Wide Open

s i x t y f o u r

A few hours later, after I have showered off the scent of Taylor and gotten myself ready, I stroll through the all glass doors of the training facility. There are no classes today for the federal holiday, but that would never stop my father from holding football practice. I didn't call him first, but I know my father will be here, he always is. His job is no nine to five, especially if he's working through a particularly tough plan of attack.

I went through all of my photos from the weekend and chose the ones I would submit to the paper. I sent them to Grey right away and he responded almost immediately. He raved over them and Alyssa's insider piece on Family Weekend, that the photos will accompany. She used her pull as Anderson's girlfriend to get exclusive interviews with several players, their families, and the biggest alumni to the football program. I wouldn't be surprised if it's one of the articles that gets traction from a larger sports news source.

Alyssa sent me a snip of her article this morning too. She painted my father in a light with the brightest shades of gold. He is a star among the commoners of this city and this campus, after all. Regardless of the strength it would take me to say that statement with a straight face, I have to give it to Alyssa. The parts about him are tasteful. Mostly comments from followers sharing my father's praise, but also about how his dedication to this school and program are driving factors for their children's lives. One quote from a former player who is now in his fourth season in the NFL claims that my dad's style of coaching provides valuable life lessons that his player's can take with them no matter where their career takes them. Apparently he and my father still have a relationship and talk regularly.

Ryan Quinn hasn't always been the most loving father figure to me, but he has been to someone. That gives me hope, at least. Those attributes do live somewhere inside of him. Alyssa and Taylor have both been insistent that other's show they care in different ways. Maybe my father's way is to act like he doesn't care.

It's one reason I'm walking to his office right now. I want to show my dad the pictures I chose before the issue is released. He did show an inkling of pride the other night over my photography. I'm not fishing for his compliments, but even the slightest acknowledgement that I too, should feel proud, is a step in the right direction. He sees the positivity in me, or at the very least he notices my intentions are pure. I have a newfound happiness within me and it's not forced. For once, happiness has come naturally. And for once, I'm optimistic that healing our relationship will too.

The training facility is a large warehouse looking building made of brick positioned on it's own separate part of campus. It houses an indoor field, lecture style rooms for whole team meetings, and smaller rooms with a few tables and chairs for specific positions to meet. It's also a one stop shop for the player's. Everything they could ever need as far as their weight training, rehab needs, and a staff of personal chef's to ensure they have access to an ungodly amount of protein daily. 

But it's also where all the coach's offices are, including my father's. The front of the complex is covered in glass panels that double as automatic doors. They open for me as soon as I approach them. I haven't been here in a while, so I hesitantly peer down hallways until I see something that looks familiar. When I'm sure I'm headed in the right direction, I walk with confidence down the corridor. I spy through the glass walls that look into the weight room to try and catch a glimpse of Taylor, but a sea of testosterone blocks any chance of a good view. The red of my dad's office door comes into view at the end of the hall. It's closed as I approach it. The sound of raised voices on the other side stops me in my tracks.