"I can understand that. Go on, because I feel like you have something important to say."
Troy is bigger, but he's just as patient as he was years ago, that certain sense of self-composure that is part of his raw magnetism. Maybe on the football field, he lets his fury and anger go, but right now, sitting next to me is a gentle, kind man, matured from the slightly cocky man-boy he was before. "Troy . . . I brought Laurie back to America to meet her father. I brought her back to meet you."
Troy blinks, stunned. "Okay, Marshawn must have hit me in the head too hard yesterday, because I swear you . . .”
"Yes, Troy. You're Laurie's father."
Chapter 16
Troy
I've had one concussion in my football career, a blindside shot during my freshman year at Clement when a guy blindsided me on a kickoff. I'd gone flying through the air, landing in a crunch on the turf, my helmet smacking the ground hard, and everything went fuzzy. I didn't lose consciousness, but for the next few minutes, everything was sort of hazy, like people were moving in herky-jerky slow motion, and when they talked, I could see the lips moving, and words were hitting my ears, but nothing was quite making sense.
That's how I feel now, sitting next to Whitney as she tells me that I'm Laurie's father. I see her stop, her mouth closing, and I see what is in her eyes. It's fear, fear that I'll reject her and reject her daughter. But, how could I?
Instead of answering verbally, I stand up and take Whitney by the hand, pulling her to her feet to wrap her in a hug. Five years of pain and doubt drop away from me in an instant as her body presses against mine, and I'm crying again, this time not tears of hurt or sadness, but tears of joy.
"She's my daughter?" I whisper through my tears, and now Whitney's crying too, holding me close and nodding, her own tears blurring her words, or maybe it's my shirt, I'm not sure.
"She is. Didn't you see the resemblance?"
I set Whitney down, shocked as it all falls into place. The hair color, the eyes . . . "I saw your face when I realized who her mother was," I said in wonder, still holding Whitney's hand. "When she came to me at the stadium, I said to myself that she looked like a combination of people I know, like a merging of two other people . . . then when you came up, I realized what I saw in part of her face, but I never . . . oh, Whitney! Thank you.”
I grab her again in a big hug and spin her around in the living room, both of us now laughing. "Why thank you?" she asks. "I should be the one thanking you. You're the one who gave Laurie to me."
I stop, my mind whirling. That happened after my concussion too. "Whitney . . . so many questions, so much to say . . . wait, first things first. Let me be a part of Laurie's life? I mean, right off the bat, I'll take care of you both, don't worry about that. I'll go to the Hawks tomorrow if you want, and they can take a cut of every paycheck and send it wherever you want, but please, I want more. I want to get to know Laurie. I want to be part of her life, not just a child support payment."
"She's a handful," Whitney says cautiously. “I’m happy to accept the money, not for me but for her. But if you want to be a father, a real father to her, you have a lot on your hands. You're going to have to spend time with her."
"I can do that. Whitney, I play pro football. Most of the guys, except on tape days, we don't even get to work until noon. Hell, I'll walk her to school every day, and spend every Monday that we're not on MNF with her. I like living here in Silver Lake Falls. Most of the people give me peace, and I can still drive to the stadium for practice. I mean, Sundays suck, and travel days, but there's the offseason, and . . .”
Whitney stops me with a finger on my lips, and I see she's smiling. "Don't let your enthusiasm run away with things. I'm telling you she's a handful because she needs more than a playmate—she needs a father. Can you be that?"
I calm, and nod, but there is a red thread of anger in my mind, and I promise myself that I'm not going to give in to that anger. “I’ll be the best father I can be. I'm going to need your help, though. I missed so much already. My God, why didn't you tell me?"
I sit back down on the couch while Whitney remains standing, hugging herself, trying to find the answer that she can put words to. "Troy . . . it was hard. I mean, after that night in the woods, about two weeks later, I started feeling all emotional and loopy. You were there though, so I figured I was just head over heels for you. I started getting sick, and doubts started twisting in my mind. I mean, we'd been careful, right?"
"We were," I agree. "I remember it well. You put the condom on me yourself."
Whitney nods. "I mean, in the past five years, I've thought about it a lot, and you know the conclusion I came to? At this point, it doesn’t really matter. What happened, happened.”