That sentence hit me almost as hard as seeing Maisie’s
face.
Gavin had spent years teaching our daughter this sport.
He’d explained everything from pass interference to two-minute drills while she sat cross-legged beside him eating popcorn.
Football wasn’t just a game to her anymore.
It was one of the places where her father still existed.
I was about to tell Denise exactly that when everyone behind us suddenly started shouting toward the field.
Cole Brennan was standing still, looking at our section.
His expression had changed.
He pointed toward Maisie, then toward the football in Parker’s hands.
One of the staff members beside him followed his gesture.
A moment later, the enormous screen above the stadium changed.
Our section appeared on it.
Maisie was there, her sign still in her hands.
So was Denise.
And Parker was sitting beside her holding the football.
A wave of noise moved through the stadium.
Denise’s face went bright red.
Then Cole
was handed a microphone.
“I need to clear something up,” he said.
The crowd quieted enough for his voice to carry.
“I threw that football to the little girl holding the sign about her dad.”
People around us began clapping.
Maisie squeezed my hand.
Cole continued.
“I saw what happened afterward, and I think everybody in that section knows exactly who that ball belongs to.”
Denise sank lower into her seat.
Parker looked miserable.
His mother leaned toward him.
“Just give it back.”
He stared at her.
“You took it.”
“I said give it back.”
Something about her suddenly trying to make him responsible seemed to bother him.
Parker stood and walked toward Maisie himself.
“I’m sorry,” he said, holding out the football. “I should’ve given it back immediately.”
Maisie took it carefully.
“You didn’t take it.”
Parker glanced toward his mother.
“I still should’ve said something sooner.”
Before
Maisie could answer, the stadium erupted again. Cole Brennan was still speaking.
