Second Chance: A Military Football Romance

I tried not to roll my eyes. He was acting like he was telling me some great, earth-shattering revelation.

“But if it’s something that you’re passionate about,” he continued, “you should pursue it. See my son over there?” He nodded his head and I turned to look. “That’s Parker. He’s around your age. He knows he wants to be successful and he knows he wants wealth, but he hasn’t found his passion yet. Some people go the majority of their lives before they actually find their passion.”

I wasn’t sure if this was supposed to be an inspirational talk or what, so I just smiled and nodded. What did I care what another of my parents’ rich friends thought? They all thought they knew best, they all thought that money was the sole marker of success. I thought about Graham, who wasn’t wealthy, but was doing pretty well, but more importantly, doing something that he really enjoyed, on his own terms.

“I know someone, actually,” I said, “who isn’t rich but he’s happy. And he knows what his passion is, and he gets to live it every single day.” I could’ve stopped right there, but I didn’t. “He’s a tattoo artist.”

The expression on the man’s face changed, but only for a second, and so quickly that I might’ve imagined it. Of course friends of my parents wouldn’t approve of a tattoo artist, but I didn’t care.

“Well, he sounds like one of the lucky ones, then,” the man said. “Where does he work?”

“It’s called On Point Tattoo, I think.” I realized that though I’d seen the sign plenty of times now, I wasn’t completely sure what it said. I could see the black lettering, the sans serif font, and I was pretty sure it was called On Point, but I wasn’t 100 percent positive. “His name’s Graham,” I said. “Graham ...” Shit. I didn’t even know his last name.

“Walker,” the man supplied. I couldn’t quite read the expression on his face, almost as if he were recalling a fond memory.

“Do you know him?” I asked.

“I know of him. I’ve never visited; no tattoos for me.”

We both laughed, and then he excused himself to go get a refill on his drink. “Good luck with your art,” he said, before he walked off.

*****

Later that night, from across the room, I saw the realtor’s son, Parker, talking with my father. They appeared deep in conversation, but I was too far away to make out what they were saying. It seemed serious, though, judging from the expressions on their faces, though right as I thought that, my dad said something and Parker’s face broke out into a grin.

I’d always wondered if my father wished he’d had a son. My mother was fond of telling me that the reason they didn’t have other children was because they wanted to be able to devote all of their parenting energy toward me. As a kid, that used to make me feel kind of special, but as a teenager, I’d always wished there had been a sibling to help alleviate some of their expectations.

“Your mom throws a way better party than my mother does,” Tara said, jarring me out of my thoughts. She was carrying two flutes of champagne, one which she handed to me. “Cheers.” We clinked glasses and I took a sip. It tasted like bitter, bubbly water. I made a face.

“Oh, come on!” Tara exclaimed. “This is the good stuff.” She downed her glass, her eyes going across the room. “Hey, your dad’s over there talking to Parker. Damn, he’s hot. Parker, not your dad. Well, your dad’s not that bad, either.”

“Ew!” I said, elbowing her. “Shut up.”

“I wonder what they’re talking about.”

“They’re probably talking about their bank accounts or something completely boring like that.”

“Parker is seriously hot. Do you think he has a girlfriend?”

“He probably has 20 girlfriends.”

“I’m going to go see if he’s interested in one more.” She winked at me and then sauntered off, and I just shook my head, wondering what on Earth it must be like to have that sort of confidence in yourself.

*****

My plan the day after the party was to spend a big chunk of time working on my sculpture, and then go surprise Graham at work. I was thinking I might swing by Sweet Treats and bring over some chocolates for him.

I finished my bowl of cereal and rinsed it out then put it in the drying rack. I was just about leave when my mother breezed in from the backyard. “Oh, there you are,” she said. “I thought I heard you rummaging around in here.”

“Hi, Mom. I’m about to leave; going to go work on my sculpture.”

“Oh, okay. Well, before you go, there is one thing I’d like to chat with you about. It won’t take too long.”

“What?”

“Riley’s mom mentioned that she saw you the other day,” Mom said. “She went out for lunch at ... what is that place called? Lorraine’s? It’s that rundown-looking place, on the right as you’re heading out of town. I didn’t know you went to places like that?”

I paused, my hand on the doorknob. “Places like what? A restaurant?”