Page 100 of Nothing Less Than Everything

My eyes shot up in time to catch the exit sign for Westerly. It had to be a coincidence. “Are we stopping for gas?”

“Nah, we’ve just got to make a pitstop.” He glanced at the GPS on his phone and turned onto a two-lane road that took us closer to the coastline.

“Tay…?”

He flashed a grin and navigated my behemoth of a vehicle through a familiar neighborhood. We turned into the drive of a quaint single-level house with red siding and crisp white trim. Green boxwoods stood out among the leafless brown trees. The remnants of yesterday’s snow still lingered on the grass. We were at my parents’ home—the one they moved to after my father retired. They wanted out of the city and found a place close to the coast to spend their sunset years.

Tatum cut the engine. “I figured you’d wanna see your dad.”

My father opened his front door and stepped onto the front porch. Tears stung my eyes the moment he smiled and waved.

He was thinner than when I visited him last month. His mustache was a little more silver. He was in a Red Cocks sweatshirt and jeans. If I had to put money on it, I’d say he had been sitting in his recliner watching SportsCenter.

“I called him before we flew out this morning,” Tatum said, squeezing my hand.

I craned over the center console and kissed him. “You called my dad?”

Tatum smiled against my lips. “Well, I’m kind of in love with his daughter. I’m not that old-fashioned, but I figured I should make a good impression and go to him.”

I waited patiently in the passenger’s seat while Tatum rounded the hood and opened my door. I slid my palm into his and stepped onto the running board. We made our way down the driveway, careful on the icy patch under our feet.

The last thing I needed was to slip and bust my face on the asphalt.

Tatum kept my hand in his and used his other to brace my elbow. The sidewalk had been salted, but the driveway was slick as an ice rink. “Careful with your knee, okay?” he said gently. There was a comfort in the reminder. Not that I needed one to remember that my knee was still busted. The freezing weather and half of a football season behind me did that just fine.

But there was comfort in the fact that he was aware of how I was feeling even though I had mostly stopped wearing the brace.

When we made it to the walkway, Tatum laced our fingers together and gave my father a curt nod. “Mr.Porter,” he said, extending his hand. “Good to meet you in person.”

My dad craned his neck and looked Tatum up and down. “Good to meet you.” They shook hands, then he turned to me and opened his arms. “Wren Elizabeth, I believe you have some things to ’fess up to, sweetheart.”

The smell of pipe tobacco and smoke from the woodstove filled my dad’s house. I had paid a crew to install central heating and air years ago, but my dad still liked to have a fire roaring in the colder months. It kept him busy—splitting and stacking wood, rotating the green pieces with the aged ones, and gathering kindling.

Wood-paneled walls were accented with olive shag carpet. I had begged my dad to let me renovate his house, but he refused every time I brought it up. He claimed that eventually, the ’70s would have their time to shine, and he’d be trendy again.

I hoped that day never came.

Dad settled in his corduroy armchair. ESPN was muted on the television, and a bowl of clam chowder sat half-eaten on the TV tray. Tatum and I sank into the couch. Without hesitation, he draped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into his side.

It was the first time we’d been a couple outside of the four people—Sam, Jewel, Gideon, and Heidi—who knew about “us.”

“Well, sweetheart,” Dad said, looking between us. “You gonna introduce me to your boyfriend, or are we just gonna stare at each other?”

That was my dad. Straight to the point. I laid my hand on Tatum’s thigh. “This is Tatum Bryant. He is, uh…” I wasn’t sure how to refer to him.

Dad rolled his eyes. “I’m old, not stupid. I know who the man is. I haven’t missed a game all season. Followed him in Seattle, too.” He gave Tatum an approving nod. “You’re a fine player. Excellent.”

“I was hired to do some work on his condo. We met before the season started, and then—”

“I had just been traded to the Reds.” Tatum looked down at me with tenderness. “It was the day before my contract was announced.”

Dad’s mustache was turned down at the corners, framing a deep frown. “And you… You convinced my little girl to sneak around with everyone and lie?”

Oh no. No, no, no. I held Tatum’s hand protectively. “Dad, I—” His frown fell away as he snickered. I looked up at Tatum. He was smirking, too.

“Oh, don’t be so up in arms, Wrennie,” Dad said with a deep chuckle. “Tatum and I had a nice conversation when he called.”

I smacked my conniving boyfriend in the stomach. It wasn’t lost on me that my dad had called him Tatum. Not T.J.

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