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Dad nods and opens a drawer, pulling out a knife to cut the pie. He keeps talking as he cuts. “That’s great. I love to hear it. And your classes?”
“They’re good. I may… have taken on a few too many classes? I’m a little ambitious, and the course load is killer, but I’ve got this. It just means less partying and more studying.”
“Good. Less partying means less worrying for me. Especially when we go a few days without talking, Care. I can’t help but worry. Chicago is a big city, and it’s new to you.”
“Dad, I’ve told you a billion times. I’m okay. I’m not a little girl anymore, and I know sometimes you forget that, but you’ve got to let me stand on my own feet.”
He puts the knife down and walks around the kitchen island to me, taking a seat next to me. “I-I just missed so much, Caroline. I wish I could turn back to the clock, start over and be there for every minute that I missed.”
“Me too, Dad, but we can’t do that, so we have to move forward, and the only way we can do that is to leave the past in the past and to focus on the future.”
He nods, sadness dimming on his face. “How about we play Scrabble? After dinner? You used to love that game.”
My heart pangs again, emotion rising in my throat, but I plaster on the best smile I can manage and nod. “Sounds good.”
After eating dinner, which was amazing and truly is still my favorite meal, we play three rounds of Scrabble until I feel my eyes getting heavy. Checking my watch, I see that it’s after ten, and this week has officially caught up to me. Studying, sorority duties, late-night assignments.
“Hey, Dad, if someone wanted to get a hockey player’s jersey, where could I get one?” I ask as we’re picking up the game.
For a second, he pauses, his brow furrowing. “Like as in my guys?”
I nod, pulling my lip between my teeth.
“I thought you weren’t a hockey fan?” he asks, cocking his head.
“I’m not really. It just seems like I’m the only person in the entire city that isn’t a fan of the Avalanches. Plus, my dad is their coach. What kind of daughter would I be if I didn’t at least own a jersey? You did want me to come to a game—shouldn’t I wear one when I do?”
He ponders my words for a second but shrugs with a smile. “I guess you’re right. I can get you some merch, sweetheart. Don’t spend your money on that.”
“Uh, well, I mean, I also wanted to get one for Tatum. She’s a huge fan, and, uh, she wanted to get a specific player.”
His eyes darken slightly. “And who would that be?”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I should’ve known better than to ask him.
“Hudson Rome.”
He eyes me carefully before replying. “There’s an official merch store near the arena that carries all the vets. But I think it’s worth reiterating that both Tatumandyou need to stay away from my guys, Caroline. The last thing I would ever want is my daughter caught up with any of them. They’re too old for either of you and not the settling type. Especially not a guy like Rome. Okay?”
“Yep. Of course, Dad. I was just asking for Tatum. Thank you.”
He nods, rising from his chair. “Let me grab my keys, and I can get you back to the house. One sec.”
I should feel guilty for hiding this from him and sneaking around with his player.
I should.
Except… I don’t. While I want to repair my relationship with my dad, I also don’t think he has any right to impose any rules on my life. He’s been absent for almost ten years of my life.
It’s late when I get back to my room and completely quiet. I had a few unread messages from Hudson and one from Tatum saying she was staying over with her date and, I quote, “getting the D.”
Which means I have our room all to myself.
After doing my nighttime skin care routine, I throw on an old T-shirt and panties, then climb into my bed before opening all the texts from Hudson.
Hudson: I’m home and very disappointed that you weren’t in my bed waiting for me.
