“Couldn’t wait?” she says, turning for the kitchen.
“My sister was in town…big fan of Sam Hill burgers too, so we ate there.” I gesture to the bags she’s put on the table. “Got a couple to go.”
She goes back to cleaning up the mess. “I thought you were going to branch out. Something new every week.”
“Yeah, well…that doesn’t mean I’m giving up my staples.” I negotiate through the strands of spaghetti to the roll of paper towels I see on the counter and tear off a few, then stoop down next to her. “You’re sure everything’s okay?” I ask under my breath.
She gives me a small nod. “He’s going to rehab,” she whispers.
I feel my eyes widen. “Seriously?”
She nods again and I can’t stop the smile.
Once we’ve finished mopping up the mess, she unloads the burgers and fries from the bags. She cuts one in half and splits the fries three ways, then puts half a burger onto one of the plates and hands it to me.
I hold my hands up. “I told you I ate already.”
She smiles. “And last time you ate yours and half of mine. So here.”
I take the plate and wait for her to set hers and Bruce’s down at the table before choosing the seat next to hers, across from Bruce.
“Come on, Dad. Dinner’s on.” She looks at me. “What do you want to drink? There’s Diet Coke, milk, or orange juice in the fridge. Or ice water.”
“Water’s good,” I say as Bruce comes in and takes his seat.
Addie pours three glasses of ice water and I try to ignore Bruce’s scrutiny as we wait at the table for her. Finally, she sets our glasses down and sits.
I scoop up my half burger and take a bite. But just when I think we’re getting past the awkwardness, Bruce says, “How old are you?”
I take a deep breath and debate how to answer that. I can just tell him, or I can tell him it’s none of his business, because I’m Addie’s coach and no more. But that feels like a lie. And I can’t make myself say it in front of Addie anyway. I don’t want her to think that’s how I feel about her. “Twenty-three.”
His eyes are perfectly clear as they bore into mine. “You realize my daughter is only seventeen.”
It’s not a question, but I nod in response.
“So, what, exactly, is this?” he asks with a wave of his hand at the table.
“I know you and Addie are going through a rough patch…with her injury and all. I just wanted to help out if I could.”
“We don’t need charity.” His eyes narrow and flick between Addie and me. “But I get the feeling there’s more to this.”
“Dad,” Addie warns, but I can see she’s trying to tread lightly. Bruce is going into rehab and now’s not the time to upset him.
I shouldn’t have come here. This was a huge mistake. When will I learn to trust my gut?
I set my burger down. “I really just wanted to help, and I’m sorry if you think it’s more than that.” I stand and look at Addie. “I should go.”
I can see the struggle behind her eyes. She wants to fight with me, but even more, she wants to keep Bruce even keel. After several seconds, she pushes up from her chair and starts toward the door. I follow.
“Thanks,” she says, pulling it open.
I step through and look back at my plate on the table. “Don’t think I have too many cooties, so if you want to finish that…”
She smiles at my lameness. “I’m a big fan of cooties.”
I lift my gaze over her head and find Bruce watching us from the table, which is the only thing that keeps me from reaching out and touching her.
“I’ll see you tomorrow at practice,” I say, backing up the walk.
“Bye, Marcus,” she says, swinging the door closed.
There’s a long minute when I reach my truck and climb in that I just sit here, my heart thudding in my chest as if I just finished swimming a sprint. The thought of driving away feels like leaving much-needed oxygen behind. Finally, I force myself to start the truck and drive home.
Chapter 12
Addie
I look around Dad’s room at rehab after his admissions counselor leaves and decide it’s more like a hotel and less like a hospital. He’s got a small private room with an attached bathroom. It’s all hardwood floors and neutral colors.
“You’re going to be okay here?” I ask him.
He’s in bad shape. The last three days since he tossed his booze have been torture. But he hasn’t relapsed, so I believe he’s serious about this.
He lifts his shaking hand and touches the bruises on my face. “It’s going to be good, baby. We’re going to get through this.”
I know he’s talking about more than his rehab and I nod. For the first time, I truly believe it might be possible.
“Once I get myself straightened out, we can get you back to therapy. I know it was helping you.”