Page 47 of Big Balls
When I came home, she had painted all ten of his fingernails bright red. But Donovan Tate was an actual rock star. It was no big deal to him, and he could have his fingernails painted, even if he was wearing a custom-tailored suit while he was babysitting my daughter.
He was a billionaire now, and was still known for having power and a unique ability to predict success in new artists. Women literally lined up to try to get a photo near him or an autograph from him, all because of some dirty song he sang a couple of decades ago that was definitely about cunnilingus.
It’s got to be almost as embarrassing as having this nickname of mine.
“Did you fix things with her?” he’d asked me, blowing across his nails to dry them.
I’d just shook my head and told Katy it was bedtime while my best friend stared at me in blatant disgust.
He flipped me off when he left, and I hadn’t heard from him since.
If only he would have called.
I keep using up favors from my friends trying to straighten out this entire Zoe situation. But I guess I don’t need any more favors from them regarding her right now.
She’s gone. Out of our lives again, but this time there’s nobody to blame but myself.
There is zero doubt in my mind that Zoe was the best thing that has ever happened to me and Katy. I watched my daughter come out of her shell and blossom, finding out she had strengths in places that I was too afraid to let her explore.
I have never been so proud of my little girl. I always knew she was amazing, but this was Katy coming into her own.
I wanted my daughter to succeed so badly that I would do anything for her, even let her go. That meant my house was going to be the loneliest place in New Orleans.
I’d make an effort to be at her school as often as possible, but it wasn’t going to be the same as coming home to my daughter at night. And all those weeks of home games were going to be terrible.
Maybe I’d move in with Jackson. I could even replace the furniture that his crappy ex had stolen. Last I’d heard, he was sleeping on a literal pile of blankets.
It occurred to me that I hadn’t told any of the guys about sending Katy to Orthwein Academy. I felt certain they would try to talk me out of it, and I wasn’t ready to talk about it yet to anybody.
Except Zoe, who had simply stared me in the eye and told me I was making the biggest mistake of my life. She told me I would definitely regret sending my daughter away, and that when I did, she would come over and tell me that she told me so.
I honestly thought maybe she was going to slap me. She was almost vibrating with fury, and staring at me like she couldn’t believe that someone like me even existed.
All this, bare minutes after I had swallowed all of my pride and let her father take dig after dig at me while I sat in his kitchen and waited for Zoe.
And how dare she tell me I was fucking up my parenting. She wasn’t even a parent, so what did she know? And that’s exactly what I told her once she stopped telling me how much I was fucking things up.
She didn’t know anything about me or Katy, and I made sure to tell her. Loudly, right before I left the house where she lived.
From a results standpoint, the entire thing could not have gone any worse, minus her father actually breaking my catching hand.
Our entire time together was her being awesome and rescuing me and me being a dick about it.
No wonder she hates me. I hate me and probably my daughter hates me too.
I was a failure at the most important thing I was doing with my life. I wanted to get in a fight, but we didn’t have another game until next week.
Besides, Coach hated fighting. I’d be riding the bench for three weeks minimum if I pulled something like that.
I needed some help before then, though. For the millionth time, I pick up the phone and stare at Zoe’s number.
This time, I call her.
“Hey,” I start when she answered. “I didn’t think you would answer.”
I can practically hear her frowning. “Why would you think something stupid like that?”
“Because it rang four times. Everyone knows the fourth ring goes to voicemail.”
