Page 174 of Ruthless Court

Me: You’d really come all the way out here for a thirteen-under game?

Dad: I’d come to see my daughter coach.

I press the heel of my hand beneath my glasses.

Me: They aren’t exactly state-title material yet.

Dad: Neither was my first team.

Me: Eli is six feet tall and still scared of rebounds.

Dad: Then teach him not to be.

Me: Tyler thinks passing violates his constitutional rights.

Dad: Every team has one.

A laugh breaks through my tears.

Dad: Send me the schedule.

Me: I will.

Dad: Proud of you, kid.

The words blur on the screen.

Me: Thanks, Dad.

Dad: Call tomorrow?

I look toward the rain-darkened window.

Me: Yeah. I’d like that.

Dad: Love you.

The words feel like the final few feet of a bridge neither of us knew how to finish.

Me: Love you too.

I set the phone beside me.

For several minutes, I stay stretched across the bed while the radiator knocks and the faucet drips in the corner.

Then another message appears.

Not Dad this time.

Kane: Your seat is still empty, Bookworm.

I glance at the clock.

If I change now, I can make tipoff.

I sit up.

My clean sheets wrinkle beneath me.