Seth turned to face them. “I need a beer.”

Twenty minutes later, they grabbed a table in a local pub. Seth held up his pint glass. “To Nolan.”

They toasted. Drew took a sip of his beer. “He asked me today if he was going to die,” he said.

Three men looked down at the table as they struggled for words. The kids they met at Children’s grabbed their hearts and didn’t let go. Most recovered and went home with their parents. Some would never leave. Visiting every week was a double-edged sword. They got to know the kids. They also grieved the kids that lost the fight.

Seth slapped Drew on the back. “He’s going to make it.”

Derrick’s voice was fierce. “That kid’s running out on the field with us,” he said. “Just you wait.”

DREW PULLED INTO his garage at home an hour or so later. He yanked his backpack out of the car and headed toward the security system to disable it before he went inside. It was off. He knew he’d set it before he left for California. The teammates who would drop in on him had all been at Children’s earlier. Who the hell was in his house?

He opened the door to the laundry room and grabbed the baseball bat that sat in one corner. He needed to investigate before he called the cops. Considering the fact it was an open secret among the people who knew him well where the key to his front door was (atop the doorframe) and his security system’s combination was his parents’ wedding anniversary, at least thirty people knew how to gain access. If and when he finally found a serious girlfriend he was going to have to change the policy, but for the most part, it worked for him. He padded around the corner to his family room.

His dad was asleep on the couch.

Drew stared at him for a minute or so. This was even weirder than the late-night phone call from the other night. His parents visited; it was arranged in advance and they usually came to see him around national holidays so it wouldn’t interrupt his dad’s work schedule.

He reached behind him to lean the bat against the low cabinet his Xbox and other TV-related paraphernalia rested on.

“Dad?” he said. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Chapter Nine

DREW’S DAD PULLED himself into a sitting position on the couch.

“It’s good to see you, Son. I wondered where you were last night.”

“Is Mom here? When did you get in? I didn’t know you were coming. Did you try to call my phone?”

His dad didn’t just show up at his house. Ever. Plus, he could hardly wait to explain to his dad where he’d been last night. It wasn’t like his parents thought he was a virgin. Well, maybe his mom did. She probably didn’t want to think about that stuff.

His dad didn’t answer his questions. He got up off the couch and hugged Drew. “How are you doing?” he said.

“I’m fine, Dad. Where’s Mom?”

“She’s at work.”

Drew pulled away from his dad’s bear hug and stared at him with disbelief. “She’s at work? She got a job? She hasn’t had a job besides all of us since you got married. What is going on?”

His dad rubbed a hand over his face. “Maybe we should get a beer and talk about this.”

Drew knew he might need to calm down a little, but he couldn’t seem to stop asking questions. “What about your job? Dad, I don’t understand.”

Drew’s dad was a plumber. After his kids were grown and gone, he’d opened his own shop with a couple of other guys he’d worked with for a while. They had more work than they could handle.

“I told the guys I needed a few personal days.”

“Personal days?” Drew realized he was starting to sound like his parents after he came home past curfew. He was still so dumbfounded at his dad’s uncharacteristic behavior he hardly knew what to say. He heard his cell phone ringing in his pocket. “Let me see who this is.”

He grabbed the phone to see his mom’s smiling face on the screen.

He hit the “talk” button and said, “Mom?” His dad started shaking his head and making the “hang up” gesture.

“Hi honey, how are you?” She sounded a little stressed, he thought. “Is your dad there?”

His dad was waving his arms in the “no” gesture and mouthing, “Don’t tell her.” He loved his dad, but this was getting weirder and weirder.

“I’m fine, and yeah, he’s here. Mom, what’s going on?”

“Your father and I had a little disagreement, and I came home to a note. I’m relieved to know he is fine. I’ll talk with you later. I love you.”

“I love you too, Mom.” She’d clicked off halfway through his words, and Drew stared at his father in shock. “Why don’t you want Mom to know where you are?”

“Now she’ll be calling me every day and wanting to know when I’m coming home.” His father heaved a sigh. “This is why I didn’t go to your brother’s house. She can sit and think for a few days. It’ll be good for her.”

“Excuse me? Dad, what is up with you? You left Mom because you had an argument? This isn’t happening.” Drew rubbed one hand over his face.

“It’s personal. And I didn’t leave her. I’m just staying here for a few days.” Drew realized that men his dad’s age were uncomfortable talking about their feelings, but this was ridiculous.

“Okay. That’s it.” Drew said. He flung one arm out and pointed toward his kitchen table. “Go in there and sit down. I’ll get us a couple of beers and you can tell me what the hell is going on.”

His dad parked it at the table, and Drew pulled a couple of Elysian Brewing’s Men’s Room Original Reds out of the refrigerator. Owen, the chef, would be here in a couple of hours to start dinner; maybe he should text Owen and let him know he’d be making twice as much of whatever was on the menu tonight. His dad regarded the beer with a skeptical eye.

“What the hell is that?”

“It’s good, Dad. Try it. I also have some Arrogant Bastard Ale if you’d like some of that.”

“Doesn’t this town have some Bud or maybe a Coors Light?”

“Dad. You’re in Seattle. Everyone drinks microbrews here.” Drew grabbed his phone out and texted while he talked. “You and Mom are fighting?”

“She’s mad at me because she served me takeout Chinese food for dinner the night before last, and I told her I wanted a home-cooked meal instead.”

Drew hit “send” on his text and regarded his father with disbelief.

“You said that to Mom? You love Chinese takeout.”

“Not right now I don’t. Your mother made me a sandwich for dinner. A sandwich. She used to make a big dinner every night with sides and salad, and now it’s a sandwich and takeout.” He pounded a little on the table. “I don’t work all day to come home to a sandwich—”

“Maybe she was tired or she didn’t feel good. Dad, I know damn well it wasn’t only a sandwich. She probably made potato salad or some other thing, and she made sure it was your favorite, didn’t she?”

“It was pulled pork,” he mumbled.

“And?”

“She used to cook for me. She used to make sure everything was the way I liked it. Now I’m lucky if the laundry makes it into the laundry room, let alone my shirts have that starch in them I like. She’s too busy for me.” His dad wrapped a ham-like fist around his beer and took a swallow. He didn’t meet Drew’s eyes.

“Dad. She’s never too busy for you. What is causing this? You and Mom don’t fight.”

“Oh, we fight. Just not in front of you kids.”

His dad was acting like a recalcitrant teenager. Or, he was acting just like Drew did when his parents told him there was a curfew, and he was expected to keep up his grade point average or he couldn’t play football, or one of a hundred other things he tried to get away with as a teen. The bowed shoulders and sadness in his dad’s face told him this wasn’t something minor, but Drew was fighting the impulse to drag his dad out to the car, take him to the airport, and shove his butt onto a plane home.