And for the first time in my life, I not only recognized that I needed help.

I was prepared to ask for it.

Still, my chest was on fire as I pulled my phone from my pocket, thumbing through to Dad’s name. I tapped it before I could talk myself out of it, pausing at a bench by the campus fountain as the line rang.

“Son,” he greeted, his deep voice familiar in the aching kind of way. “Good to hear from you. Ready for the big game tomorrow?”

I paused, thrown off by his joy, by how unbothered and peaceful he was. He’d been that way ever since he left Mom.

Since he left us.

A whole new life greeted him on the other side of that divorce, one where I wasn’t sure I fit anywhere anymore. He had his window office in Atlanta, his giant house in the suburbs, his perfect lawn and perfect kids and perfect wife. Outside of football, we had nothing in common.

He didn’t know a single thing about me, not anymore.

“Providence is tough,” he continued when I didn’t answer, mistaking my silence for nerves about the game. “That offense is quick and crafty. But you’re a beast. You’ll give them hell. Be aggressive and don’t get lazy in the second half — that’s where they typically do the most damage.”

“I’m not worried about the game,” I finally said.

“Good. You shouldn’t be. You—”

“Mom needs help.”

I was surprised by the depth of my own voice, by how steady the words came from my throat. I knew it surprised my father, too, because he grew silent, clearing his throat after a long pause.

“Your mother is no concern of mine anymore.”

“Yeah, I know. You left her and your first son behind years ago.”

“Clay,” he warned, like I was out of line. That deep rumble of his voice made me pause, made the hair on the back of my neck stand up the way it always did before I tried something risky — like a new play on the field.

“It’s true and you know it. And you know what? It’s fine. Honestly, it is. I’ve gone on without you. We both have.”

“Without me?” he interjected. “Just who do you think helped pay for you to get out there to college in Boston? Who got your laptop and your moving truck and—”

“And who only calls me after a game? Who has nothing to talk to me about other than football? Who knows everything about my half-brothers and absolutely nothing about me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I—”

“Name one thing you know about me other than my position on the field. One. I’ll wait.”