bryce remains in his seat. He clears his throat and holds up a hand to wave hello as his father walks along the outskirts of the room to take a seat near Reed. The two of them shake hands, but when Reed sits down, he holds up his phone to signal for me to check mine.

REED: Bryce okay with this?

ME: Define okay.

I look up to meet the straight line on Reed’s mouth just before he slowly shakes his head. My gaze moves to Bryce, who is suddenly very interested in cleaning his plate.

ME: He’s gonna need some help.

I watch for Reed to get my new message, then catch the tiny nod he gives me before putting his phone back in his pocket. Coach starts to speak, and everyone in the room adjusts their seats to look at him head on. Bryce must turn his completely around, which means I won’t be able to monitor his expressions, but I can keep an eye on his dad.

He’s surprisingly older than I remember him, especially for only four years having passed. His hair is still the same buzz cut, and his build is a cookie cutter of his son, maybe slightly smaller. He’s a lot grayer than I remember, though. And his face looksstretched, almost like he had plastic surgery or something.Shit, did he?

“I know you all are sick and tired of hearing me preach about our tough schedule?—”

The room fills with our collective groans as Coach waves a hand and laughs it off.

“You’ll see. We’ll be six games in, and you all will be saying, ‘Damn, if only Coach warned us about this tough schedule.’” His joke garners a good laugh.

“I thought it might be nice for us to try a little something different, maybe a new tradition. I don’t know. We’ll see if we win or not.”

A light chuckle filters through the room.

“I’m a big believer in family. When you all filled out your profiles for Media Day, you might remember a question or two about the people who inspired you to play the game. Well, we had help from the booster club to make it happen, and a lot of those people are here today. I’d like to give them all a chance to send you out there with some wise words. So if you don’t mind getting things started for us, Reed?”

There’s a wave of applause and a few whistles while Reed takes the mic. He stands at his seat and looks around the room before landing on me. My cheeks burn from the attention, but I like it. It means something. More than anything, this moment is one I will never forget, even if he doesn’t say a word.

“I don’t know how many of you know this, but your QB1 over there is dating my daughter.” Shad punches me in the arm as Whiskey pounds the table, and the room fills with guffaws as hands slap over mouths. Even Bryce turns to face me and laughs, mouthing, “I’m so glad this is you.”

I shrink down a few inches in my chair, my palms sweating on my thighs. Nevertheless, I can’t get the grin off my face.

“You should also know that this little shit broke not one, not two, butallof my state high school records.”

Our table shakes from pounding all around this time. Whiskey stands up and slaps his chest, shouting, “Whatwhat?”

“He’s still short of the ones I hold here, though.” Reed points at me and winks as the crowd eats him up.

“I got a year left, old man!” I shout back, this time the room roaring in my favor. Even Coach is laughing so hard that he has to wipe away a tear.

“We’ll see, Wyatt. We’ll wait and see. I hear your schedule is pretty tough.” He points to Coach with that joke and gets our skipper to roll his eyes as he chuckles.

“Kidding aside, what I wanted to say to you today isn’t about how great I think you are, and what I know you’re going to do this season. I wanted to tell you how proud I know your dad would be if he were the one standing in this room right now.”

Damn.

My eyes glisten without warning, the tears welling up fast. I run my arm along them only to face them getting full again.

“I mean it, kid. You’re special, and I know he had to be one hell of a special guy to make someone like you. And he’s still watching; I think you know that. He’s got the best seat in the house, and he wouldn’t miss a game. Love you, son.”

I shake a little, spitting out my cry as I bury my face in my hands and draw in a sharp breath to try to make it stop. I can’t shut it off so easily, though, and really . . . I shouldn’t. I get up from my seat and Reed hands the mic off to the guy next to him. We meet at the end of the long banquet table, and I hug him as if he’s channeling my father through his embrace. His hand pats my back, and I adjust my grip on his. I needed those words more than he could possibly realize.

“Thank you,” I say over his shoulder.

“I mean it. I love you, son. You’ve got this. All of it.”

I step back and our arms fall to our sides. A little nervous laughter gets me through the remaining tears, and I notice a few guys near me are tearing up, too. I’m not the only one in here with a dead dad. Hell, Whiskey is going to choke up like a baby too. It’s a shared pain and a shared joy. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

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