Page 83 of Pieces

Then my dad steps closer to Hudson as he waits to go on the field.

Hudson’s body tenses immediately, his shoulders squaring, like he’s bracing for impact. My dad says something, and Hudson’s jaw tightens.

Dad’s face is hard, his eyebrows low, and his mouth tight, and whatever he’s saying has Hudson’s lips pressing into a firm line. Hudson responds, his head tilting slightly.

And then my dad steps in closer. Not aggressively, but enough that it feels...personal. His finger lifts, pointing at Hudson’s chest as he says something else, his lips moving fast and firm.

Hudson doesn’t back down. He stands his ground, his chin up, his stance solid. But his mouth moves, a short reply that makes my dad’s eyes narrow.

My stomach knots. It looks heated. Tense. Like the air between them is crackling, and any second, it could spark.

But then, without warning, my dad steps back. No explosion, no shouting, just a hard, lingering look before he turns and stalks away.

And Hudson stays rooted to the spot, his chest rising and falling as he watches his retreating back. Then, slowly, he turns toward the field, his face unreadable. But there’s something simmering there. Frustration? Amusement? I can’t tell.

I swallow, my pulse pounding. What the hellwas that? Maybe it had everything to do with the game and nothing to do with me. Maybe that’s normal for them. But when Hudson doesn’t look back up at me again until it’s over, I have a feeling in my gut that it was a lot to do with me.

Hudson disappears into the locker room with the rest of the team, and I start to head toward the exit. My phone buzzes in my pocket, pulling me from my thoughts.

Hudson

Meet me outside?

Daphne

I’ll be there.

Nerves make my palms sweaty, even though the cold air nips at my cheeks. The door opens, and I expect to see some of the team, but it’s my dad. My stomach clenches, not prepared to talk to him right now.

As our eyes meet, his steps falter, but it lasts a second before his strides pick up, heading my way. “Hey sweetheart,” he says, like everything’s normal.

“Dad,” I clip.

His eyes flicker at the edge in my tone, but he doesn’t call me on it. “Didn’t expect to see you out here.”

“Well,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “I wanted to support Hudson. Plus, we’re going to his mom’s house after this.”

“Right,” he says quietly. “Your mom mentioned you weren’t home for Thanksgiving this year.”

The awkward tension between us grows like a sinkhole opening between us, and although I’m mad, I’m also beginning to feel upset too. My nose tingles as I think about all the other times we’ve spent Thanksgiving together and how great things were. But now it’s all strained and uncomfortable and the perfectionist in me wants to sayI’m sorry, let’s forget about all of this,but that’s not enough anymore.

“Hudson played a hell of a game, by the way.” His comment catches me off guard as I remember the exchange between him and Hudson on the field. A boldness washes over me as I think about what he might’ve said to him.

“Did you tell him that?”

His eyebrows pinch, and for a second, I think he’s going to push back. “I did tell him.”

I narrow my eyes. “Really?”

“With the rest of the team, before I left.” He looks down sheepishly.

“Dad,” I groan. “Come on. You know that’s not the same.”

With his blue eyes holding my gaze, his jaw tightens. “I’m his coach. That’s how I show it, with the team.”

I shake my head, frustration prickling at my skin. “But you’re not just his coach anymore. You’re my dad, and he’s the father of my baby.”

Dad exhales heavily, but I don’t miss the stutter in his expression either. “I know that.”

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