Page 24 of The Way We Touch
My voice fades out, and I feel like an asshole. I’m sure the last thing he wants to be reminded of is the game.
“Thanks.” Is all he says, and he grips the railing, using it to help him climb the stairs. “Have a good night.”
Garrett returns slowly in my direction, his eyes on the floor, but Dylan stands at the foot of the stairs, her lips tight as she watches her brother go. Eventually her chin lowers, and her eyes meet mine as she walks to the kitchen.
“How’s he really doing?” Garrett’s voice is quiet when she enters the room.
“I don’t know. Jack takes him to PT, and he’s got pain meds. He’s supposed to be talking to a therapist, but he stopped going after two weeks. Said reliving it over and over wasn’t helping him any.”
Garrett glances at me. “I’m going to head up, bring him a beer. Sometimes people will talk more at night when it’s quiet.”
I nod, understanding completely. “What time do we need to be ready in the morning?”
“You know the drill. Summer camp starts early.” He smiles like the thought of picking a high school team takes all the pain away.
“Bang on the door, and I’ll be ready.”
He grabs a beer and leaves us. I turn around to see Dylan collecting his plate and pint glass off the counter. Worry lines her face, and as much as I can’t imagine losing everything in an instant, I also can’t imagine being one of the people trying to support him.
“I can help with that.” I hustle around to where she’s standing, and she smiles in a way that doesn’t quite meet her eyes.
Carrying my stuff as well, I try to break the tension. “I’ll probably be awake all night. My days and nights are all mixed up.”
“I can’t believe Garrett talked you into making that drive.”
“And my dad has a jet service.”
“He does?” She switches on the water, taking the plates from my hands. “How does that work?”
“It’s like a timeshare. You put in a request, and they find you a plane with a pilot. Saves having to own a jet.”
“That’s really smart.” She hands me a clean dish, and I dry it with the towel.
“That’s my dad.”
“Are you two close?”
“No.” I exhale a bitter laugh, taking another plate from her hands. “He’s sort of an asshole. Or maybe he just never wanted kids. I like to think I was my mom’s idea, then when she died, he didn’t know what to do with me.”
“I’m sorry.” She hands me another dish, giving me a worried glance.
“Don’t be. I survived my childhood, and now I guess he finds me interesting.”
“Because you play?”
“Yeah, and he’s betting once I retire, I’ll bring all my fans to his channels.”
“Is he in entertainment?” She turns off the water as I dry the last dish.
“He owns MurKo Communications. It’s a big sports radio network.”
“Ah.” Her chin lifts. “You’ll be a commentator, then.”
“Not if I can help it.” I put the last dish on the stack beside me on the counter.
“That’s funny.” She picks up the stack of dishes and carries them across the small space. “Most guys I know would love to talk about sports all the time as their job.”
“Sure, I’d like that part. I just don’t want to work for my dad, and I don’t want to move back to Houston.”