"Good, because I'm not sure I'm ready to give it yet." But there's no heat in his voice. "But I am ready to stop wasting what time I have left. I want to know my grandsons properly before it's too late. I want to watch them grow up, even if I only get a few months of it."
My throat tightens with emotion I can't quite name. "They'd like that. They talk about you constantly. About the firefighter stories you told them."
"Mia was always my little girl." Robert's voice cracks slightly. "When she disappeared, it nearly destroyed me. But she's not a little girl anymore, is she? She's a woman who made hard choices in impossible circumstances. Maybe it's time I started seeing her that way."
We don't hug or shake hands. The wounds are too fresh for that kind of reconciliation. But the tension that's been suffocating us for weeks eases slightly, and I can breathe a little easier.
"Thank you," I say quietly. "For giving us a chance."
"Don't thank me yet." But there's almost a smile in his eyes. "I'm still a stubborn old man who doesn't like being lied to. You've got a long way to go before we're square."
"I'll take what I can get."
Linda walks me to the door, her hand finding my arm. "Thank you for coming. For being honest with him. He needed that."
"I should have done it years ago."
"Maybe." She squeezes my arm gently. "But you're doing it now. That's what matters."
The drive home feels different. Lighter somehow, like I've shed a weight I've been carrying for so long I'd forgotten what it felt like to stand up straight. The conversation with Robert didn't fix everything, but it's a start. A foundation we can build on if we're all willing to try.
I think about Mia, probably at home with the twins right now. About telling her that her father wants to be part of their lives. About the paternity paperwork that will make everything official. About finally being able to claim my sons publicly.
I pull into my driveway, already planning what I'll say to Mia, how I'll explain that we're finally moving forward instead of constantly looking back.
Then I see them.
Emma's silver BMW is parked beside Sarah's Mercedes, both cars gleaming in the afternoon sun. My daughter and my ex-wife stand on my porch with identical expressions of fury etched into their features. Emma holds a manila envelope that I recognize immediately as the evidence she's been compiling against Mia.
51
BLAKE
The hiring committee at Westfield Academy sits across from me in expensive, identical leather chairs. Five people, all watching me with expressions that range from interested to impressed. The athletic director, a former college coach named Tom Henderson, leans forward with his elbows on the mahogany conference table.
"Your record at Riverside Academy is exceptional," he says, tapping the folder in front of him. "Three championship seasons in five years. Player retention rates that exceed state averages. And your academic support program for student athletes has become a model other schools are trying to replicate."
I nod, keeping my expression professional even though my mind is racing through everything that led me to this interview. The scandal at Riverside. The canceled games. The whispers in the hallways about my relationship with Mia, and wondering if any of that has made the rounds here. The knowledge that staying there means continuing to be a liability to the woman I love is what led me to make this decision.
"We're prepared to offer you the head coaching position," Tom continues. "Complete autonomy over the athletic program, a significant salary increase, and a budget that will allow you to build something truly special here."
The offer is everything I could want professionally. Westfield Academy has facilities that make Riverside look like a high school gym. Their football program has produced Division I players. The resources alone would let me take my coaching to the next level.
But it means leaving. Leaving Riverside and the familiar.
"I accept," I hear myself say.
Tom's face breaks into a wide smile. "Excellent. We'll have the contracts drawn up by the end of week. You can start after the current semester ends at Riverside."
We shake hands all around, and I walk out of Westfield Academy with a new job and a weight in my chest that feels like I'm carrying the entire offensive line on my shoulders.
That evening, I host everyone at my house. The late afternoon sun casts golden light across my backyard, where the children are already playing. Rory and Corey race around with a football while Lily chases after them, her blonde hair flying behind her. Maya has organized the younger kids into some kind of elaborate game that involves a lot of shrieking and laughter.
Inside, Mia settles onto my couch wearing jeans that hug her curves in ways that make my mouth water and a simple blue sweater that shows off her full breasts. Her dark hair falls past her shoulders in waves I want to run my fingers through.
Jack takes the armchair, his broad shoulders filling out his button-down shirt. The man looks like he stepped out of a magazine, even in casual clothes. Noah sits on Mia's other side, his lean frame relaxed but his green eyes sharp behind his glasses as he studies my face.
"You're making me nervous," Mia says, her blue eyes searching mine. "What's going on?"