“Uh-oh.”

“I think it was about something I said. Probably about women drivers. Your mom hates when I complain about women drivers.”

“Mom hates when you make sexist comments, period.”

“Whatever,” said my dad. “We’re on the way to the tryout, she’s crying—you know how women cry—when this eighteen-wheeler comes out of nowhere. Smashes right in the back of us.”

Oh my God.

“The trunk was pushed right into the front. Couldn’t tell what was metal and what was us. Next thing I remember was the hospital. Your mom came out pretty okay, crying a lot, though, driver usually gets it much better. My knee’d gotten caught under the dash and didn’t untwist for a few days.”

His unsteady breathing grew louder. The beginnings of an emotion.

“I’m lucky to still have my leg.”

“This is wild,” I said. “I had no idea.”

This was why my mom had been so freaked out about my car accident.

“Didn’t want to scare you,” my dad’s voice cracked. “It’s partly why I was never too concerned with you getting an overuse injury before maxing out your career.”

“Shit, Dad.”

“The point of my story,” he said, “is that even when we were in the hospital room, when a few hours before, your mom had hated me for whatever I’d said about women drivers, in the long run it hadn’t mattered. Nothing we could fight about was as big as that crash, which we made it through together. Made everything else a piece of cake. You and Carter have been through too much to not make it.”

“Dad,” I said, “why are you still saying ‘women drivers’ like that’s a great joke?”

“Well, you know. You get it.”

“No. Not really. I know you treat mom well. But the way you talk about women, like calling our team girls when we aren’t performing the way you want . . . you can get in trouble for that now.”

“No more trouble than a car accident,” he said.

I groaned.

That was the truth behind my dad. He blamed how his life turned out on the car accident, and he blamed the car accident on everyone else.

The woods opened to the end of our street, and we reached our house to find my mom on the front porch with a book, watching the cars go by. She waved.

“Nick,” said my mom, as I opened the front door. “Clarkebridge called.”

I spun on a dime.

She was smiling.

“Full ride,” she said, reaching for a hug. “You did it.”

I stumbled. “That’s . . . wow.”

“Congrats, buddy.” My mom smelled like fruity shampoo and freshly washed clothes. She held me tightly, the first time she’d hugged me in maybe all of high school.

I wasn’t really thinking about what she said.

I was thinking about the one person I’d need to share this news with.

I had to know if he got in too.