I tried not to meet his eyes or even breathe. He didn’t talk about Mom. Not ever.
“She said she’d help me…” His voice trailed off.
“I can do it,” I said as I wrapped one end around the other and looped it through. He pointed his chin up at the ceiling.
“Yeah, and where the fuck are you going to be next year?” His jaw clenched, and I saw his hands clench into fists. I tried to tie a little faster. “Who is going to tie it for the city banquet then, huh?”
“If I played for the Sounders, I’d be—”
“You aren’t playing for the fucking Sounders!” he screamed. I tried to step back, but it wasn’t enough. His hands pushed against my chest, knocking me backward into the bathroom counter. Pain shot up from the small of my back as it made contact with the edge of the counter, and I winced. “You are going to Europe to play football! Real Messini! Real football!”
I started to move to the side to get out the door, but he shoved me back again. I tried to hold my muscles still, but I was starting to shake.
“Maybe if I hadn’t been stuck with you, I wouldn’t have made it that big,” he snarled low, “but there’s no way I would have ever settled for what was convenient. You are not going to settle for anything other than the best, you hear me? You won’t settle for anything but being the best!”
I didn’t answer. I had no idea if I should or not, but chances were if I answered him when he didn’t want me to, it would be worse than if I didn’t answer and he had to ask again.
“Doesn’t fucking matter anyway,” he said as he stood up straight and started brushing non-existent lint off his jacket. “Like you would come back here even if you were close. You probably can’t wait to get away from me.”
“I’ll still come home, Dad,” I said quietly. My hands gripped the edge of the counter, but I could still feel the shaking in my arms. “If I’m in Europe, you could move there, too…or I could—”
“Get the fuck out of here,” he interrupted. Not about to argue, I moved fast—out the door and into the hallway.
“Maybe with you out of the way, I’ll finally find someone else,” I heard him mumble as I left. “Who wants a guy with a fucking teenaged kid?”
I went down to the kitchen and splashed cold water on my face, careful not to get any on the tux, and tried to make my hands stop shaking. I rubbed at my back, which was bruised just a little, and then ran my hands through my hair again.
I paced and glanced at the clock. We had to be out of here in four minutes, or we were going to be late. If we were late…well, shit. I didn’t want us to be late. I was just about to head up to get him when I heard his footsteps on the stairs.
“Come on!” he yelled. “Let’s get going before we’re late!”
The car ride was silent, and when we pulled up to the city building, there were a massive number of people there, so I started calming down before I even got out of the car. I looked around at the gathering—the small-town politicians, people from the hospital and the school board—all dressed in their finest as if they were trying to relive prom or something.
Time to start playing the role for which we were dressed.
Dad tossed his arm lightly around my shoulders and laughed heartily at nothing as we walked across the sidewalk and up the stairs to the giant double front doors. He greeted everyone with a smile and at least a chuckle, shaking their hands, kissing their babies—the whole nine yards. Several people mentioned my PK save, and he beamed and clasped me on the back as he told them how proud he was of me.
I tried not to wince when his hand made contact with the bruise on my lower back.
“Ah, there you are, Greg!” Dad beamed again. His eyes were brighter than LED headlights. I turned my eyes to where he was looking and caught my breath.
It was Sheriff Greg Skye in his tux, and on his arm was Rumple in a light green, shimmery dress. It was extremely tasteful, covering her from her neck to her knees, and absolutely fucking gorgeous. Her hair was curled and loose around her shoulders, and the fabric of the dress was flowing over her arms and body as if it could be completely removed by a strong breeze from the wrong direction.
Thank God for the length of this tux jacket because parts of me were definitely taking notice and trying to poke out to get a better look.
“Thomas, you remember Greg.” Dad smiled, showing all his teeth as I reached out and shook the sheriff’s hand.
“Of course, Sheriff Skye.”
“And this is my daughter, Nicki,” the sheriff said. “She just moved here for her last year of high school. She’s only been here about a week, but I sure am glad to have her. I forgot what real food tasted like!”
“Dad!” she growled under her breath, but I could only think about her and her father sitting in the kitchen and eating dinner together.
I locked eyes with her.
Nicki.
I felt the corner of my mouth moving up a little.