AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Dad takes a hard step forward, his face red. “You’re going to talk to me, goddammit.”
“No. I’m really not.”
“Listen up, young man—”
“My girl needs me.” I head past him.
He grabs my arm. “You’re walking out to see a piece of—”
I wrench free. “She is the woman I love. So show her some respect. She’s pregnant.” An ugly, raw sound breaks free. “Or was. She lost it. While I was on that field—”
Cursing, I turn away, head for the door. It takes me a second to see that my dad is following me.
“I’ll drive you,” he says grimly.
“I don’t need you to drive.” But it hits me that I don’t have a ride.
Something my dad knows, as well. Even so, he can’t help but get a dig in. “Don’t give a shit what you think you need, son. I’m doing it.” He sighs as he holds the exit door open. “I’ll see that you get to your girl safely. Now let’s go.”
Chapter 34
Gray
Stuck in the passenger seat of Dad’s cushy rental sedan, I can barely sit still. My knee bounces, and I’m rocking back and forth as if the motion can somehow make the damn car go faster. This traffic to get clear of the Superdome is killing me. Not being with Ivy is killing me. Is she okay?
In my haste, I’d left my phone behind. I’m cursing myself now.
Pressing my fingers against my aching eyes, I try to focus on deep breathing. I need to calm down before I totally lose it and end up kicking a hole through the floorboards.
“So it’s true?” My father’s gravelly voice cuts through the silence. “You’re with Sean Mackenzie’s oldest?”
“Ivy,” I croak out. “Yeah.” I don’t ask how he knows. Gossip is a disease in football.
“Nice kid.”
I glance at him, incredulous. But then shake my head. Of course Dad has met Ivy. She apparently knows everyone in professional sports.
He catches my look and shrugs. “Haven’t seen her since she was a teenager. But she seemed to have a good head on her shoulders. Pretty too, in a subtle way.”
I snort and grind my clenched fist against my mouth.
“And you love her?” he presses.
“I want to marry her.” Not that he needs to know. But it feels good to say. As if, every time I do, it becomes more real.
Finally, traffic breaks, and my dad turns the car onto the main road. For some reason, I find myself looking at his hands. Those big hands that always felt like a hammer crashing into my skull when he’d cuff my head for some minor infraction. They look old now, the knuckles swollen, the skin spotted with age.
A sick lurch goes through me. I lean back, stare out the windows.
“It’s been a long time since you’ve been home,” Dad says in a low voice.
“I am home,” I say. When he doesn’t answer me, I glare at him. “Did you really think I’d ever come back?”
His profile is like granite. “Why wouldn’t you?”
My laugh is bitter and short. “Here’s a tip. You want your child to visit? You don’t fucking beat his ass when he’s a defenseless kid. You don’t let his older fuck-head brothers beat his ass.” I’m yelling now, my voice ringing in the space between us. “And you don’t fucking leave him alone to take care of his dying mother.”
Dad had been stoic until the mention of my mom. His gaze slices to mine. Red flushes over his weathered cheeks. “First off, I never beat you. I pushed you to excel.”
