Page 87 of Infinite

It’s an odd thing to say. I always had curves. But the last time he saw me, I still had a thin figure of an athletic twenty-two-year-old. Maybe, like me, he’s struggling for things to say.

“No, sir, I’m not.”

“What’re you doing now?” he asks. “You married? Got yourself a husband and kids?” He gives me the once over only my father can. “Someone taking care of you?”

I almost mention Hale. But the only thing Hale takes care of is my heart and that’s not what my father is asking. “I’m not married. I don’t have children. I support myself, sir.”

My tone is respectful, the same way it would’ve been when I was a teen and wanted to make a point or explain what I needed. Back then, regardless of how softly and intelligently I spoke, depending on his mood, he’d either grant me what I wanted or scream at me for asking.

Old habits die hard. It takes everything I have not to flinch, expecting those cruel words or an inevitable blow.

“No one would have you?” he asks, frowning.

I should leave in a huff right now, turn on my heel so my back is the last thing he sees. Instead, I laugh. This man is honestly stunned some prince on horseback hasn’t picked me up.

“Sir, there were plenty of men who wanted me. I just didn’t want them.”

“You one of dem lesbians now, girl?”

My smile falters. “No. There just hasn’t been anyone yet.” That’s a lie. But I don’t want to bring Hale into this. I won’t risk Daddy putting him down.

My gaze travels to the window, where the heavy curtains swallow any sunlight that dares to bleed into the room. Here, in my parents’ room, only darkness welcomes darkness.

When I was little, I often looked away from my father, too scared to face him. When I stopped looking away, that’s when things really changed between us and the resentment and tension soared to unstoppable heights, leaving everyone else walking on eggshells until the next battle began.

I turn back to him. Only a second or so passed. It wasn’t enough for that feeling squeezing my chest to lessen. If anything, I receive an extra harsh churn when I look back upon his face. There’s nothing left of the strong and imposing man I knew. But even though he looks weak and feeble, he’s still that man capable of causing harm.

“Do you know the Cougars?”

Wrinkled eyelids tent over his hazy irises. “Of course, I do. They’re the best team in the league. Some big shot went in a few years ago and shook everything up, cleaning up a reputation they’d all turned to shit.” He frowns. “Why? You that guy’s secretary or something?”

“No, daddy. I’m the guy who saved the Cougars. I’m the one who shook everything up.”

He makes a face. “You weren’t stupid with all that money your grandmother left you, were you? When you spent it all at once, I thought you’d gone and messed up everything she tried to do for you.” He huffs. “At least you did right by her and what she gave you.”

His comments confuse me. I’d used the money Nana June left me to pay for college. There was plenty left over. When I left, I turned it over to Momma. It was her mother’s money, after all, and there was always a part of me who felt Momma needed it more than I did.

“I used it for my education,” I say, not wanting to rat Momma out. She’d obviously hidden it from Daddy. “The rest of my success came from hard work.” I cross my legs. “You never heard about me with the Cougars? Never read about me in the paper or saw me on TV?”

“Naw, I didn’t want to hear about you. Nothing good, anyway, only the bad.”

I frown, trying to understand how he can speak to me like nothing was ever wrong between us and then say something like that. “Why?”

His eyes moisten and it becomes the inevitable death of me. “So you could come back here, to me, to your family, Becca June.”

A tear dribbles from his left eye, followed by another.

The sour taste leaves my stomach, crackling like a dying ember until it reaches my throat and causes my eyes to sting beyond measure.

“You don’t get it, do you, girl?” he accuses. “You never have. You weresupposed to need me. You were supposed to beg me for advice, seek me out so I could guide you—so I could make you into the lady you were destined to be.”

He coughs, the cacophony of words too much for his weakened state. “You were supposed to need me,” he says again. “I was supposed to be your hero. Just like every father dreams he can be.”

Those giant pieces of cinderblock I’d protected my heart with each time we’d fought, thatbeautifulindestructible wall I’d created to protect myself against his next blow or terrible word, cracks, falling apart and littering the ground.

It’s not an immediate destruction. No, my walls were stronger than that. But as they fall, piece by piece, behind it, the light bathed in forgiveness shines a brilliant light.

“You wanted to be my hero?” I stammer.

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