Page 84 of Second Shot

And maybe I deserve some of it. I can imagine what my relationship with my father must look like to them. They worship the man. And, in a way, I don’t blame them. Because I once did,too.

There was no one like my dad. He was the biggest and strongest man I knew. And I saw the way people looked at him. With awe and reverence. Like he was their hero. Even now, I can see it in the players’eyes.

The man was like a god. Strong. Indestructible. Unbreakable. It was easy to think that nothing would ever happen to him. That I had all the time in the world to be angry at him. To work out my frustrations –alone.

But if hedies...

I swallow hard, blinking back the tears that burn myeyes.

There are still so many things left unresolved between us. So much that still needs to be forgiven. Between both of us. It took tonight for me to realize that I need his forgiveness just as much as he needsmine.

But now, I may never getit.

“He’s going to be all right,” Kane says, squeezing my hand, his words brimming with the confidence I don’t feel. He stands when Noah starts to fuss, then picks up the diaper bag. “I’m going to see if I can find somewhere to heat up abottle.”

I watch him walk out of the room carrying our son. It’s odd to see him with Noah in front of all these people, and I wonder how many of them have figured out that Noah ishis.

Other than Blake, who isn’t here, I’m not sure who else Kane hastold.

“I thought you could use a coffee.” One of the wives sits down beside me and hands me a Styrofoam cup filled with tarry looking liquid. “It came out of one of those machines, so I’m not sure how good it willbe.”

“Thank you,” I say, taking it, and trying not to grimace when I take asip.

“I’m Sophie.” She gives me a small, concernedsmile.

“Brynne.”

She nods. “I know. Your father showed me yourpictures.”

I frown at her. “Hedid?”

“And some of your art as well. You’re verytalented.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, not sure how to handle the confession. It doesn’t seem like something he woulddo.

“How are you holding up?” she asks, her deep brown eyes filled with genuineconcern.

“I just wish they’d tell ussomething.”

“Waiting is always thehardest.”

No. Death is, I want to say. But I justnod.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, but when Kane comes back into the room and sits in one of the far chairs holding Noah, feeding him his bottle, the whispering beginsagain.

“He’s yours?” she asks, nodding atNoah.

“Yes.” Immediately, my walls go up, waiting for the probing tostart.

“I have three,” she says, her eyes filling with pride. “Lily is eight. Emma is five. And the baby, Thomas, is two.” She pulls out her phone to show me pictures. “They grow up so fast. But the first couple years, I wondered if I’d ever sleep again. I had Matt, but you know their schedule. Some days, I feel like a singleparent.”

She’s not prying, but I can see all the questions in her eyes. The same questions that everyone wants to ask, but hasn’t. They just keep tiptoeing around me.Whispering.

“He’s Kane’s. If that’s what you’rewondering.”

Her eyes widen slightly, but I give her credit, because there’s no judgment there, just normalcuriosity.

“He looks likehim.”

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