“Oh my God.” I laugh. “He isn’t real.”
“Ah! You just crushed my hopes of a new Tonka truck.”
I glance around the interior of what looks like a relatively new pickup. “I think you’ll be alright.”
“Okay, seriously. What did you want for Christmas when you were ten?”
“Zebb.” I groan and tip my head against the back of the seat. “I don’t even remember.”
“Try to think of something.”
“I don’t know maybe a Barbie Golden Dream Camper RV or a Doll and Me doll.”
“Baby doll or look-alike?”
My head pops up from the seat and I turn to look at him. “Look-alike, I guess.”
“Golden Dream Camper RV is pretty specific. Why that toy?”
I gaze out the front window. “I wanted to escape reality, I guess.” My parents were always fighting. I shouldn’t have been surprised my mother left. Her sudden disappearance from my life was more the issue.
“Have you ever been camping?”
I huff. “No.”
“Don’t say it like it’s beneath you?” He glances over at me, laying his wrist over the steering wheel.
“I’m not. I’ve just never been camping.” I hesitate. “We vacationed every Christmas until I went to college but nowhere that pushed the holiday. Tropical places where Christmas didn’t make sense.”
Zebb’s brow pinches.
“I’ve never been to Disneyland either.” I shrug again. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Robbery.” He’s teasing but the joke hurts. I wouldn’t say my childhood was stolen. My father did the best he could raising a girl on his own, but he also wasn’t overly involved or loving either.
“So tell me more about this nephew of yours.”
“Nick is my brother’s son.” Pride fills his voice. “Brock was the asshole who spilled his beer on you the other night.” Zebb rolls his eyes.
“He’ll be here tonight, of course. He also has a daughter, Eleanor.”
“Do you miss it?” I hesitate. “Football.”
Zebb cautiously smiles. “Yes and no.” He pauses. “One of my first words was ball. I got a football when I was about eleven, and the second that ball was in my hands I knew it was my future. It’s all I wanted to do. But things happen. Plans change.”
“What happened with the NFL?”
He squints through the windshield at the dark sky. “I told you. Some things are more important than money.”
“But what about the game?” I push.
Zebb seems to contemplate something before saying, “Still love the game but now I’m a spectator.”
There’s something he isn’t telling me. He’d been at the height of his career when he suddenly wasn’t playing anymore.
“The truth is we aren’t all Tom Brady. We can’t play much past thirty. I’d been sacked a few too many times. Ankle injury. Wrist issues. Tweaked my back once. I was getting old.”
I laugh, though not to hurt his feelings. “Well, you look good for an old guy.”