Page 128 of Come Break My Heart Again

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.

“I just did.”

I huff a sigh. “You know what I mean. Then. Why didn’t you tell me then, Dad?”

“He was arrested the following day, Elodie. Hardly appropriate company for?—”

“You didn’t know he was going to get arrested the next day,” I interrupt.

My father studies me for longer than I’m used to. Really looks, like he’s not certain what he’s appraising.

“I’m sorry,” he says, shocking me. I’ve never heard my father say those two words before. “I should have.”

All I can manage in response is a jerky nod.

“Are you two … together?” He asks it so simply. As if reconciling with Ryder would be easy.

“No,” I answer.

My father hums in response, a sound that’s impossible to decipher. “Feel like shooting some hoops?”

I stare at him, totally taken aback. We haven’t played basketball together since I was in middle school. Since before Rose died.

“Um, sure.”

My dad nods, then stands, acting like this is a normal occurrence. I do, too, following him over toward the garage. The last time I played here was when I broke up with Archer, which is not a pleasant memory. But before that, all the times I played with my dad, those are.

That was back when it felt like he saw me as a daughter, not a legacy.

Scout comes over and sniffs at my leg as my dad disappears into the garage to get a ball out.

When he reappears, my dad’s expression is serious.

“I liked Prescott,” he tells me, giving the ball a few experimental bounces. “But I don’t think he was right for you.”

I lift both eyebrows. I thought Prescott was exactly who my dad—not to mention my mom—expected me to end up with. Right down to the Harvard Law degree and rich parents.

“Why’s that? He a bad golfer or something?”

“No. Because he had no idea you like to play basketball.”

He takes a layup.

And I stand there, slowly absorbing what he means.

This moment with my dad—the honesty, the hoop towering over me?

I have Ryder to thank for all of it.

24

Elle’s house is even bigger than I remembered. I’ve only been here once before, the night I dropped her off after she let me borrow her car to pick up Cormac.

In the daylight, the place is huge. And intimidating. Covered by shingles painted an unblemished, blinding white, a stone chimney and an ivy trellis the only spots of color.

Gravel crunches as I walk toward the front door, skirting the enormous granite fountain that looks like it belongs to a European castle.

“Can I help you?”

---