Page 31 of Dirty Pool

But it was desperate.

And oh, so strained.

“I’m not a doctor,” Michel mumbled, shaking his head but not able to look away from the man dying in the corner. “I can’t help you. You took the wrong guy.”

SIX

“And you’re set, then?” Charles asked his daughter. “You’re absolutely certain you’re continuing this path for college?”

Gabbie smiled at her father. “I’m going to be a lawyer.”

Once, her father had offhandedly mentioned that it had been her mother’s dream to be a lawyer. Then, she fell pregnant shortly before a rushed wedding, and that dream was pilfered away as family and becoming a mother was more important to Betha.

Gabbie never felt like she simply took over that dream for her dead mother, but rather, continued it. She genuinely liked law, and she was a good student. For the most part, she found college easy, and while it would be quite a few years before she would ever stand in a courtroom to defend someone, that was okay, too.

“Mmm. A defense lawyer, lass.”

“Was that what Mam wanted to be, too?”

Charles chuckled lowly and picked up his glass of the black stuff. Taking a hearty swig, he set it back to the table a little harder than necessary. “No, she had simpler dreams. She wanted to help children and be their voice. But as you know very well, she had a child of her own that needed to come first, and what do I always say, hmm?”

“Charity starts at home.”

He smiled. “Exactly that.”

Gabbie didn’t agree with her father on that sentiment, especially not considering how well off they were when it came to stability and money. The thing was, the mindset her father sported was one he’d grown up with, and it was hard to remove that kind of outlook from someone who had never known anything different.

She wouldn’t be the one to try, either.

Wanting to change the subject, because she didn’t feel like yet again justifying to her father why she wanted to become a lawyer, Gabbie waved a fork over her plate. “How’s the food?”

His green eyes met hers. “It’s always lovely, lass.”

“Have to ask.”

He wouldn’t say it—because if he did, then he would have to admit he didn’t practice what he preached to her constantly—but he didn’t like whole wheat anything. Which meant the casserole she’d come over to make him for supper was not his favorite thing. Oh, sure, she added enough spices and flavor to the dish that one really couldn’t tell whether or not it was whole wheat pasta, but he knew.

He knew because she was eating it, too.

It had to be whole wheat.

Then, Charles rested back in his chair after discarding the napkin he’d been using to tuck into his shirt as he ate. That was her first sign he was just about done eating, and soon, he would dismiss her. It was a regular thing for the two of them to spend a wee bit of time together throughout the week.

Usually, she came over to cook dinner.

Sometimes, they went out.

She loved her father for that, in a way, even if sometimes it did feel like he was smothering her too much. He did make every effort to remind her that she was one, if not the most, important thing in his life. He cleared his schedule, shut off the phone, and took a few minutes just to chat with her.

Sure, he chatted in his way.

That usually meant questioning her.

Driving her nuts.

But he loved her, too.

“I know you think I’m a shite, Gabbie,” her father said.