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my boy.”
    They kept playing until it was nearly dark. Played until Tommy’s dad announced last pass of the night and Tommy was moving to the right spot even before his dad brought his arm forward, cutting in front of an imaginary receiver, catching the ball cleanly, running across Rogers Park, toward the small playground, chased by a couple of small dogs.
    His dad high-fived Tommy when Tommy handed him the ball, laughing as he said, “I think one of those dogs was gaining on you at the end, dawg.” Then the two of them walked across Rogers to the car, his dad’s arm around Tommy’s shoulder.
    â€œYou know what I hate?” Tommy said.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI hate when it’s time to go home.”
    â€œMe too,” his dad said.
    They walked in silence, night coming fast now, like it was racing them to the car, until Tommy’s dad said, “But look on the bright side, boyo.”
    That was what his dad’s grandfather, born in Ireland, had always called him: boyo.
    Tommy had always loved the sound of it.
    â€œWhat’s the bright side?” Tommy said.
    â€œWe’ve got a whole lifetime of nights like this ahead of us.”

EIGHT
    H IS MOM OFFERED TO STA Y and watch him practice, even though Tommy couldn’t remember her watching practice since his first year of organized football.
    She always came to his games. She said she loved watching him play just like she used to love watching his dad play when they were both students at Brighton High School. He knew she still worried about him getting hurt, especially the serious risk of getting a concussion. But his dad had convinced her that everything was being done to make the sport as safe as it could possibly be for guys Tommy’s age, and that there were always risks in any sport. Above all else, though, she knew how much Tommy loved football and how important it was to the two of them, sharing that passion.
    â€œYou said that we’ve got to try to make our routine as normal as possible,” Tommy said. “But you sticking around tonight? Totally not normal.”
    â€œI know,” she said. “I really do know. I just thought—” That was as far as she got.
    â€œI won’t be alone, Mom. When I’m on the field, he’ll be there. He’ll
always
be there.”
    â€œOkay,” she said. “Robert’s mom said she’d give you a ride home.”
    She never called him “Greck.” She told Tommy it reminded her too much of “Shrek.”
    She looked like she wanted to say more, but couldn’t find the words.
    So he kept it short and sweet himself. “I love you, Mom.”
    It got a smile out of her. “I loved you first.”
    She leaned across the front seat, trying to sneak in a quick kiss on his cheek. But Tommy was quicker, doing a lean-back as he opened the car door on the passenger side.
    â€œMom,” he said, smiling himself now, “I know your moves better than I know most quarterbacks’.” Then he was jogging toward the field behind Brighton Junior High.
    He’d wondered all day what it was going to be like, being back on the field with the rest of the guys, hoping they wouldn’t treat him any differently and act as if he were sick or like he’d turned into a different person because his dad had died. It had been that way at school today, even with his boys, Nick and Greck, until he’d finally said to both of them at lunch, “I’m okay,
okay
?”
    â€œWhat’re you talking about?” Nick said.
    â€œYou don’t have to be afraid to act like yourselves around me,” Tommy said. “Which means like your usual dumb selves.”
    â€œHey,” Nick said, “I’m an A student.”
    â€œMaybe in gym class,” Tommy said.
    Nick and Greck laughed. It felt good to see them acting like themselves around him again.
    â€œIf I can still make fun of you guys,” Tommy said,