Page 137 of Whistle

The wheel jerked in my hand, and I glanced at her, incredulous. “What?”

“Not at me.” She hurried to amend, then groaned. “You’ve been a hard-ass at practices all semester.”

“That’s my job.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her shake her head. “Maybe. But it felt different. And this week feels different too.”

Well, damn. It was genetic. Feeling shit without being able to explain it. Poor kid.

“I’ve been worried.” She burst out.

The turmoil in her voice had me pulling over and hitting the brake. After throwing the car into park, I turned to face my daughter. “Tell me what you’ve been worrying about, baby girl.”

“We’re going to be late.”

“I don’t even want to go.”

She smiled. “You’re terrible.”

“Never claimed to be otherwise.”

“But you are,” she said quietly, a slight hitch in her chest. “You’re a good man, Dad, but you pretend you aren’t. Why?”

A lump formed in my throat and a knot in my chest. “My job is to create elite athletes, not coddle them.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean, then?”

She looked at me as if she knew I knew what she meant and was disappointed I pretended otherwise. I had a lot of experience in feeling like shit, but let me be clear: Disappointing your kid was a whole other level of feeling like shit. Like shit on steroids.

“Ladybug—”

“You aren’t happy.”

That lump in my throat turned into a knife, the blade stabbing me with pain. I tried to deny it, but the only thing I managed was a grunting sort of sound.

Pathetic, Emmett. Pathetic.

“Have you ever been?” she questioned, unsure.

This time, I forced the words past my screaming throat. “I’ve never been unhappy.”

Her green eyes dimmed, sadness welling up in them like my answer broke her heart. I didn’t want to break my baby girl’s heart.

“Is it because of me?”

The reaction to that was so visceral that I jolted hard enough to rock the car. “What? No! Why would you think that?”

She shrugged. “Maybe you regret becoming a dad so young. Like Mom?—”

“Your mother is a selfish bitch,” I snapped. The instant the words were out, I sucked in a surprised breath. Fuck, did I really just say that out loud? “Landry, honey, I didn’t mean that. Your mom?—”

“It’s the truth,” she said, not even scandalized by the way I’d insulted her mother.

Fucking great, Emmett. Father of the year.

“She’s always been angry that she had to give up her youth to raise a kid.”

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