One
Will
* * *
The drive to my daughter’s house is short, but every mile still feels like a miracle I don’t quite deserve. For the first time in years, she’s letting me be part of her life again. When my granddaughter, Coral, was born, I knew I needed to be closer to them, to be heavily involved in her life, to watch her grow up. I was tired of living on the sidelines, watching life pass me by. So, I bought a house two streets over, close enough to be there in minutes if she needed me, far enough not to scare her away.
I carry more regret than I know what to do with when it comes to my daughter. I should have fought harder. I should have insisted on getting my scheduled time with her. I told myself I was giving her space, making her life easier, but the truth is, I let her slip through my fingers. Losing her like that carved something out of me, a wound so deep it never truly closed. Some nights, it still bleeds.
I buried myself in my career—something I always did—hence the reason my marriage to her mother fell apart. We were young, so young, just eighteen when we found out about Bellamy, and we fought like hell to make it work, but at the end of the day, we grew apart. I hid behind my job, and my ex, Candice, focused on Bellamy. They didn’t need me anymore—or at least that’s what I told myself.
I was wrong.
I regret letting them both slip through my fingers.
Candice is remarried, and I’m happy for her. I want that for her, and for our daughter. However, it still feels as though everyone around me is moving forward, and I’m still here, standing still. Watching as life and time pass me by.
I never imagined that the thing I couldn’t fix on my own would be healed by someone else. One of my players. A man I coached, trusted, and pushed to be better. I spent years trying to earn my way back into her heart, and all it took was her falling in love with my best tight end for my world to shift. It’s ironic, maybe even cruel, but I don’t question it. I’m just grateful to have my daughter back.
Because now, when I pull into her driveway, I’m not just a man filled with regret. I’m a father with a second chance, a grandfather ready to spoil his granddaughter. And this time, I won’t waste it.
The driveway is empty, but I expected it to be. I’m early for my granddaughter’s second birthday party. There was another birthday party two weeks ago, one that I didn’t attend. My quarterback, Knox Beckett, his son, Alexander, turned one. However, I did buy him a gift. In fact, I brought one for all the kids, even baby Ella. She’s only a couple of months old and wouldn’t know she was left out, but the grandpa in me couldn’t do that.
Ella is Landry Reynolds’s daughter, my star wide receiver. She was born a couple of months ago, right in the heat of the end of the season. But Landry and his wife, Rowan, handled it like champs, and I know his closest teammates and their wives, including my daughter and son-in-law, rallied around them.
They’ve created their own little family, and now, they all live in this very neighborhood. It’s storybook, but at the same time, I’d love to be a part of something like that. I get glimpses because I moved into the same community, but it’s not the same.
I’ve given my entire life to my career, and now, here I am, swimming in regret, and I’m lonely. I have no one to share my accomplishments with, and I’m the one to blame.
Anyway, I came early to see if I could help or watch Coral while my daughter and my tight end, her husband, finish last-minute things for the gathering.
It’s not the only reason why I’m here; I was lonely—living in that big house, staring at the walls. After my early morning workout, I did some work, looking at stats and numbers for the upcoming draft, but once that was done, I was restless, so here I am.
Climbing out of my SUV, I grab all the bags from the back seat and make my way to the front door. I don’t dare just walk in, as there are some things a father just doesn’t need to see. Instead, I raise my hand to knock, but the door is pulled open before I can.
“There’s Grandpa,” Reid says, bouncing a smiling Coral on his hip. “Wow,” he says, eyeing all the bags. “I’m going to need to buy a bigger house,” he jokes.
My granddaughter reaches for me, and my heart swells. Stepping out of the cold, I strip off my coat, kick off my shoes, and take her into my arms. “How’s my birthday girl?” I ask her, kissing her cheek. She grins and places her tiny hand against my cheek, and she might as well be thrusting it inside my chest and squeezing my heart. “And as if this seven-thousand-square-foot house isn’t big enough,” I reply.
Reid grins and shrugs. “She’s full of energy today,” Reid says, bopping her on the nose. “I swear, she’s into everything, and it’s been hard to keep her out of the presents.”
“Her mom was like that at this age,” I say, remembering those days. I survey the room, seeing all the presents, and chuckle. “And you say I spoil her.”
“The bags don’t lie, Grandpa.” He laughs. “And my parents said the same thing about me. We’re doomed,” he says, but he’s grinning like a fool at his little girl.
“I’ve got her. Go do what you need to do.” I wave him off, heading toward the living room, where I know there’s a big basket of toys in the corner of the room. “And only half of these bags are hers. I brought something for each of the kids so they don’t feel left out.”
“Are you going soft in your old age, Coach?” Reid teases.
“Go, get out of here.” I motion him away with a chuckle.
“You sure?”
“That’s why I’m here early. Go. We’ve got this, right, Coral?” I ask as I place her on the floor and sit down next to her.
She reaches into the basket and pulls out a football. “Ball!” she says, holding it up so I can see before she chucks it across the room.
“Do we have a quarterback on our hands?” I ask her.