“I know, and I will,” I said. “When the time is right.” Which might be, you know, when hell froze over, and football players started falling through the icy cracks. Maybe then my dad would be willing to listen to me.
“Wouldn’t that be now?” The season was over. The Super Bowl had come and gone. If ever there was a time to capture Richard Ralls’s attention, it would be now.
Heather’s brow furrowed. Whatever she was about to say, it was difficult. “It’s not easy for you, I know. He puts a lot of pressure on you, but he loves you enough to do it. Always remember that.”
I knew that talking about parents was painful for her. Her folks had never really been role models, but that didn’t make my dad any better. “Yeah, sure. He loves me so much. I’m priority number one. No, make that two. Right after his beloved fucking Dolphins. Or no, wait, how many football players are there on his team? I’m the number after that.”
Her eyes softened. She’d been through a lot for only being 28, but it gave her insight that I didn’t always understand. “He owns the team, babe. They’re his job. You’re his daughter.”
“I am. I don’t care about his damn team, though. He doesn’t care about what I want. Being his daughter doesn’t seem to make much of a difference in this equation.” In the battle between myself and his team, there was never a question as to who would win.
Yay for me. I refused to even think about it. I wasn’t about to start whining about my father’s approval, or lack thereof.
My phone chose that opportune time to ring. It was my father’s ringtone. Under Pressure by Queen. It was programmed for his cell, his office, and his assistant. I looked at the screen to see it was his assistant’s number calling me.
No surprise there. I didn’t even know why I had his personal numbers anymore. It wasn’t like he ever called me himself.
“Speak of the devil,” I muttered.
“Answer it, Gabbi. It’s just going to eat at you later if you don’t.” Heather was buried in her notes again, but she shot a concerned glance at me.
I nodded and answered the phone. As it turned out, my father could still surprise me. Maybe hell is freezing over, after all, I thought as I heard his voice on the other end of the line.
“Gabrielle? Hello? Are you there?” He sounded like he had lifted the phone from his ear to look at it. Like he would be able to see if I was there or not.
“Hey, Dad. I’m here. I’m just surprised to hear from. That’s all.”
He didn’t skip so much as a beat. “I got your message that you wanted to talk. I’ll be available on Wednesday morning at 8. I’ll see you then?” It was more of a demand than a request.
“Gee, thanks, Dad.” He missed the sarcasm in my tone. “Whatever, I’ll be there. See you Wednesday.”
Despite being my father’s only biological child, I had to schedule appointments with him just like anyone else. All while his 53 or so players had unfettered access to him.
I guess that was just the way it was when your father owned the Miami fucking Dolphins.
Chapter Three
James
My hangover had become a distant memory as I hit the punching bag in the team’s gym. A fine layer of sweat covered my body.
The door banged open, and Coach Jim came striding through it, ending whatever call he was on when he spotted me.
“In case no one told you, James, the season’s over. You can take a couple of days off.” He grinned, but his face was red like he’d been fighting with someone on the phone.
My breath came in quick gasps. I hunched over and clutched my knees, waiting to catch my breath. I guess I’d been hitting it harder than I’d realized. “Yeah, I know. Getting a jump on next season, I guess.”
Jim’s raked his eyes over me, his concern clear. “You okay, son? I would’ve thought you’d be taking a few days to spend some time with Harper?”
“I’m fine, Jim. And I will, this afternoon. I don’t want to disrupt her routine just because mine changed.” I’d had enough people warning me about routine and all that shit that I didn’t need to test it for myself.
“I can respect that. Even so, you should take some time for yourself. Relax.” Jim surveyed me, again, probably trying to assess if I’d caused any damage to my body.
“That’s what I’m doing. Relaxing. Getting a jump on next season at the same time.” There was an edgy undertone to my voice that I couldn’t quite hide.
“Therein lies the problem, my boy. You need to unwind. Maybe take Harper somewhere nice and just relax with her for a week or so. I’m sure she would enjoy it.”
Was that the problem? Because the problem, at least the way I saw it, was that I was the only one in there focusing on next season. The guys who should have been here busting their asses were off somewhere licking their wounds. He may have had a point about Harper, though.