Page 9 of Reverse

“There you go,” he says with a grin. “Or?”

“Find a better source.”

“That’s my girl.” He stands as I look him over. He’s well into his fifties but doesn’t look a day over forty-five. Women have been fawning over him my whole life, especially my teachers when I attended grade school. It was embarrassing.

He tosses a glance over his shoulder as he heads toward the door. “You sure that’s all?”

“How many times have you been in love, Daddy?” I ask, as casually as I can manage.

“Ah, so thisisabout a guy? That explains it.” He frowns. “You didn’t tell me you were dating again.”

I broke up with my college ex, Carson, just after graduating from UT last May. Carson took a job in New York, knowing I wouldn’t leave Texas. He made his decision—and it wasn’t me. It’s been surprisingly easy to live with. Dating afterward felt like a chore, so I’ve been opting out and concentrating on the paper instead.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

One side of his mouth quirks up as he squeezes the stress ball forever attached to his hand. “First and foremost, a journalist.”

“Always. So, really, Dad, how many times have you been in love?”

I study his expression carefully, his relaxed posture as he answers easily.

“A few times.”

“So, more than once?”

His grin grows. “Yes, a few generally constitutes more thanone.”

“Was . . . did you . . .” I bite my lip, “were any of them . . . I-I—”

“Okay, is this something youwantto talk to me about? Because it doesn’t seem like it.”

“Maybe another time.” I match his smile, genuinely thankful for the out I so obviously need. “After a few beers. Sorry, I’m just in my head today.”

He pauses before he rounds the desk and presses a kiss to my temple. “All right then, rain check. But for you, I’m an open book. You know that, so just ask.”

Ask him, Natalie, or it will eat you alive.

I open my mouth to ask and curse the coward within refusing to speak up. “Some other time.”

“Deal. Love you,” he whispers.

“Love you too, Daddy,” I croak, hearing the shake in my voice. A shake he doesn’t miss.

Shit.

He pauses at the doorway. “Natalie, you do know you cantell me anything, right?”

Tears threaten as I gaze on at him. Biased as I might be, Nate Butler is the greatest man I’ve ever known. No man has ever held a candle to him, and I doubt one ever will. It’s not just who he is as a journalist or his accomplishments, but it’s how he is personally as well. His warmth, his instilled empathy, and the way he treats people, namely me and my mother.

How could Stella walk away from him?

From their emails, it’s clear it was her choice to leave Texas—to leave my father—only to marry Reid mere months after they ran into each other in Seattle. There’s a story there, but I’m not sure I can stomach any more, yet everything inside me refuses to let it go.

Was Reid a choice? Was the choice made easier for Stella because Reid is a rock star? As the thought occurs, some of my hero worship for Stella Emerson Crowne dims.

I should be thankful she did what she did. If she hadn’t, I wouldn’t exist.

“Would you believe I’m oddly sentimental today?” I lie to my father a second time—a rarity—knowing that the anxiety etched on his face is because visible signs of emotion are an anomaly for me.

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