Page 13 of I’m Already Gone

Mom and Dad then moved to greet Ethan’s parents.

“Are you doing okay?” Sam asked quietly, rubbing my back.

“Yeah. It’s Jake’s night,” I whispered, taking a deep breath. “Let’s keep it that way.”

She nodded, her expression grim but understanding.

Jake emerged from the locker room, flanked by two of his best friends, his face flushed with exertion and pride, a big, goofy smile stretching across it.

“There he is! The man of the hour!” Dad shouted, clapping loudly.

Jake laughed and accepted the hugs from the grandfathers.

My dad’s eyes shone with pride, and he drew Jake against him. “You showed real heart out there, son, and discipline when it counted,” he murmured. “That’s the kind of man you’re becoming, and that’s what matters most. Congratulations.”

“Thanks for coming, Poppa,” Jake said as Dad released him.

“We’ll always show up for you, Jake,” he promised.

Jake nodded, a subtle warmth softening his gaze. His smile flickered a bit, as if he was momentarily overwhelmed.

Then both grandmothers swooped in, wrapping him in affectionate hugs and showering him with kisses.

When he finally made it to me, I pulled him into a fierce embrace.

“I am so proud of you, honey. You were awesome,” I raved, trying to pour all my love and pride into those words and my touch.

“Thanks, Mom,” he muttered.

But as I held him, the warmth of his victory couldn’t chase away his father’s absence.

Lily

The front door opened and closed, followed by keys clinking against the bowl in the entryway.

I glanced at the microwave clock—11:45 p.m. Lately, it felt like all I did was stare at that damn clock, waiting for him to prove me wrong for once.

He entered the kitchen, his steps faltering when he saw me. He quickly turned away and loosened his tie, the red one I had given him for Christmas four years ago. “You’re still up,” he muttered. His tone was heavy with exhaustion as he stalked toward the refrigerator.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “I was waiting up for you.”

He nodded in response.

I cleared my throat and added, “You missed one hell of a swim match tonight. Your son was amazing.”

“Did he win?” he asked, turning to face me.

“Yes. And he missed you.”

We missed you.

I missed you.

He broke eye contact and opened the fridge. “Yeah, well, I’m sure he’s used to me not being there by now.”

I flinched as if he had struck me. “How can you say that? All he wanted was for his father to be present. To be there. For him. Cheering him on just like every other parent out there.”

He popped the cap off the beer with a twist and threw the metal cap onto the counter, where it skittered loudly. He took a long, aggressive swallow.