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“No.”
“And he’s spent my entire life resenting me because of it.”
She’s quiet, but her silence is all the confirmation I need.
“I need to go,” I say.
It feels a bit like my entire life has been a lie.
“No, wait, honey,” she says. “Stop. Don’t hang up.”
“Who is it?” I ask through a clenched jaw.
“Who is…your father?” she asks. “I told you, baby. I don’t know. It might be Eddie.”
“Or it might be…” I trail off as I lead her to the answer.
“I’d rather not answer that.”
“Why not?” I ask, and my chest tightens as I wait for her answer.
“Because I’m embarrassed, okay?” she says. “I did things back then that no mother should ever have to admit to her son. I’m ashamed, and you’re digging this up and I don’t want to talk about it.”
“We’re all adults here,” I say, my anger rising. “Pretend I’m your gal pal at the spa. It’s locker room talk, right? I can tell you about all my conquests over the years, and you can spill yours, too.”
“Lincoln, stop it. Don’t be mad about this,” she chides. “You had a good life. Eddie wasn’t perfect, but he was a good dad.”
“Don’t be mad?” I practically yell. “Don’t be mad? I’ve spent my entire life believing what might be a goddamn lie, and you could’ve told me the truth on any number of occasions. And you’re right. Eddie was a good dad—to my brothers. But not to me. I was never good enough for him, and now I understand why. I represented to him all those shameful things his future wife did when they spent time apart, whether I’m really his or not. So let’s put all the cards on the table. I want a paternity test, and you’re going to figure out how to make it happen.” I cut the call with those words, seething with anger as I process everything she just told me.
When it was just an idea in my mind, it was one thing. But to have actual confirmation that Eddie Nash might not be my dad…well, that’s an entirely different ballgame.
But I don’t get to focus on any of it because practice is starting soon and I have to go motivate my players to do their jobs on the field. But first, I need to grab some lunch, and knowing what I know now about the Gridiron, I’ve decided to start spending a little more time over there in hopes of running into the owner.
He’s not in.
He’s not in the next day, either.
I need to talk to him, though, and so I will keep trying.
I contemplate what it is about me that he hates so much, and it could be any one of a variety of factors starting with the most obvious: I hurt his daughter in the past, and he’s fearful I’ll do it again.
But he might also be afraid I’m going to take her away from him, and I need him to see that the only way that’s going to happen is if he won’t get on board with the two of us being together.
I keep busy at the Complex during the day, and I sleep with Jolene by my side at night. I wake up to watch movies with Jonah and we make pancakes together before he heads off to school. I apologize to my mother for yelling at her, and she apologizes for never doing anything about it and preferring to keep the past in the past.
But on Thursday after practice is over and team meetings have ended, I head over for a late lunch.
And there he is…sitting at the bar with his wife laughing about something. They each have a cocktail in front of them, and I don’t want to interrupt a good time, but this is urgent.
I march up to them. “Mr. Bailey, Mrs. Bailey,” I say, and I nod at the two of them. “May I have a word with you, sir?”
His laughter fades quickly as his eyes fall upon me. “I got nothing to say to you, boy.” His tone is condescending, and I know this is going to be an uphill battle, but it’s one I need to fight.
“Please?” I beg.
“Come on, Joe,” Joanna says to him. “Give him a chance. For JoJo.” She offers me a small, tight smile, and I pray she’s enough to convince him to talk to me.
He studies her a long time, and it’s as if they’re having some silent conversation with their eyes. Eventually he picks up his drink and walks toward the break room without a word.
