Second Chance: A Military Football Romance

I got out of the car and waved as she drove off, then went inside and changed out of the dress, into a pair of shorts and a tank top. I thought about calling Tara, but decided to go work on my sculpture. I needed to be doing something, more than just talking or pacing around, waiting for Graham to get back. I could feel the thoughts in my head pinballing all over the place, and I knew the only way to get them in check was to focus on something that required all of my attention.

I did text Graham though, just to let him know that’s where I’d be in case he got back before I did.

Hope everything is okay, I typed. Went down to the art center but will be back later on. I paused, thumbs hovering over the screen. Love you, I typed, and then hit send before I could delete it.

*****

I stayed at the art center until it closed, at 9. I had made good progress and the sculpture would be ready for the first firing tomorrow. Graham hadn’t responded to my text, and when I got back to his place, he wasn’t there yet.

I tried to keep myself occupied; I didn’t want to text him again even though now, with nothing to really focus on, my thoughts were ramping up again, wondering what was happening, why he was taking so long, if everything was okay. I washed the dishes, wiped down the counters, took a shower, brushed my hair. I tried to watch TV, but there was nothing on, and since it was getting late, I decided to just go to bed.

I thought it’d be difficult to fall asleep, but the next thing I knew, I heard the door open. I looked over at the clock, not feeling as though I’d been woken up, but saw that several hours had passed.

“Graham?” I said.

I switched the bedside lamp on right as he came into the room. He looked exhausted, but he smiled when he saw me. “Hey,” he said. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“I was up,” I said. “At least I think I was.”

“I wasn’t expecting to be gone that long.” He came over and stretched out on the bed. “Ah, this feels good.” He let his eyes fall closed. “I’m sorry to just run off like that.”

“It’s okay; you don’t have to apologize.”

“I got your message, though. I was going to text you back, but then I just decided I’d rather wait and tell you in person.” He opened his eyes and looked at me. “I love you, too.”

Warmth spread across my chest hearing those words. I grinned and then leaned down and slowly kissed him. One of his hands went to the back of my head and held me close, the other to the small of my back. It would’ve been more than easy to just wrap myself around him and try to forget about everything that had happened earlier, but I could tell that he wanted to talk about it. So I pulled back from the kiss and nestled myself next to him.

“So, how did it go?” I asked.

“First, I think you need to know the reason I went down there to begin with. Craig is my father.”

“He is?”

“I’ve known for a while, but I never actually talked to him. I had just always assumed he didn’t want anything to do with me or my mother. And also, there was a part of me that didn’t know what to say. What are you supposed to say to someone in a situation like that? ‘Oh hey, you’re my dad? Why didn’t you ever want to be a part of my life?’ I guess there was a part of me that was afraid he’d deny it or tell me to fuck off or something. And the older I got, the less important it seemed. But after what happened at the yacht club, I realized I had to go down there. I needed to talk to him. Except he knew who I was. He knew I was his son.”

“Wait a sec,” I said. “So, you’re Parker’s brother? He’s your half-brother?”

“Yeah. Can you believe that? All this time we’ve been racing against each other and giving each other a hard time, and we’re actually family.”

“Wow.”

“I know. And so I ended up talking with Craig for a while when they were running tests on Parker. The conversation went nothing like I’d ever imagined it would, but it was good. It was good just to talk with him.”

“And how’s Parker?”

“He was diagnosed with glomerulonephritis.” I waited for him to elaborate. I had no idea what that was, but it didn’t sound good. “It’s a kidney disease, basically. And apparently he’s had it for quite some time now but didn’t say anything or go to the doctor’s.”

“Shit,” I said. “But he’s going to be okay, right? Now that they’ve caught it.”

“Well ... he’s going to need a kidney transplant.”

I nodded. I knew what that meant. Well, sort of: one of the girls I went to college with had a twin sister who needed a kidney transplant. She’d been on the waiting list for two years and had to do dialysis multiple times a day. It was certainly not an easy way to live.

“Shit,” I said. I reached over and took his hand. I could only imagine how badly his mind was reeling over everything that he’d found out recently.

“The waiting list could take years, though.” He paused. “I’m going to go in tomorrow for an evaluation to see if I’d be a good candidate for a living donation.”

“Really?” I looked up at him as he nodded.