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My grandfather reaches out and pats my shoulder, successfully preventing me from spiraling too deep into a Dana-infused stupor.
“I am a little, yeah,” I say.
He laughs, the sound carrying over Grant and Courtney’s chatter across the table.
“That’s life on the scout team,” he says. “All the work, none of the glory.”
“Eh, he can take it,” my father says. “He’s a Morgan. Right, Connor?”
“Right,” I say without looking at him.
“More than that, you’re a Pierce.” My grandfather points a stern finger at me. “Don’t forget that.”
I glance at Courtney beside me, remembering what she said before. We’re the spawn of legends. I can tell she’s thinking about it, too, her eyes twinkling slightly in a way only a sibling would notice.
I’m a Morgan, or I’m a Pierce.
I’ll never just be Connor.
Except when you’re with Dana.
I smother the thought before it gets out of control.
“Junior.” Coach turns his attention to my father. “You’re taking up quite the legacy.”
Dad nods. “Got my work cut out for me, but I’m ready for it.”
“The Bearhawks are in a good spot right now — better than when I became coach.”
It’s a playful jab. Dad and Ty take it in stride.
“That Jordan Jefferson is something else,” Coach adds, clearly impressed. “What an arm on that kid.”
“Oh, he’s going pro,” my father says. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Ty fakes a cough. “Dibs,” he says, claiming him as a client before anyone else can.
“Hey,” Courtney says over everyone else. “Remember how tonight was supposed to be about me?”
“Guys,” my mother chimes in, a word of warning. “No field talk at the table tonight.”
“You’re right,” Dad says to Courtney. “Honey, I’m sorry. Tonight is, of course, about you.”
Coach smiles. “Yes. Our baby girl is going to New York tomorrow.”
My father looks down suddenly before focusing on my sister again. It’s a blink and you’ll miss it reaction, but I caught it clear as day. A deep cut opened somewhere in my father, something more painful than a simple empty nest.
“You let me know the second tickets go on sale,” Coach says to Courtney, his eyes bright and proud.
“I will, Grandpa,” Courtney says.
“Opening night. Front row center. I’ll be there.”
“We all will be,” Mom says.
Grant raises his glass. “Hell, yeah. We won’t miss it.”
The rest of us follow his lead, toasting love for Courtney. She bats her eyelashes, playfully relishing in the attention.
