Page 20 of False Start

“I came over to say ‘Hi.’” I smiled and held out the growler. He took it, holding it at an arm’s length as if it might explode. “Can’t I stop by to see my favorite defensive captain?”

“Your favorite—?” Rob couldn’t get his exasperated question out before Mila interrupted him.

“How many pieces can I have? Ten?” She arranged the basket onto the porch, Skittles and Sprees and candy bars separated into their corner of the basket.

“One,” Rob huffed.

“I’m almost six. So, six.” She scooped up three pieces, pocketing them before her tiny fingers cupped her cheek as she contemplated the other three.

“You’re five.” Rob stepped back, his eyes on his daughter, leaving enough room for me to slip onto the porch.

“Okay, five. That’s fair.” She selected two more, stuffing them into her pocket.

“That wasn’t what I?—”

“Thanks, Daddy! Thank you, Mr. Vogt!” Mila stood up, resting the basket in her arm and skipping into the house.

Rob closed his eyes, rubbing his beefy palm over his face. “Don’t bring her candy.”

“She likes it.”

“She likes lots of dumb shit. Last week, she fell in love with a plunger because it was pink. You can’t keep feeding into whatever half-cocked idea that pops in her head, and you can’t feed her candy at all hours.”

I raised an eyebrow. “So, you’re telling me there’s a pink plunger in your house?”

Rob groaned, tipping his head back. “I need a drink.”

“Perfect, same. Lead the way.”

The challenges of parenting in the off-season had obviously worn on Rob because he jerked his head toward the backyard and stalked off the porch. It was as close to an invitation as I’d get, and I took it, following him into his backyard brewery.

I slid my hand down the polished oak bar top, eyes wandering down the set of ten taps on the far wall. “Seems weird to have a whole ass bar at your house and never invite anyone over.”

He flipped up the door in the bar and positioned himself behind the bar. “Noa comes over.”

Noa Kweame, Norwalk’s offensive center and Rob’s best, and maybe only, friend could charm a hermit. Not through straight charisma, but through an earnest interest in nearly everyone he met. Rob considered the rest of the team his colleagues, but Noa was his friend. Or at least the one person Rob didn’t subject to verbal takedowns on a nearly weekly basis.

Rob grabbed two glasses from behind the bar. “What are you drinking?”

A TV above the bar displayed a set of ten beers. “Do you make all these yourself?”

He nodded, pouring a stout into his glass.

“Pick your favorite.” I took a seat on the leather bar stool as Rob surveyed the list of taps, selecting a double IPA. “How do you even finish a keg before it goes bad?”

“My mom holds her book club here and I let staff use it for events.” He took a sip of his beer before adding under his breath. “And a couple of charity events.”

“Charity events? Seriously?”

I didn’t know Rob to joke around, but I’d also never hung out with him one-on-one…ever. Maybe he joked. Maybe he was a fucking cut up.

He set my pint down in front of me with a scowl. “Yeah, charity events. What of it?”

I flashed my palms. “Nothing. Nothing at all. We’ve just stood next to each other for the past few seasons at Noa’s celebrity auction deal and you didn’t seem all that into it.”

“People change,” he spat, taking a swig of his beer.

He laid the statement out like a matter of fact. People change. People can change. And hell, if Rob, a dickhead who by all rights should be past his prime, could change, I could too.

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