Page 29 of Chasing the Puck

It’s frustrating. I know it’s a good opportunity. I’m not happy about turning it down. But this is my future we’re talking about, and I know for my future, going through with this internship is the best decision.

It sucks to make a disappointing decision that you know is the smart thing to do, even if it’s the boring thing to do. Having people try to talk you out of it only makes it worse.

I’m currently taking a deep breath as I hold my phone to my ear, enduring more of my dad’s persuasion.

“Daddy,” I say, a bite to the word after he finishes his spiel. Normally I call him Dad, but I’ve developed the habit of going back to Daddy when he annoys me. I think it butters him up and makes him less eager to argue with what I’m saying. “I know you wanted me down there to act with you. I wish I could do it, too. But I’ve already committed to this internship. It would be a really, really bad look if I backed out. It could hurt my professional reputation.”

Static hisses from my phone. “What was that, dear?” my dad’s voice comes out sounding choppy. “I think I’m breaking up. I’m …”

The call drops.

I let out a sigh of relief.

I don’t know what happened to his signal, but as long as it isn’t a life-threatening disaster, which I doubt, I’m thankful to it for cutting our conversation short.

That was like talking to a brick wall. A brick wall that just repeats the same argument over and over, each time with more stress on the words, but without altering the logic one iota.

My stomach churns in annoyance as I feel my phone vibrate again. I guess my dad’s signal is back.

Without even looking at the screen, I slide open the call.

“Yes, Daddy?” I answer.

But there’s just silence on the other end.

Until, after about two beats, I hear a sharp breath.

Even though it’s just a breath, it doesn’t sound like my dad.

“Hello?” I ask into the phone.

There’s a cough on the other end. This time, I pick up a hint of the voice, and my chest catches as I seem to recognize it. Dread pools in my stomach, thinking that surely it can’t be …

“Sorry. I just … I need a minute.”

My stomach drops. There’s no mistaking the voice. No mistaking who I’m on the phone with.

I just called Tuck McCoy daddy.

He takes another deep breath and lets it out in a long, drawn-out sigh. “Still need a minute here. To recover. I just didn’t think … I didn’t think we were at that point in our relationship yet.”

I roll my eyes and groan. “Tuck, I …”

“No, no,” he interrupts. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining. I’m really not complaining.”

“I didn’t know it was you on the phone.”

There’s another beat of silence. When he finally speaks again, his voice is low, rough and gravelly, with a sharp edge to it. “Who else are you calling daddy?”

There’s an unmistakable undercurrent of jealousy in his voice—real jealousy. For some reason I’d rather not examine, it makes me feel a tingle low in my center.

“Uh, my actual father,” I answer.

“Oh. I guess that’s acceptable.”

“That’s a relief,” I snark. “You know me, always desperate for your approval.”

“Are you desperate for my praise, too?” Tuck asks, his voice throaty and suggestive.

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