Page 85 of Play the Last Card

Everything is different now.

Before I couldn’t have cared less if a girl came to my games. Now, I am desperate for Ivy to sit in the stands.

And she won’t even watch one on TV for me.

“I’m sorry,” Ivy’s soft whisper brings me back to the couch. Her eyes are starting to water and I can’t stand it.

“It’s okay.” She shakes her head, disagreeing with me, and it only seems to make it worse because the first tear drips down her cheek and then the second. I pull her into my lap and wipe a thumb across her cheek. “Ivy, what’s going on? This can’t just be about me wanting you to watch my games?”

Her eyes close and she leans into my touch. Her voice is shaking and weak when she finally talks.

“Pops wants me to take him to a game. Before he … before he dies.”

“Oh, Ivy.” I circle my arms around her, running my hands up and down her back.

“He asked the other week, when we watched you play. I’m sorry, I know it’s a stupid thing to get so upset about and I would do anything for him. But take him to a game? I just don’t think I can do that.”

“Why? It’s just a game, baby. It won’t hurt anyone if you take him.” I frown.

“It hurtsme.”

“Help me understand,” I plead with her. “Please, Ives, I just need to understand this aversion. At first, I thought it was because you just weren’t a fan but you won’t even watch me play on TV.”

I watch her face, the color draining. She squirms a little in my arms and I lean back, trying to give her space but without fully pulling away. My heart starts to sink. I feel close to begging on my knees.

“If I go, if I take Pops, the press will report it. And then, for the weeks after that, they’ll parade my family history on every sports program, every local newscast. They’ll talk about my dad as if they know him better than I do. Theydoknow him better than I do.”

Ivy’s face scrunches up in pain and she sniffles before continuing, “I can’t watch games because when I do, all I see is my dad running down the field. All I hear is the commentators calling out his name as he throws the ball. I—” She inhales and I tighten my grip on her hips, ensuring she doesn’t move from my lap.

“I can’t go to a game because the last time I tried with Katie a few years ago, a few people recognized me from the news stories that had been floating around and they were quick to tell me how good my dad was and how sad they were that they never got to see him play pro ball.Theywere sad. Imagine.” She lets out a small scoff, like she’s angry just thinking about it. “I had the worst panic attack of my life that day and I didn’t even make it to my seat.”

“Oh, damn. Baby, I’m sorry.” I rub her back. “But this is Pops we’re talking about here. I’m sure things will be different this time.” She shakes her head so violently her hair falls around her face and her eyes glaze over. She’s putting up walls behind those piercing blue eyes.

Fuck. Whatever is going on in her head is so much worse than I thought.

Logically, I’m still confused about how football and games are still a trigger for her. Her parents died when she was so young, I didn’t think this kind of thing could still affect her so much.

But emotionally, the look on her face is breaking my heart and I can’t bear it.

We sit in silence, her sniffles subsiding with time. She doesn’t move off my lap at first but as if the wall she put up physically manifests in frontof me she quickly scrambles off the couch and off me, getting to her feet. Ivy adjusts the rolls of her sweats, swipes at her eyes one last time and gives me a weak smile.

“Do you have any ice cream?”

I stare at her.

What the fuck? Ice cream?

How have we gone from opening up and finally getting somewhere to ice cream?

“Ivy, I—” I follow her into the kitchen and watch her dig through my freezer. Her hands are trembling but she doesn’t stop.

“Seriously? No ice cream? Who the hell doesn’t keep ice cream in their freezer?” She rattles off and I don’t even think she’s paying attention to me anymore.

I move to stand behind her. I pull her hands from the freezer and close the door. When I turn her in my arms, she avoids my gaze.

“What just happened?”

“I’m done talking about this,” Ivy whispers, still not looking at me.