Wicked

Chapter 11

Tim POV: 

Tug sits on the floor with Grant as I watch from the kitchen, hearing Kristine and my Mom talk at length about an article one of them read about screen time causing attention deficit disorder. Tug plays connect four with him, purposely putting the chips in the wrong slot to give Grant an advantage. It feels a little nauseating, watching my deadbeat father interact with my son the way I always wanted him to be with me. I continue to watch, feeling like it's too good to be true. He's bound to get wasted and say something harsh to him, like he used to do with me. 

"What do you think, Babe?" Kristine says to me, catching me off guard. I jump slightly, turning my head toward them. I stare, honestly having no clue where they are in their conversation. "Are you okay?" She asks, noticing how lost I probably seem. 

"Yeah." I let out, before looking back toward Grant and Tug. Tug stands up and wanders into the kitchen, standing on the opposite side of the island from me. I used to be desperate to have him around, but now his presence just makes me anxious. I guess ever since I had Grant, I've been nervous that he'd somehow scar him in the same ways he managed to scar me. 

Tug doubted that I was his until I was nineteen. He'd spend time with me every once in a while after I begged through letters and calls to his agent. He'd come down to Louisiana between games when he was pitching for the Phillies, and he'd usually get drunk and act like a jackass. At the time, however, I idolized him. It's not every day that you figure out your father is a famous baseball player, when you initially thought your father was a truck driver. Ironically, he wasn't the kind of dad to hang around and play catch. He'd take me to lunch, start drinking at noon, and hit on our waitress while I tried to figure out who my father truly was. 

"Hey, bud. Can I talk to you in private for a moment?" Tug says to me, making my stomach churn. I nod, clearing my throat to try and ease the knot forming inside of it. 

"Sure." I say, following him outside. He shuts the sliding glass door behind him, before standing against the railing of the deck. He leans over it, looking out at the rolling hills on our property. 

"Tim." He says, causing me to turn my head toward him. "I'm really sick." He says slowly, before turning to look at me. My chest grows tight, as I notice his eyes well up. "Right now, things aren't looking too good, so I figured I'd let you know." He adds, as my mind skips over the words. 

"What do you mean, sick?" I press, trying to make sense of what he's saying. 

"I have stage four glioblastoma." He informs me, hitting me like a gut punch. I shut my eyes, trying to force myself to breathe. "We talked it through, and treatment isn't an option right now. I probably have a few months." He says, as I lean my head back. 

"Fuck..." I let out under my breath, feeling tears surprisingly rise in my eyes. 

"I know you and I... I haven't been the best father to you, and I'm sorry for that. I just want you to know that I regret not being there for you when I should have." He adds, as I look down at my feet. He lets silence fall for a moment, before seeming to study me. "I'm proud of you." He releases, making me glance up toward him. "Your career, your family, your son... You've made an amazing life for yourself, Tim. I know you worked like hell for that too, so I don't want you to think I didn't notice." He says, before clearing his throat. "I'm proud that you're a much better father and husband than I ever was." He continues, sniffling a little as he speaks. 

Flashback

Tug and I walk up to the side of the stage, both holding a beer as we watch the show. Faith belts her heart out on stage, her smile beaming so brightly you could see it all the way in the lawn. 

"Who the hell is that?" Tug asks, before gulping down his beer. 

"Faith Hill." I scream so he can hear me over the band. 

"She sure is something." He remarks, seeming to find her attractive. I get so carried away watching her that I don't realize Tug watching me. "You like her." He states, as I turn toward him, caught off guard by his statement. I shrug, trying to play it off. "Oh shut up. I see the way you're lookin' at her." He calls out, as I turn back toward the stage, watching feel the lyrics. "Have you asked her out?" He shouts, while I glance his way. "Are you two dating?" He asks, smiling like a fool. I look away, fighting a smile. "Well, I'll be damned." He laughs, patting me on the back. Faith takes a bow, before rushing off stage. She spots me, cracking the biggest smile. 

"Tug, right?" She says, sticking her hand out to shake his. He nods, shaking her hand with a smile. 

"Yes ma'm. You've got quite the set of pipes on you." He compliments as Faith releases a humble smile. 

"Thank you." She replies, before looking my way. "So what are you two up to?" She asks, before her manager Bill hands her a bottle of water. She takes it, mouthing thank you, before cracking it open and taking a sip. 

"We were catching a bit of your set before I head out for mine." I say, watching her nod. A few roadies walk up with mic packs, signaling that it's about time to head on stage. "Dad, you can hang out here or go back to the trailer if you want." I say to him, as he smiles toward Faith. 

"Actually, I'd love to watch your set here with Faith." He says, causing her to look at me, raising her eyebrows toward me. We agreed to take things slow, so spending the next hour with my father might be a little more than she was expecting. 

"That'd be great." Faith says, smiling toward him. I look around us, noticing most people are distracted or already know about us. I lean in for a quick kiss, watching her blush after. "Go get 'em, Cowboy." She remarks as I start toward the stage.