Samantha sighed as she stepped onto the court. What was the point of all this? All around her her teammates waved to the bleachers. But not her. She didn’t even bother to look.

She didn’t blame them. Mom came to every game she possibly could, but she had just taken off for Timmy’s recital. She was out of time, she couldn’t skip any more work. Samantha knew she wanted to come anyways but she told her no. She couldn’t ask that. She saw the bags under Mom’s eyes. She heard the sobbing when she thought everyone was asleep.

Dad…well, Dad was a hero. And not just her hero, everyone’s hero. Her daddy saved the day, saved lives. And he was saving lives right now. What was a mere basketball game compared to that? Samantha would smile. She couldn’t be prouder of her daddy.

So then why did her chest hurt? Why did her stomach ache? Why was her heart twisted into a knot?

She looked ahead. She tried to focus on the other team. Eyes forward. Head in the game.

She tried.

And tried.

No.

Don’t.

No one’s there.

No one should be there.

But she couldn’t help herself. A quick glance. Just a peek. Just to be sure. And then she would…

Samantha froze.

She blinked.

She turned her head.

He couldn’t be there. He shouldn’t be there.

But there he was.

No masks. No capes. Just a pair of jeans and a lame shirt.

Their eyes made contact. He raised his hand and slowly began to wave. She slowly raised hers and waved back.

It was Jim Roberson.

It was her dad.

Her heart began to pound. She felt something warm rise from her stomach and spread throughout her torso. Her eyes began to moisten.

She shook her head. She turned her eyes forward. The ref was about to toss the ball.

She had a game to win.

Jim opened the door and let his daughter in. He smiled wryly. She had not stopped talking the entire way home. But he had to admit that was a hell of a shot.

“Mom!”

The little girl ran to the woman dusting the hallway furniture. Jim watched from the doorway as she recounted the game to her mother.

He took a deep breath.

His wife had been right about many things, but also wrong. He loved the glory. He craved the thrill. But that, that wasn’t why he had done what he did.

It was because he was afraid.

He was used to the worshiping eyes of adoring crowds. To the sleazy eyes of silver-tongued politicians. To the judgemental eyes of journalists who thought he took it too far. To the jealous eyes of police robbed of their day in the light.

But the eyes here, these eyes scared him.

The eyes with no hate, no judgment, no motive. The eyes with infinite faith and trust, that hung on every word he spoke. How could he ever live up to what those eyes saw?

And then, that night. Those eyes, filled with fear, longing, concern.

But without an ounce of judgment or blame.

Something inside him broke that night.

His heart pounded in his chest as he watched his daughter and wife. His stomach dropped, his chest curled into a knot. He had failed. He was lacking. He had no idea what to do. He didn’t think he could do it even if he knew. And it scared him how good it had felt to go back. How desperately he had wanted to step into those lights and crowds. Just a little. Just a bit. You’ve done enough today. You’ll start tomorrow.

He took a step forward into the house. He had to.

He wondered if his wife was right. If this family needed him, if they would be better off without him. But he had realized something.

That he needed them.

Captain Hot Devil, Jim Roberson, he was many things. But a coward wasn’t one of them. He had been given a second chance. He might waste it. But not for lack of trying.

So he would do what he could. One step at a time.

He prayed it would be enough.

He stepped forward as his daughter skipped deeper into the house. There stood his wife, dusting away, back turned to him. He opened his mouth. He closed it. What could he say that he had not already said? What use was there in further begging, further pleading, further apologies, further promises?

“I’m back.”

He waited for a moment.

Not a word. Not a glance.

Jim dropped his gaze to his feet. He stepped towards the living room, his son was surely working on his homework there.

Then he heard it. A faint whisper. So soft he wasn’t sure he had really heard anything at all.

“Welcome home.”

He paused. He opened his mouth. He looked behind him. Not another word. Not another glance. He closed his mouth. It wasn’t time.

He stepped forward. It was time to greet his son. But now, he kept his gaze up and forward.

He didn’t know what he should do.

But he would do what he could.

One step at a time.

Because that’s what heroes do.