Page 130 of Fighting Fate
The anger resurfaces in his voice.
I straighten up, steeling myself, refusing to let my feelings show. If he wants to confront this issue, to make it a spectacle in front of everyone, then I'm ready.
What did I expect? I hoped for understanding, but that seemed too much to ask for.
"Listen, I've got to straighten something out," Dad begins, his hands weaving through the air between us. "This journey, it's always been a partnership. From your very first breath, through every trip to the hospital, I've been there, steering you, convinced I was doing what's best." He takes a moment, his gaze drifting toward the glass doors before snapping back to mine. "The NFL isn't what's bothering me, Miles."
It's not? That takes me by surprise.
With a rueful laugh, he continues, "If you're thinking the NFL is what's got me riled up, then you really don't understand me."
"What's the problem, then? Why are you so worked up?" I push for an answer.
He shakes his head, glancing toward Mom, who's biting her lip, clearly holding back.
My frustration bubbles over. "Can someone just spell out what's happening here?"
Finally, Dad opens up. "I'm upset because you've spent your life making me think this was your dream, Miles. I supported you in football because I believed it was what you wanted."
I shake my head firmly. "No, Dad. You pushed me toward the NFL because you had to give it up."
Dad throws up his hands. "Yes, I did—because of you, Miles."
That revelation hits like a sucker punch. I'm reeling, struggling to process his words, feeling a mix of shock and betrayal.
What do I even say to that? Thanks for being honest, finally?
He sighs, regret in his eyes. "I shouldn't have said that."
"Maybe it's time for dessert," Mrs. Sutton interjects, perhaps to lighten the mood.
"Yeah, great idea," Luke and his dad agree, quickly leaving to get dessert. But I'm not sure I'll stick around for it.
Dad starts pacing, and my tension rises, my hands clenched tight.
Mom stays seated, watching us. She gives me a knowing nod, as if acknowledging that this conversation between me and Dad is overdue.
I wonder, though, can we really just move past this? Have I shattered his NFL dreams for me?
Dad stops pacing and comes over, placing his hands on my shoulders. Then, unexpectedly, he pulls me into a hug.
Okay, what is happening?
It's a genuine embrace, not a celebratory hug or one borne out of spite. Just a father hugging his son. I can't help but return it, feeling a rare comfort in his arms.
When he steps back, his hands cup my face, and our eyes meet. "Miles, listen carefully, alright?"
I close my eyes, and, despite my best efforts, a tear escapes.
So much for keeping it all together.
He brushes the tear away with his hand and says jokingly, "You had a little something there." I smile—his attempt to lighten the mood is exactly what I need right now. But the smile quickly fades as the gravity of the moment sets back in.
"Miles, you've only got this one life, and it's yours to live," he says earnestly. "You know better than anyone how quickly things can change. Your cancer battle scared the hell out of me. The thought of it coming back? Even worse. But here's what I need you to understand: football was a big part of my life, sure, but you and your mom, you're my life. You always have been. I loved that football was something we shared, a way to escape the tough times and something that brought you joy."
He lowers his hand but keeps the other gently on my cheek, his touch now moving to his chest and then mine. "This life we have, it's about being father and son, about supporting and loving each other, no matter what. The NFL doesn't matter to me right now, Miles. You do." He continues, "I'm here to support your dream of becoming a doctor. I want to help with your treatment, be there for you through it all."
I chuckle. "That's a bit over the top, Dad." We all laugh, including Mom, who's been quietly watching.