Page 71 of It's Complicated

She nodded, her shoulders relaxing and her bright smile back in place. “Of course.”

“Thanks.”

Sidestepping the hostess podium, I walked a few paces into the bar and scanned the area.

“That’s him.” I pointed to where my dad was bent over his phone and reading something off the screen. “Can I?” I asked, not wanting to just waltz in and bypass her.

She nodded. “Enjoy your stay with us.”

“Thanks.”

Every step in my father’s direction felt like it took twice as much effort as normal. I was so distracted by the meeting and the mix-up with the table that I didn’t bother looking around and just kept my gaze fixed on my dad.

He didn’t look up until I pulled out the chair across from him.

The table was set for three, which was weird enough, but only my dad was at it, a drink and his e-ink pad in front of him.

“Isaac.” Dad looked at his watch pointedly. “You’re late.”

“Sorry.” I slid into the chair. “Traffic was?—”

“You should have planned ahead.” He fixed his gaze on something over my shoulder and waved. “And anticipated the traffic.”

A moment later, a server hurried over to our table. “What can I help you with?” he asked.

“My son will have a bourbon on the rocks, and I’ll have another.” Dad didn’t even look at the server, his attention on his e-ink pad as he scribbled something on it.

The server looked at me like he was checking to see if he should ask for my ID. “I’ll be right back with those,” he said to my dad, obviously accepting that I was old enough to drink.

I sat quietly as Dad continued to scribble something on his pad.

After what felt like forever, but was probably only a few minutes, he closed the pad and tucked the pen into the case.

I braced for whatever was going to come out of his mouth.

“I’m assuming it’s pointless to ask what’s new in your life?” He picked up his glass and took a sip, the ice cubes clinkingmusically. “That you’re still doing the same things and not doing anything to reach your potential?”

Dad was definitely in a mood. Usually it took him more than two sentences to completely invalidate everything in my life.

“That depends on what you think I should be doing to reach said potential.” I couldn’t keep the iciness out of my voice, but I did manage to keep my tone even and calm.

“Something other than acting like you’re still in college.” He swirled the ice in his drink in a slow circle. “Although you dropped out of college, so maybe that isn’t the best example.”

I pulled in a breath and counted to five. We’d had this conversation dozens of times already. Getting mad would just cause a scene, and that would lead to more lectures and strangers knowing my personal business.

“College wasn’t for me,” I said, repeating the same script I always did when my college days came up. “Doing another two years would have delayed my training, which would have delayed my employment.”

“It would have also given you a college degree and the chance to actually do something worthwhile with your life.” He put his glass down and leaned back in his chair, giving me a once over and not hiding his disdain for what he saw.

I didn’t react. Just sat there and let him size me up.

I hadn’t dropped out of college for shits and giggles like my father made it seem, but it was pointless to remind him exactly why I’d had to drop out.

I’d gotten a full scholarship to play hockey for Rutherford College, a D1 school about an hour from where I lived. I spent two years on the team and had been one of the top scorers in the league when I took a bad hit and ended up with a severe concussion.

I had to drop out of school while I recovered because I couldn’t read or study or attend class for almost four monthswhile the worst of the concussion symptoms went away. When I was finally given the all-clear, my neurologist told me that playing any sort of contact sport again was out of the question. I’d gotten my bell rung one too many times, and another hit could be life-altering—or fatal. I had to hang up my skates or risk brain damage and possible death.

That sent me into a bit of a spiral, and I spent the next six months living off my trust fund and trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life now that my dream of playing hockey was gone.

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