Page 62 of Roughing the Player
He’s not going to give in, no matter what I have to say. And I’m too exhausted emotionally and physically to argue about it at the moment, so I punt. “I have to think about it.”
His jaw juts out. “There’s nothing to think about. I’m going to do it. Whether you like it or not.”
This is a disaster. “She’s scared, Brock. Her whole world has been turned upside down.”
“I know it won’t be easy, but I won’t give up. Whether she, or you for that matter, don’t think she needs a father, she does. I know what it’s like to grow up with an absent parent. I don’t want that for my daughter. I’ve lost twelve years of her life, I don’t intend to lose anymore.” And that, as far as he’s concerned, is that.
We arrive home to find about a dozen photographers parked outside my door. When we pull into the driveway, a feeding frenzy ensues as they trip over one another to get the best shot. Only when the garage door closes behind us do I take a deep breath.
We walk into the house to find Mama cooking on the stove and Kaylee eating at the kitchen island.
As soon as we step into the kitchen, Kaylee shoots Brock a death glare. If looks could burn, he’d be seared on the spot. “What’shedoing here?”
“He’s your father, Kaylee. Show some respect.”
She has the grace to blush.
“Hello, Kaylee.” He keeps his proper distance, probably because he’s got no clue what to do. Meeting a daughter is one thing, meeting a twelve-year-old who’s royally pissed at you is another.
Butch comes racing up and jumps on Brock.
“Sit, boy.”
But for once, Butch doesn’t obey. Nudging Brock’s knee, he pushes him toward the living room.
“It’s okay. No one’s going to hurt anyone.”
As if he’s ceding his role of protector, he plops on the floor next to Kaylee, probably trusting Brock to handle whatever’s happening outside.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Brock says. “He’s guarding her.”
“He’s been glued to her side since she came home from camp.”
Brock turns to me. “What happened to her?”
But before I have a chance to answer, Kaylee interrupts, “I’m right here, you know. You can ask me.”
“Sorry. What happened to you?” he asks her.
“I tripped over a stupid, dumb rock and sprained my ankle.”
“Is it serious?”
“It’s only a sprain, but the doctor wants me to keep this stupid cast on for a whole week.”
“Well, that’s for the best. Otherwise, you might make it worse. Just rest it and take some ibuprofen. You’ll be right as rain in no time.”
She squints at him. “Did you ever suffer a sprain?”
“About five of them. None of them were any fun, so I know what you’re going through.” He grins, probably because he’s in safe territory discussing his injuries.
Thank God they have something in common.
“What are you going to do about the invading horde?” Kaylee nods toward the front yard.
A small smile flits in and out of Brock’s lips. “I’ll talk to them.”
“I’ll come with you,” I say.
