Page 130 of Scouting the Single Dad

“Are you injured?” He’s cutting to the chase because he doesn’t do small talk or excuses. “Is your kid okay?”

“She’s good. I’m good.” I inhale, then let out a breath. “She’ll be with her best friend for the next night because . . .” Pause. “I have something important I need to do.”

And I hope to God the press doesn’t find out about it.

Another beat.

Coach is deciding whether I’m worth the headache or if he’s going to tell me no.

More complaining in the background. This time, it’s his teenage daughter.

“Don’t make a habit of this,” he says at last. “And don’t turn this day into two days. And don’t show up late on Friday or I’ll fine you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Bring your playbook on the flight.”

I nod. “Yup. Got it.”

He hangs up the way he does everything: with no fuss.

I pack a carry-on bag with a speed that would be alarming to anyone who didn’t travel often. Sweats, tee, hat. Underwear. That’s it.

I tuck away the drawing of Benny’s. Get on my phone and poke around the Delta website, booking myself a last-minute flight for today and a return flight for early tomorrow morning.

On the way to drop my daughter off at school, I feel her watching me from the back seat, catching her eyes in the rearview mirror. “Why are you smiley?” she asks.

“Me?” I growl. “I’m a serious man. A menace. Terrifying.”

“You’re smiling,” she insists. “Are we doing something fun after school?”

“You are,” I say, tapping the steering wheel with the tips of my fingers. “Sleepover at Madison’s. Is that cool?”

She watches me through the mirror. “Are you going to a game?”

“No, Benny—I’m going to see someone important,” I say, feeling the truth roll out of me like a warm wave. “I’ll be gone overnight. You’ll barely miss me.”

She reads my face like a book, with no patience for subtext, which is why kids are better than adults. “Are you going to see Layla?”

I shouldn’t be surprised. Benny’s radar would shame the CIA.

“Yeah,” I say. “I miss her, and there are things she and I need to talk through.”

“I miss her too,” she says, and just like that, the decision I already made slots into place like a key turning home. “Are you going to tell her I said hi?”

I nod. “I am—I’m also bringing her that drawing you made. I found it in the kitchen and have it in my bag.”

My daughter exhales as if a weight has been on her shoulder and she’s decided to shove it off. “Tell her I said sorry I told Madison’s mom she was going to be my mom. I got excited.” She slides a braided friendship bracelet off her wrist and dangles it in the air. “Give her this.”

I swallow the lump in my throat.

We pull into the school lane. She unbuckles, pauses, and leans forward between the seats to kiss my cheek, quick and loud. “Don’t be weird,” she instructs. “And don’t make her cry.”

“That’s my plan exactly.” I hop out, swing her backpack over one shoulder, and walk her to the doors. She’s buzzing—sleepover tonight, a secret mission assigned to her dad.

“Love you, Dad. I’m excited for your trip.”

I ruffle her hair. “Me too, kiddo. Love you too.”