Vegas Aces: The Wide Receiver Complete Series

CHAPTER 32 TRISTAN

“Where’s the wife?” my dad asks when I open the door.

I grunt out some noise resembling a laugh. “Not here,” I say as I lean in and hug both my parents.

She said she was going to California to spend the holiday at the beach, but I don’t trust her. For all I know she’s back in Chicago digging more shit up on my ex.

It’s Monday night, and I’m off tonight and tomorrow. Usually that would mean a visit to Coax, but given that my parents are in town, I’ll be skipping my attendance this week.

Saturday is Christmas day, and the Aces play home on Sunday, so my parents decided to come into town for the week.

My mom glances around after I lead her into the family room. “You don’t even have a tree. Tristan, what is the matter with you?”

I laugh. “I’m a twenty-five-year-old guy who has pretty much every minute prescribed for him. I get one day a week off, and I have too much shit to take care of to worry about a tree.”

“Thank goodness your mother’s here to worry about it for you,” my dad teases.

I reach over and squeeze her hand. “I’m glad you’re both here.”

And with that, we head out to a local home improvement store that sells trees, lights, and decorations. A few hours later, I have a dead fir tree in my family room sitting in a water dish with lights twinkling and glass globes glowing while traditional Christmas tunes play in the background and I sip hot chocolate with my parents.

It takes me back to simpler times, that’s for sure.

I’m not thinking about Coax or Brandi or my new buddy Troy Bodine. Instead, I’m dwelling in the memories of Tessa. Our first Christmas as friends. Our first Christmas as something more than that. Our first Christmas apart.

But one specific memory stands out. My parents went out to bingo with her parents the weekend before Christmas, which meant we were both home alone. We turned on the fireplace in my house, turned off all the lights, and laid together on the rug in front of the Christmas tree. We were drinking hot chocolate as A Christmas Story played on the television. Neither of us were paying attention to it as we talked. Our conversation started with Christmas traditions and memories, but it ended when the two of us made love right there on the floor—creating a new memory of our own together.

It's hard to admit even to myself, but it’s a big reason why I didn’t run out to get a tree. I guess I’m just not in the jolliest mood this season, especially not as I wish I’d never married Savannah and especially not after seeing Tessa a few months ago, giving her my number, and never hearing from her.

It’s depressing to think that I held onto something while she didn’t.

And yet, even months later, I’m still hopeful the phone will ring.

My dad’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “Do we have time for eighteen holes tomorrow?”

I nod, but I’m already trying to guess my dad’s ulterior motive. We used to golf together all the time, and out on the course was always the place where we had our deepest talks. I get the feeling he isn’t asking to go tomorrow because he wants to play as much as because he wants to talk to his son. “I don’t have anything planned. Figured you two would want to hit the casinos.”

My mom giggles. “What do you think I’ll be doing while you two are golfing?”

We both laugh, and then I set up a tee time at one of my favorite courses in Sin City for bright and early the next morning.

I'm used to getting up early, so it's no big deal when my alarm rings before the sun is even up yet. My dad is already in the kitchen where we each grab a cup of coffee from the pot before we head out. After I throw two sets of golf clubs in the back of my truck, I navigate toward the golf course. Once we get checked in, it's off to the course in a cart with my dad.

He lets me drive the cart, and he lets me tee off first per our golfing traditions. After he tees off, we hop back in the cart and locate our balls. The inevitable discussion hasn't started yet, but I know it's coming, and it's as we're waiting for the fourth tee that he starts the conversation.

“Is everything okay, kiddo?” he asks.

I chuckle at the term both my parents have called me since I was a child. It doesn't matter that I'm in my twenties now...I'm still their kiddo.

“I'm doing okay, Dad,” I say.

“You just seem...” He trails off as a little anxiety bubbles in my chest about what he's about to say. “You seem unhappy. Do you need help getting out of this marriage?”

I grunt out a chuckle. “Yes, but every time I feel like I'm getting close it seems like she finds another way to keep me. First it was the drug test, and I was about to tell coach everything when she came walking in claiming to know something about someone who used to mean a lot to me.”

“Who?” he asks. When I don't respond right away, he quietly says, “Tessa?”

I nod.

“What could she possibly know about Tessa?”

“I told her I didn't want to know. If she had secrets, that’s her business. If she wants to tell me, she has ways to get in touch with me.” I think of the number I gave her that she hasn’t used.

“Your mother and I always thought it was strange that she just disappeared, but both of the Taylors held tight to the story that she went to finish school in Chicago,” he says. Even after all these years, we never discussed what happened with Tessa. It was always too hard.

“Yeah,” I say. “It never made much sense to me either. And it really never made sense that she would just completely cut off all contact with me. Not when we were as close as we were, and not when we both talked about our future together literally the day before she disappeared.”

“Do you think whatever Savannah is claiming to know about her has to do with her disappearance?” he asks.

The group in front of us clears the green, so I climb out of the cart and tee up my ball. “I have no idea, but either way, I don’t want her digging around Tessa. All that is dead and gone at this point.”

“Is it, though?”

I glance over at my dad. “It’s been seven years, Dad. Yeah. It is.” My voice doesn’t quite hold the conviction I want it to.

“It didn’t seem like it was when I saw the way you held onto her at her father’s funeral,” he says.

I smack my ball with brute force, and it slices off to the right. “Fuck,” I mutter. I was winning the game until he brought up Tessa. “You bringing up this shit just to throw me off my game or something?” I ask.

He chuckles. “Nah. I’m bringing it up to soften the blow of what I really want to talk to you about.”

My chest tightens. “What do you really want to talk to me about?” I ask the question before he gets a chance to tee up.

“I think you should come home for the off-season,” he says. He brushes past me and sticks a wooden tee into the ground, balancing his ball on top of it.

“Why?” I ask.

He hits the ball, and it flies straight ahead.

“For one thing, to get away from Savannah. Might give you the distance and the perspective you need.”

I nod. I can’t deny him that one. “Just the one thing?” I press.

He shrugs. “You never know if our neighbor will have summer visitors.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You know something I don’t?”

He laughs and holds his hands up innocently. “I don’t. Really. But with Bill gone now, I’d imagine Tessa will stop home at some point to visit with her mother.”

“Maybe. What else are you hiding?”

The merriment dissipates from his eyes, and nerves fly around my chest as I feel the impact of his words before he even says them. “It might be the last summer we can golf like this, kiddo.”

“Why?” I ask, my voice small. I suddenly feel like a child again, not like a strong athlete in my twenties who plays professional football.

He presses his lips together and looks out over the course ahead of us. “The doctor called it metastatic melanoma.”

The blood drains from my face. The word feels heavy in the air between us, and I don’t know what to say as a lump forms in my throat.

“The good news is that the five-year survival rate for it is over sixty-six percent. The not as good news is that this has been fairly aggressive. The doctor gave me a treatment plan that begins with surgery the first week of January. We’ll reassess after that but it’s likely I’ll also need radiation.”

“When did you find out?” I ask, not that it matters.

He turns to look at me. “Last week.”

We both climb into the cart. “Is there anything I can do?” I stare out the windshield ahead of us without starting up the cart, and I suddenly get the feeling I won’t ever play this course again—at least not without my dad. I’ll never be able to hit the ball on the fourth tee without thinking of this moment, without feeling all the fear I’m feeling right now, without choking up as I think about my life without my dad in it.

He elbows my arm. “Don’t treat me like I’m dying.”

“Alright, old man. Then let’s play some golf.” I force a laugh, but he must know how fake it is. Still, it’s moments like these where I can show him what I’m made of, where I can step up and allow him to be proud of the man he created. I’ve done plenty of things to disappoint him over the years, but how I react today in giving him what he needs in these precious moments won’t be one of them.