I picked up my phone and dialed Dad's number, my heart still racing from the shock of what I had just witnessed. He picked up on the first ring, his familiar voice a comforting sound that seemed to calm my nerves slightly.
"Hey, kiddo! How was your day?" he asked, his tone cheerful and upbeat, completely unaware of the bombshell I was about to drop.
I took a deep breath, trying to process everything that had happened. "It was bad, Dad," I admitted, my voice shaking slightly. "I played a terrible game today. I made so many mistakes, and we lost because of me."
Dad's tone turned sympathetic, and I could almost hear the concern in his voice. "Aww, don't beat yourself up too much, son. Not every day is going to be your best. Some days are just meant to be bad. You can't win 'em all."
I sighed, feeling a bit better knowing that Dad was trying to reassure me. "I know, Dad. But it's hard not to feel like I let everyone down. I was supposed to be the one to lead the team to victory, and instead, I messed up."
"Well, you didn't," Dad said firmly. "You're a great player, and you'll bounce back from this. Just remember that it's okay to have off days sometimes. Even the pros have bad games."
We chatted for a bit longer about the game, and then I asked him where he was.
"I just got back home," he replied. "I was out running some errands. What about you? What are you up to?"
I hesitated, unsure of how to bring up what I had just seen. "I'm coming over, Dad," I said finally. "I need to talk to you about something."
Dad's tone turned curious. "Okay, kiddo. What's going on? You can tell me anything."
"I'll tell you when I get there," I said, not wanting to discuss it over the phone. I didn't know how to break the news to him, and I didn't want to do it over the phone.
"Okay, son. I'll see you soon. Drive safe."
I hung up the phone and got into my bicycle, my mind racing with thoughts of what I had seen. I couldn't believe that George and Emily would do something like that. And I couldn't believe that I had to tell Dad about it.
As I drove to Dad's house, I tried to prepare myself for the conversation ahead. I knew it wouldn't be easy, but I had to tell him the truth. When I arrived, Dad was waiting for me in the living room, a concerned look on his face.
"Hey, kiddo," he said, as I sat down next to him. "What's going on? You sounded upset on the phone."
I took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Dad, I saw something today," I began. "Something that I don't think I was supposed to see."
Dad's expression turned serious. "What was it, son?"
I hesitated, unsure of how to continue. But I knew I had to tell him the truth. "I saw George and Emily together," I said finally. "They were kissing."
Dad's face went white, and he looked like he had been punched in the gut. "What?" he whispered. "Where did you see this?"
I told him everything, from the football game to following George and Emily to the secluded spot behind the school. Dad listened, his expression growing more and more shocked.
When I finished, he just sat there, staring at me like he couldn't believe what he had just heard. "I don't know what to say, son," he said finally. "I'm so sorry you had to see that."
We sat there in silence for a moment, the only sound being the ticking of the clock on the wall. I could see the wheels turning in Dad's head, trying to process what I had just told him.
Finally, he spoke up. "We need to talk about this, son. We need to figure out what to do next."
Dad's face turned beet red with rage as he tried to process the bombshell I had just dropped on him. He looked like he was about to explode, and I could see the anger building up inside him like a ticking time bomb.
"How could they do this to us?" he thundered, his voice echoing off the walls like a clap of thunder. "How could they betray us like this? After everything we've done for them, after everything we've given them!"
He began to pace back and forth across the room, his fists clenched at his sides like he was ready to take on the world. I could see the tension building up in his body, his muscles flexing with each step.
Suddenly, he stopped pacing and turned to the wall, his eyes blazing with anger like a wildfire. He raised his fist and punched the wall with all his might, the sound of his fist hitting the drywall echoing through the room like a gunshot.
"Dad, no!" I shouted, rushing over to him like a lifeline. "Stop! You're going to hurt yourself!"
But he didn't stop. He kept punching the wall, his fists flying like a jackhammer, each blow landing with a sickening thud. I could see the drywall crumbling under the force of his blows, the paint chipping off in flakes.
I grabbed him from behind, trying to hold him back like a wild animal. "Dad, stop! Please! You're going to hurt yourself!"
But he was too strong. He shook me off like a rag doll, his eyes fixed on some point in front of him like he was in a trance.
That's when I saw it. The wall was covered in fist marks, like a map of his anger and frustration. And there were already dried bloodstains on the floor, like a grim reminder of his past battles.
I felt a wave of shock and horror wash over me like a tsunami. How could I have not seen this? How could I have not known?
"Dad, please stop," I begged, trying to hold him back again.
This time, he stopped. He turned to me, his eyes wild and unfocused like a madman.
"I'm so sorry, son," he whispered, his voice shaking like a leaf. "I'm so sorry I didn't protect her. I'm so sorry I didn't see this coming."
I realized then that he was blaming himself for what had happened. He thought he had failed Emily, and that's why he was so angry.
"Dad, it's not your fault," I said, trying to reassure him like a calm in a storm. "You did the best you could. You can't blame yourself for this."
But he just shook his head, his eyes filling with tears like a dam breaking.
"I should have seen it coming," he whispered. "I should have protected her."
I remembered then what I had told him at the park last time, about Emily hanging out with boys and dressing provocatively. I realized now that he had been heartbroken even then, and that's why he had punched the wall.
"Dad, I'm so sorry," I said, feeling a wave of regret wash over me like a flood. "I'm so sorry I didn't tell you sooner."
He looked at me, his eyes searching like a lost soul.
"You didn't know, son," he said. "You didn't know what was going on."
I shook my head, feeling a lump form in my throat like a rock.
"I should have told you," I whispered. "I should have told you sooner."
We stood there for a moment, the only sound being our heavy breathing like two survivors of a shipwreck.
Finally, Dad spoke up, his voice like a ray of hope in a dark room.
"We need to talk about this, son," he said. "We need to figure out what to do next."
I nodded, feeling a sense of determination wash over me like a tidal wave.
"We will, Dad," I said. "We'll figure it out together."