Page 103 of Offside Rules

I’m standing in front of Sprinkles parked against the curb with the hood up, my phone on speaker beside the small toolbox Dad gave me for my seventeenth birthday.

"Every man needs his own set of tools to get through life, son."

Some have gone missing over the years. Others I’ve added myself. The box is still the same, though, and he was right.

"Did you clean the terminals before you put the cables back on?" my father asks.

"Yeah, Pops. You taught me how to do that when I was eight. I haven’t forgotten."

He’s already asked me three questions I could’ve answered before I was old enough to drive.

"Then you won’t mind me checking."

"The battery tested fine too." I set the brush down. "I’m trying to fix my girlfriend’s truck, not make more work for myself."

There’s a pause.

"Your girlfriend."

I close my eyes. I didn’t mean to call her that to my dad. He’s been asking when I’m going to bring someone home for years.

"Yes, I’m seeing someone."

"The baker?"

"That’s the one," I say, hoping he won’t ask for more details.

"About time you found someone willing to put up with you. The Ziegler men don’t get easier with age. Lock her down while you still have a chance."

For a second, I picture Baylor putting up with me when I’m old. Unless her entire family develops permanent amnesia, that’s probably not in the cards.

"It’s not a long-term thing." I wipe my hand on the rag beside my phone. "She’s opening a cupcake shop, and I’m headed back to Boston after the season."

"People who own shops can have boyfriends. And last I checked, cupcake bakers are allowed into Boston."

"Long distance is tough."

"You’ll only be apart for surgery and rehab. Then the Hawkeyes will sign you again. I know it. You’ll be back in Seattle before the paint dries on her new shop."

I look down at my bad arm. It’s easy for him to say. He isn’t the one trying to get through the season with this shoulder, wondering whether surgery will leave him with anything worth offering a team.

Then again, Pops is the toughest guy I know. He’d lose an arm and insist that he can play better defense without the extra weight.

My situation isn’t that dire. They aren't going to amputate my arm, but the point is that he isn’t the kind of man who considers defeat. He’s already decided I’ll be back in Seattle next season. I wish I could be that sure.

"You like her," he says. "This cupcake girl."

"Yeah." I look toward The Commons building "I like her a lot."

I leave out the part where she’s the best thing that’s happened to me in years. That she got me through an entire game without a penalty just by promising to stay the night. If I hadn’t nearly ended her brother’s career, I’d be asking whether I could take her parents to dinner when they come for the San Diego game.

Instead, they’re still telling her to stay away from me.

I think Baylor could be the one. That’s a hell of a thing to realize about a woman who’s only agreed to date me until her kitchen is finished.

But wishing I hadn’t taken that hit six years ago won’t change what happened to Beau. I can’t count on her family forgiving me, and I’d never ask her to choose. She loves them. Even when they drive her crazy, she shows up for them.

It’s one of the things I like most about her, right up until it means she can’t stay with me.