Page 130 of Blindside Me
“That’s what scares me,” I say. “How easy it is to become you.”
Dad’s face creases with confusion but softens into something almost like pride.
My stomach churns.
He takes another swig of beer, studying me over the rim of the bottle like he’s seeing me clearly for the first time in years. Not as the disappointment who couldn’t measure up to Jake. Not as the kid who flinched when voices got too loud. But as someone familiar. Someone like him.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say that wasn’t a compliment.”
It’s not.
“When I hit him,” I say, the confession scraping up my throat like glass, “when I felt his jaw crack under my knuckles … I liked it. Wanted more. Didn’t care who saw.” I look him dead in the eyes. “That terrifies me.”
The room falls silent except for the low murmur of the TV. Dad sets his beer down slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. Then, a smile creeps across his face. Not warm. Not kind. Knowing.
“Of course you did.” He nods, as if we’re sharing some profound secret. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for years. All that control you’re so proud of? It’s just a mask. Deep down, you’re a Klaas man. We don’t back down. We don’t swallow shit. We hit back.”
“No,” I whisper. “We hurt people. And call it strength.”
His smile falters.
“I thought I hated you for what you did to us. The rage. The drinking. The silence after Mom left.” I swallow hard, fighting to keep my voice steady. “But what really scares me is how fast I became you.”
The trophies gleam dully behind the glass. Championships. Tournament MVPs. Perfect, polished moments captured in metal and wood. None of them shows the fear I lived with. The pressure to be perfect. To be better.
“You pushed Mom away,” I say. “I just did the same thing to my girl.”
He stiffens. “That’s different. Your mother?—”
“Left because she couldn’t take it anymore,” I finish for him. “The anger. The drinking. The way you’d shut down afterward, like you weren’t even here.”
The rawness of exposing the truth hangs between us. Dad stares at me, something shifting behind his eyes. Not anger. Not exactly. Maybe recognition of a different kind.
“I never hit her,” he says, voice low and defensive.
“No,” I agree. “You just made her feel like she was always walking on eggshells. Like one wrong word would set you off.” I meet his gaze directly. “Sound familiar?”
He doesn’t answer. Just grabs his beer.
“She left me, too, you know,” I say quietly. “Not just you and Jake.”
His hand stills. But the cold returns to his eyes.
“Made men out of you.”
That statement is all it takes for me to know he’ll never change. Never see it.
But I do.
Coach is right. I am nothing like the man in front of me. Sure, I have had my share of fights, but pummeling Roman was theonly one I actually enjoyed. That was because he offended the person I love.
Love.
Yes, I love her.
Why couldn’t I see that before? Jade means everything to me.
The realization hits, and I cannot get out of there fast enough.
