Page 1 of Hometown Halftime

Prologue

Riley

Life doesn’t always go as planned.

I stand holding a box in the living room of the duplex that I’m renting now that I’m back in Cedar Falls. My high school football coach, Knox Dalton, handed me the keys this morning with a clap on the shoulder, telling me, Rent’s cheap, Weston. Don’t argue. I tried to protest, because he and his wife, Brynn, are in the process of adopting a baby and I’m pretty sure that process isn’t cheap, but he stopped me before I could say a word. He might appear grumpy to the rest of the world, but the people close to him know he’s really a guy with a big heart.

I drop the box in the living room and look around the space. I'm twenty-two years old today. I should be celebrating with my teammates back at school. I should be stepping out onto the field as the starting quarterback for the Cartwright University Tigers. This was supposed to be the season that takes us to the US College Football Championship.

Instead, I’m standing in a barely furnished duplex in the same town I once promised myself I’d outgrow.

The space is too quiet, so I turn on the Roanoke Pride football game. School had noise. Living in the football house, there was rarely a moment of silence unless we were all passed out after a party.

The Professional Football League recruiters told me my future was bright. I had hoped to meet with the Roanoke Pride leadership in the coming months to see if I would be a good fit. Playing for Roanoke was always my dream, especially now that they need a strong quarterback after being on an embarrassingly horrible losing streak for the past couple of years. I could move on to a bigger city with wide open possibilities, and people who didn’t know my entire life story.

I'd already started building that future. The plan had always been to declare for the draft, finish my senior year, and trust that all the years I'd spent working toward this moment would be enough. Then, two games into my season, dad left, and suddenly football wasn't the biggest thing happening in my life anymore.

A couple weeks ago, my dad packed a bag, walked out on my mom, and took every one of those plans with him. Sure, it would’ve been easier for my older sister, Poppy, to be the one to come back to help, but she just got engaged and started her first job out of college.

So, I talked to my coaches, and we arranged for me to do a remote semester, continue my workouts here and we would pray the teams of the Professional Football League would understand.

My phone buzzes on the kitchen counter. And as if my thoughts summoned him, my dad’s name illuminates my screen.

I scrub a hand over my face. I should ignore it and throw the phone across the room. Instead, I take a deep breath and accept the call. Guess I still haven’t learned to just let it go to voicemail.

“Happy birthday, son.”

He hasn’t called me ‘son’ since I was fourteen, and now the use of the term feels performative.

“Thanks,” I say. “Didn’t expect to hear from you today.”

He clears his throat. “Figured I owed you a call.”

“Owed me?” I scoff, walking to the window. Outside, I can see Cedar Falls High in the distance. The sun is dropping behind the football field, and the bleachers are glowing in the golden light.

I try to control my frustration as I say, “Mom spent last night crying so hard she couldn’t breathe. You could start by calling her.”

Silence stretches on the line. All I get is silence from him when I mention her.

My jaw tightens. “You left her. You left all of us. And now you want to call me to say happy birthday like everything’s completely normal?”

“Riley—”

“No.” My voice cracks in the empty room. “I won’t let you think this will all just blow over.”

He exhales, and the sound carries too much distance, too much cowardice. “I thought you’d be more understanding. You’re an adult now.”

“Being an adult doesn’t mean accepting bullshit.” The anger in my voice rises quickly as I cross back to the kitchen. “You completely upended our lives, and you want a free pass?”

He says something else, but I’m already done. My thumb hits the red button, disconnecting the call, and I set the phone down and brace myself on the counter.

Dad always talked about responsibility when I was younger. ‘Follow through on your commitments.’ ‘Always try to do the right thing.’ But when it came time to actually live out any of that advice himself, he bolted.

And now Mom’s working double shifts, and I’m back in Cedar Falls, standing in a rental wondering how the hell I’m supposed to keep my life on track when the person who taught me how to throw a football can’t even explain why he left.

A knock on the front door jolts me out of my thoughts.

I open it and Darren barrels in first, all six-foot-three of him, smelling like motor oil from Carson’s garage, where he’s worked since we graduated.