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Ali squeezed her arms around him before looking up at Cornell from the side. “Would she hate me?”
“Never. She would have a good laugh. But you’re going to need a lot more of those boxes to satisfy the O-line.” Cornell turned the water off, kissing her before his phone rang.
“I’ll let him out,” Ali said about Mowgli, who was pawing at the screen door leading to the backyard. “Tell your dad I say hi.”
Cornell reached for the phone. “What’s up, Dad?”
“Oh hey, happy I got you,” Peter said.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes, everything’s just fine. I was just hoping to catch you before my flight home. Leaving Chicago.”
Cornell wiped down the counter, watching Ali throw a frisbee to Mowgli in the backyard. “How was that?”
“Not bad, business, you know.” The airport sounds in the background nearly drowned out his father’s voice. “But listen, I’m going to be in your area in a few weeks, just an overnight. Thought I’d come in early and see if I can take you and Ali out to dinner. Maybe that Sunday.”
Mowgli made one big catch and then lay down in the grass, exhausted, as Ali lectured him, telling him to stop being lazy and get up.
“Yeah, that should work,” Cornell said, noticing how easy it had been to agree to see his father. What a difference a year makes, he thought.
“Any place you want in Dallas. I’m staying at the—”
“You haven’t seen the house. Why don’t I just pick you up and bring you out here for dinner? We’ll grill. I’ll drive you back to Dallas.” The only noise on the line was the last call for boarding over the loudspeaker. “Dad?”
Peter cleared his throat. “You know, Cornell, I’d love that.”
He didn’t want to give too much attention to the emotion behind his father’s voice, but a small smile came to Cornell’s mouth. “Great. Text me your flight info. I’ll be there.”
Hanging up, Cornell walked out to the backyard. Ali had apparently given up on Mowgli, who was rolling around in the cool grass. He stepped barefoot across the lawn to the hammock where Ali lay.
“Scoot,” Cornell said as he slid in next to her. Ali turned on her side, swinging one leg over his and wrapping an arm around his middle. She hummed against him as he pulled her closer, resting his chin on top of her head. “My dad’s going to come by for dinner in a few weeks. I hope that’s okay with you.” Cornell could feel the flex of Ali’s smile against his chest.
“More than okay.”
Cornell nodded against her. It did feel great to be able to look forward to seeing his dad, even if the idea was still foreign. But he would happily accept the calm, easy peace twinged with the slightest bit of excitement.
And as he looked up at the sky, swiftly changing from orange to pink and purple, when he heard Mowgli’s heavy steps through the grass and his big body plop down beside the hammock, Cornell squeezed Ali, maybe even too tight. Because everything felt right in that mundane moment, making absolutely nothing seem like something special after all.
* * *
“Good,” Cornell told him. “You’re going to want to shift to the outside of the pocket. The protection call will stay the same, but that release needs to be quick.” He looked at the offensive line. If they decide to protect you.
Graham stepped to the sidelines as Julian lined up for the same play. His throw was short. Cornell blew the whistle.
“Too quick, Julian. Take a breath first. You’ve got the fastest receivers in this conference. Trust they’ll make their mark. Give it some air, and they’ll get under it in time. Again,” Cornell said.
“He wants to run it,” Graham told Cornell. “He’s shuffling his feet instead of stepping deeper back.”
“It’s nerves. He’s young. But you’re right. He has to give himself space for the air raid. Remind him of that. Sometimes it helps to hear from a peer.” Cornell looked out on the practice field.
“I’ll see you at home for supper, Graham,” Bill Jones called out from behind them. “Finish strong. Quicker feet. No slacking.”
Cornell watched Graham squirt water into his mouth before dropping the bottle back into the cady, not acknowledging his father in the slightest.
“He’s up here for the week. I told him not to come to practice,” he said with the smallest shake of his head. “Can’t stand when he’s thinkin’ he’s the god damn coach. He never even played football.”
“When I was in high school, they banned my dad from practices. No other parents, just him.” Cornell faked a smile at Graham, trying. “Best thing is to tune him out.”
