be filled in with all the details?
I don’t think so. He can get bent for all I care.
“Can we drop the façade?” Rather pointedly, I glance at my watch. “I don’t have a lot of time.”
The look in his eyes sharpens, turning just this side of feral. I tense, immediately recognizing the reaction. It brings me straight back to my childhood and makes me send up a little prayer of gratitude he was sent away before he could inflict any real damage. Who would I be if he hadn’t pulled the trigger? Would he have sucked me into his orbit? Gotten me involved with his petty con games? There are nights when I lay awake and try to imagine an alternate future. Thank fuck that was never my reality. If it had been, it’s doubtful I’d be where I am today.
The waitress stops by our table. On closer inspection, I realize she’s not as old as I pegged her to be from a distance. It’s like this place has sucked the youth right out of her.
“What can I get for you, hun?”
I hold up a hand. “Nothing. I won’t be staying long.”
She raises a brow in surprise before her gaze slides to my father. “Need a refill, sugar?” When her lips pull back, I notice that she’s missing a tooth.
My father shakes his head and flashes her a tobacco-stained smile. “Nah, I’m good.”
“Just holler if you need anything,” she calls over her shoulder, already moving on to another table.
“What did you want to talk about?” I’m done beating around the bush. “I already told you that I didn’t have a lot of time.”
“And yet, here you are.” A glint of satisfaction enters his eyes. It’s as if he’s playing a game of cat and mouse. Little does he know I’ll never be the mouse again. “I’ve been away for ten long years. Is it so much to ask that we spend a little time together? I’ll be honest, kid, it hurts my feelings that you won’t even call me dad like the good old days.”
It takes everything I have not to roll my eyes.
Give me a damn break.
“How about you get to the point, Dad,” I grit between clenched teeth. Acknowledging the piece of shit sitting across from me as anything more than a sperm donor feels like a slap in the face to any man who took the role seriously and helped shape their children into productive human beings.
You know who had that kind of impact on me?
Coach. Without him, I don’t know who I would be or what I would be doing. He gave me hope and showed me that life could be different. There’s no way I’ll ever be able to repay him for giving me a future to believe in.
“See?” If not for the hardening of his eyes, I’d think the sarcasm had gone completely over his head. “Was that so hard?”
Yeah, it was. The man has no idea how sick inside it makes me to know that I’m a biological product of him.
He doesn’t bother to wait for a response. “Your mother tells me football is going well, and you’ll get drafted this spring.”
My belly heaves, twisting painfully. Now it all makes sense. He heard I should be coming into money and wants his slice of the pie, whether he deserves it or not. If there’s a potential payday without having to lift a finger, my father will sniff it out. It might be his only true talent.
I jerk my shoulders, wanting to downplay my prospects. Not that it’ll do me any good. He’s like a bloodhound who has picked up the scent. “Don’t know,” I mutter, wanting to shut down this line of questioning, “nothing is for certain.”
His lips lift into a yellowed smile as if he knows exactly what I’m up to and isn’t fooled by my modesty. “Ever since I got home, that’s all your ma squawks about. How many teams are looking at you and the kind of money you’ll be raking in by next year.” He licks his lips as if he can already taste it.
Fuck.
Why hadn’t I kept my big trap shut?
I’ll tell you why—I’d wanted my mother to be proud of me. She’s worked so damn hard to put food on the table, keep a roof over our heads, and pay for football. For the first time in her life, I’d wanted her to know someone would be taking care of her. She could finally stop stressing over