Wood paneling stopped halfway up walls that were painted fire-engine red, one of the USK colors. Sports memorabilia piled everywhere. On his desk sat a glass case that held a football from some game I didn’t remember and signed by some NFL guy I didn’t know. Collages of team photos hung proudly on the walls, a chronology of the schools my dad had coached, and the guys who had become part of our lives. Many of those players, now long graduated, still called my dad. Last year a few even stopped by for Christmas.
“Storm wake you up?” Dad sat in my favorite part of the office, a seating area that included an old, beige, mushy couch and matching chair with a flat screen large enough to serve a drive-in.
“The thunder was pretty loud.” I eased into the room. “What are you doing?”
He waved the remote toward the TV. “Watching some scouting footage I had.”
The uniforms on the screen looked familiar, and I realized it was from my high school. Dad rewound a play and zoomed in. “Your friend Ridley Estes plays a mean game of football. I’ve had my eye on him since he was in the tenth grade. I came to a game to see you march, and when I saw that kid run with the ball, I knew I was looking at college potential.”
“I wish things could be different.” I sat on the arm of the couch.
Dad fast-forwarded a few seconds, and the team went into motion again. “Ridley’s rap sheet . . . want to tell me the real story behind that arrest?”
“I can’t.”
Dad reached for a mug of coffee beside him. “When I went back to his house to lock up last night, his mom was there.”
“Are you sure it was her?”
“Skinny blonde with a purple shiner?”
“Yep.”
“She seemed pretty out of it. I told her about her daughter. She said she knew. I offered to take her to the hospital and see Emmie, but—”
“She was too gone?” It felt disloyal to talk about the woman, though I didn’t know why. “She’s not always like that.”
“Did Ridley put those bruises on her face?”
“You saw him with his sister. What do you think?”
Dad took a sip of coffee. “I think he’d as soon sever his own hamstring.”
“He’d never hit his mom.”
“What about beating up grown men?”
I put my feather duster on the coffee table, but said nothing.
“I’m going to assume this particular grown man deserved it,” Dad said. “Does that sound about right?” He gave me a moment to answer, and when I didn’t, he continued to piece together the world’s easiest puzzle. “But I have to wonder why Ridley wouldn’t defend himself. He seems smarter than that.”
I picked up a red throw pillow and hugged it to me. “There are some mean people in this world.”
Dad swallowed a drink of coffee as the game footage played on mute. “I’m gonna take another wild guess and assume the man Ridley punched is good friends with Ridley’s mother.”
“I believe they know one another.”
“What kind of mother lets her son take up for her, then says nothing when he’s arrested?”
I’d read the police report online. “She backed up Dwayne’s story.”
“What Ridley needs is a way to clear his name. Get back on the field so coaches can see him play. He’s got to tell his side.”
“He’s not going to do that.”
Dad lifted the remote and paused the game. “Does the name Terrence Simpson mean anything to you?”
My laugh was small and tired. “You know I always fail your sports trivia.”
“He’s the wide receiver for the New Falls Mustangs. New Falls, Oklahoma.”
“Is that the guy Chevy Moncrief took instead of Ridley?”
“Indeed it is. He’s probably the best high school wide receiver in the country. I watched him play, spent some time with him, but it felt off. So I didn’t offer for him.” Dad watched the TV, Ridley frozen on-screen as he intercepted a pass. “Got busted for possession with intent to sell last night.”
A door in my heart cracked open an inch, and hope walked in. “Are you saying he’s no longer eligible to be a USK Eagle?”
“What I’m saying is, I know the coaching staff is on the hunt once again. And your boy needs to decide what he’s going to do about it.”
My boy. I stood up, my slippers shushing across the wood floor. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Anything for you.”
“You were great last night.” It had been my old dad, the guy who fixed everything. Who was a rock I could depend on.
“You know”—his hand linked to mine—“I keep thinking about the way Estes couldn’t take his eyes off his sister. He looked at her . . . like a father.”
“That’s pretty much what he is.”
“A father would do anything to see his kids safe, happy. To keep them near.”
“You didn’t think that when you were with Josie last week.”
He pulled his attention from the TV. “I was at her house.” Dad stood up, walked to the window where the November rain had decreased to a mere sprinkle. “That day she’d been released from the hospital, and not one person in her life would pick her up. She was completely alone, had lost her job, and I’d been the cause of that.”
I had zero sympathy for the story so far.
“Her fiancé kicked her out,” he said. “Her parents wouldn’t return her calls. So I picked her up, got her settled. Then I told her it was over.” Dad turned and looked right at me, bold and unflinching. “The second time I was with her, it was to say that her legal team coming after me wasn’t going to persuade me to keep seeing her. What those photos didn’t show was my own attorney, conveniently cropped out. As your mom knows, Josie had made several threats to blackmail us, something I couldn’t talk about. I told her I was ready for anything she wanted to disclose, and I haven’t had communication with her since. Cheating on this family was the worst mistake I’ve ever made. I’m not going to get into the why of it all, but being unfaithful is not who I am. I stepped away from church, I practically lived at work, and I lost sight of what truly mattered. But Josie Blevins and I are over.”
“How can I believe you?”
He gave a tired shrug. “I guess you can’t know for sure.”
“You’re a risk, Dad.”
“I was from the day you came into our lives. This family never promised to be perfect, but we swore before a judge to always be there with you. Harper, I can’t promise you our family’s going to ever be like it was. Your mom may decide next week she can’t continue to live in the same house as me. Next year Michael goes to college. I’ll have a new job, a new state. Soon you’ll graduate. But no matter what, we’re still your family. I’m your dad. And Cristy O’Malley will always be your mom.”
The tears were immediate and swift, as my heart recognized something my head had denied. “Just tell me this isn’t the end of the O’Malleys. Tell me I’ll always be one of you.”
“Dear God.” Dad crushed me to him. “Is that what you think? That we’d ever let you go?”
“I don’t know.” My voice shuddered. “No.” The word packed little conviction. “Sometimes I’m so aware of how fragile my connection is to you guys. When Cole or Michael wonder why they have brown hair or why they’re so good at sports, all they have to do is look at you and Mom. I’m nothing like you guys. I’ll never be your blood relative.”
Dad stepped back, his hands bracketing my arms. “Our family wasn’t complete until the day we met you. I knew the first time I saw you that you were our missing piece. We’d been waiting for you and hadn’t even known it. You have your mom’s intelligence, my sense of humor. You have your mom’s fierce protective nature, and my questionable taste in music. You make us laugh, you challenge us. Harper, just think about Ridley’s face last night and imagine that heartache a hundred times worse. That’s what your mom and I felt the day we had to give you back. We were broken. You mother and I just sat in a huddle and cried and prayed and cried some m
ore. We knew our family would be broken until you were back in our home where you belonged.”
“Becky Dallas couldn’t love me.” My nose dripped as the tears flowed unchecked. “She threw me away.”
“That’s not what I did.”
“You did. You did, Dad.”
“I’m asking you to stop expecting the people who are supposed to love you to discard you. No matter how much I screw up, I will always be the father who wished he could’ve walked through that burning apartment to get to you. You’ll always be mine. Do you hear me, Harper? You can stop talking to me, you can avoid me. But I’ll never give up on you.”
I nodded my head, letting the words settle over me. I simply couldn’t speak.
He ran his hand over my hair. “Why’d you call me last night?”
Seconds passed before I found enough air to voice my hesitant truth. “Because I knew you’d take care of it. I knew you’d come through.”
* * *
I didn’t know what made me wearier: my inhumane lack of sleep or the tug-of-war in my head.
After attending a church service in which I only nodded off twice, I spent the rest of the afternoon at the dog rescue. Trudy was a tail-wagging bundle of energy now, and soon, she would be ready to go to her own home. And that home would be mine.
I had a seven o’clock tutoring appointment with Ridley. It was probably safe to assume my own lessons were complete, but Ridley still had another month of English comp.
When I pulled into his driveway, his car wasn’t there. But a brown Ford sedan was.
I knocked on the door, and a new face answered it. “Yes?” The man wore a button-down white shirt and khaki pants, similar to Ridley’s restaurant uniform. “Can I help you?”
“Is Ridley here?”
“Just left. Are you Harper?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Tim, his uncle.”
“The manager of Blue Mountain Lodge?”
His large cheeks bunched as he smiled. “That’s my place. Ridley said to tell you he’s at the football field.”
I tried to catch a peek over his shoulder. “How’s Emmie?”
“Sleeping, but she’s doing great. I’m babysitting the girls. Giving our tough guy a break.”
“I’m glad she’s okay.”
“I heard how you came through for Ridley and Emmie last night.” He dug into the pocket of his khaki pants. “For you.” He pressed a card into my hand.
“Free onion rings.” I read the coupon and grinned. “Nice.”
“Nothing says thank-you like batter-fried vegetables, eh?”
Uncle Tim went back inside, and I stepped off the porch. Three steps away from my car, Ridley’s mother pulled in beside me. She eased out, wobbly in a pair of heels, but she didn’t have the crazy eyes of someone high on drugs.
“Wait!” she called.
I clutched my keys in my grip, the jagged metal edges biting my skin. I flung open my car door, desperate to get away before I said something I’d regret.
“Harper!”
There was no avoiding her. “Yes?”
“I wanted to . . . thank you for what you and your dad did. For helping my kids.”
I knew my face did not radiate grace and mercy. “Ma’am, you didn’t do the right thing last night by not being there for your daughter. And you can’t go back and fix it. But you do still have the chance to help your son.” I swung into my seat and revved the motor to life. “Clear Ridley’s name.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The Washington High football stadium had witnessed generations of heartache and victories. It was the best place in town to get a burger on Friday nights, and two bucks more got you caramel apples, served up fresh by the band booster club. On game nights, most of the town would pour into the stands, cheering on the players who fought to keep their traditions alive. The place was empty now, save for one solitary boy.
Ridley stood on the twenty-yard line, a football in one arm, staring into the near-dark sky. The lights perched on tall poles, shining down on this tortured guy who just wanted to play, yet had so much more at stake.
“If you’d like, I could stand on the sidelines and be your cheerleader.”
He turned at my voice, with eyes that held too much. “You in a short skirt.” His smile didn’t quite lift his lips. “That I’d like to see.”
“I do quite the toe touch.” My damp shoes carried me to him, and I zipped my jacket against the evening chill. “How are you?”
He palmed that football, studying the lines and ridges. “I’ve kept it together a long time, you know?”
The lackluster grades, the hungover appearance. Not years of partying, but millions of moments of being a dad to two girls. “You’ve done a great job.”
He looked past me and toward the goal line. “I come here sometimes when I get off work, late at night. It’s like . . . church. Just me and the field. I know all the rules here. I have control of my part in the game. I know who I am, who my opponent is.”
“My dad says you’re one of the best.”
“I practiced my butt off from the time I was just a little kid. Faith’s dad stuck around for a while, and he got me started. He’d make me run drills, throw the ball. Playing football’s all I ever wanted to do. And I knew it was my meal ticket, you know? I knew it was my ride to college.”
“It still can be.”
He wore the face of a guy digging a shovel into the cold earth, burying his dream. “I think it’s time to admit it’s truly over.”
But I had a little something up my long sleeve. “Terrance Simpson won’t be signing with the USK Eagles.”
Ridley stilled. “What do you mean?”
“He got picked up for drugs last night. My dad told me.”
“The dad you’re not talking to?”
“Dad also said that he was never wrong about selecting you for the team. He said you have to get back on the field and finish this season.”
“Don’t you think I would if I could?”
“You know what it takes. Tell the police the truth about that night you hit Dwayne.”
“I’m not throwing my mom under the bus.”
“Why not? She’s tied you under a semi.”
“Harper, if I do that, it’s another red flag to child services about my home, my mom. I can’t risk that. I know it’s not fair, but you haven’t lived with the O’Malleys so long that you’ve forgotten that sometimes you’re just dealt a hand. My sisters are my priority.”
“You have choices here. At least consider them.”
He slowly walked to the thirty. “I’m going to miss this field. My team. I wanted to be more than some forty-year-old man whose greatest accomplishment was a state champ ring in high school.”
“And you will.”
“I’ve held onto that hope for so long, knowing guys like me, from homes like mine—the odds were never in my favor.” He tossed the ball into the air, and it spiraled as it came back down, slapping into his waiting hands. “It’s not just a sport. It’s . . . its’ a high.” Ridley gave me a crooked grin. “It’s my Beethoven, my being part of that symphony.”
Rule one of conversation is to ask the person about themselves. “Tell me what you like about it.”
“All of it.” His voice was filled with passion, wonder. “When you’ve hustled until your lungs are on fire, and you walk back to the huddle. There’s just something about standing shoulder to shoulder with your teammates huffing and wincing right with you, seeing that matching determination in everyone’s face. It resets the exhaustion, pushes you on. And you dig down deep and pull out the reserves you didn’t know you had for that next play. Or when that next play is the breakout, the play that scores and turns everything around. And it wasn’t just you, it was the team, together.”
“They’ve been your family.”
“Yes,” he whispered. “They took me just as I was. And I was someone out here.”
“Ridley Estes, you’re someone everywhere you go.
”
“I feel alive out here. I forget all the crap going on at home. Where the money for the electric bill’s gonna come from, who’s picking Emmie up from day care. It’s just me and the game. It’s running with the ball like demons are right behind me. Or when I’m on defense and lower my head at full speed and launch my body into another guy as hard as I can. Then you just stand over him, waiting for that next play so you can do it all again.”
“Sounds exactly like marching band.”
His wry smile gave way to the dimples, and I grinned in return. The trees shook as the wind swooped around us, and I shivered when the breeze passed through my thin jacket.
Ridley took off his scarf and looped it around my neck, his hands resting on my shoulders, bringing me closer. “Nobody’s believed in me for a very long time,” he said. “But you did.”
His eyes almost looked black in the dimming light, and they held me pinned to the spot, unable to look away.
My lips tingled as his gaze dropped to my mouth. “I didn’t intend to.”
“Sometimes,” Ridley said, his husky rasp straight out of a teenage girl’s fantasy, “just every once in a while . . . I let myself think about having it all. College, football, a life.”
“It can still be yours.”
He reached out, slid his finger over the arc of my ear. “And sometimes I think about you.”
Had I closed that distance or had he? My chest now pressed against his sweater, so close I could feel his valiant heart beating. “And what do you think about?”
“Doing something like this.” Ridley’s head descended, and his lips, soft and warm, covered mine. My heart humming with wonder, I knew my movements were artless, unpracticed. But Ridley just held my face in his hands, his mouth a caress, an endearment.
Cherished
Wanted
That’s how I felt as I slipped my hands up his sweater and around his neck. I’d never been this close to a boy before, never dreamed I’d want to. When I was in Ridley’s arms, the old fears slipped away, the past forgotten. All I knew was here and now. His gentleness, his heart beating against mine. His kisses comforted and consumed. Teased and soothed. Voices of caution called out from the recesses of my mind, but I muted all that out. I didn’t want to think about logic and reason now.
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