Daddy Wanted. Renee Andrews

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      Brodie Evans trudged through the locker room at Stockville Community College and reluctantly entered his office. He prayed no one had tossed the envelope while he’d been away and, inspecting the top of his desk, feared the worst.

      Willow’s letter was nowhere to be seen.

      “Coach Evans, it’s good to have you back,” Phillip Stone, Brodie’s assistant coach, stepped into the office. He was twenty-three, fresh off his college baseball career, and he reminded Brodie of the guy he’d been ten years ago. Young. Athletic. Charming. Someone who had the world at his fingertips. But unlike Brodie, Phillip didn’t appear the kind of guy who would leave his loved ones behind while he fought to achieve his goals. “You planning to be at tonight’s workouts?” he asked.

      Brodie had taken the head coaching job in January, only three months ago, and he hadn’t planned to miss an entire week of workouts and practices, but his priorities had taken a tailspin when he learned his daughter had been in a wreck that had nearly taken her life. Thankfully, the doctors—and God—had pulled Marissa through, but nearly losing her had caused Brodie to realize the truth.

      He had earned no place in her world.

      “Coach?” Phillip repeated, then shook his head ruefully. “Aw, man, I’m sorry. I should’ve asked first. Everything okay with the family emergency?”

      Family emergency. That was the only rationale Brodie could come up with to explain why he’d had to leave for spring break instead of sticking around for the team’s extra practices. He’d never mentioned his daughter to the guy. Then again, that precious fifteen-year-old with his eyes technically wasn’t “his daughter” anymore. Once they’d known Marissa would make it, his ex-wife, Cherie, had been quick to remind him that he’d terminated parental rights thirteen years ago.

      “Coach...?” Phillip prodded.

      “The emergency is over,” Brodie lied. Truthfully, his life was one big crisis now. The only daddy Marissa knew was the one who’d raised her, the one who’d married Cherie over a decade ago. But that didn’t negate the fact that she was Brodie’s flesh and blood.

      He had to show Cherie that he was worthy of a place in his daughter’s world. And he’d made a promise to himself—and more important, to God—that he would rectify past mistakes.

      “There was a letter,” he said gruffly, “on my desk. I’m certain it was here.” He lifted the stacks of upcoming schedules and camp information, pushed aside the playbooks and still...nothing.

      “A recruitment letter? I took that template and handed it over to Coach Yates while you were gone so he could follow up with those players you’d contacted.”

      “No, not the recruitment letter.” Brodie scrubbed a hand down his face, felt the evidence of forgetting to shave this morning. “This one was...” He paused, not sure how much he wanted to divulge, and finally settled on “personal.”

      “Vern and his maintenance staff have been in several times cleaning up. I believe your new mail is in your slot.” Phillip pointed to the incoming mail bin near the door.

      Brodie hadn’t thought to check the bin, stuffed full with a collection of equipment magazines, manila folders and assorted envelopes. He moved toward the container, grabbed the mass from inside and dropped the contents on his desk.

      “Need help finding what you’re looking for?” Phillip asked.

      “No.” Brodie tossed envelope after envelope until, at the bottom of the stack, he saw Willow’s letter. He clutched it like a lifeline, or more accurately, like a mistake he desperately needed to fix. He’d wronged a friend and ended up losing two in the process. He’d never heard from Savvy after that night either, and he had no doubt why.

      She knew what he’d done.

      He stuffed the letter in his jacket pocket. “I won’t make workouts tonight.” Brodie glanced up to see Phillip frowning, undeniably confused at the lack of commitment shown by the college’s new head coach. Brodie was committed to the Stockville baseball program, but if he wanted a relationship with Marissa, he had to grow up. Change. Become the father she deserved.

      During the entire drive home from that Knoxville hospital, he’d begged God to show him how to do that. And God had put Willow’s letter on his heart.

      “I’ve got something I need to do, but then I’ll be back with the team 24/7.” He didn’t know why he offered an explanation. He was the head coach, after all, and as such, he didn’t have to justify himself to any of the assistant coaches. But Phillip Stone was a great coach and a good guy, too, and Brodie wasn’t going to do good people wrong, not anymore.

      Understanding dawned on the young man’s face. “Unfinished business with the family emergency. I gotcha. Don’t worry about the team, Coach. We’ll have them ready for you tomorrow.” Then he left Brodie’s office and disappeared through the locker room.

      Exhaling slowly, Brodie withdrew the letter from his jacket, opened it and read Willow’s words again. She needed to talk to him. Her son was having a tough time in school, and she wanted Brodie to tutor him.

      He hadn’t even realized she still lived in Claremont, or that she knew he coached at Stockville. But she mentioned an article from the Claremont paper. There wasn’t a lot of stuff that happened in or around Claremont, Alabama. A local boy who’d semi made it coming back to take the head coaching job at the nearest college was apparently front-page news. And evidently, the article also discussed the fact that he was part of a mentorship program with local community kids that involved tutoring and recreational activities.

      So Willow asked if Brodie could tutor her boy, but Brodie didn’t know how he would face her after the way he’d left her in Knoxville.

      Closing his eyes, he prayed, God, please, forgive me for ignoring this for the past three weeks. Help me find the strength to see Willow again, and to apologize for being such a— The word that came to mind didn’t belong in a prayer. Such a jerk back then. And, Lord, if it be Your will, let me fix my past mistakes. Let me have some small place in my daughter’s life.

      He opened his eyes, folded the letter and slid it back in the envelope. Willow needed his help. Three weeks ago, he’d avoided her, but now he wanted to make amends. And he’d start with words he’d never uttered before. But he’d say them today.

      I’m sorry. And then... Forgive me.

      * * *

      To keep her mind off Willow, the children and Brodie Evans, Savvy delved into the boxes and itemized lists defining the new shipments her grandparents had received over the past week. She didn’t stop for lunch or for breaks. And when her phone buzzed loudly in her jeans, she was so preoccupied, she almost fell off the tiny stool she used while sorting through the bins.

      She slid it out of her pocket and answered, “Hello?”

      “Savvy, hey, it’s Mandy.” Mandy Brantley had kept Willow’s children until Savvy arrived in town yesterday afternoon, and she’d helped Savvy get them ready for bed last night before heading to her own home.

      Savvy’s pulse started racing, probably because the last time the other woman had called, she’d informed Savvy that her friend was dead and that Savvy was now responsible for her three children. “Mandy, is everything okay?”

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