Page 68 of Pucking the Grump

He’s through the door and out onto the sidewalk before I can reply.

Pulling in a deeper breath, I turn back to face my father. For a beat, neither of us says a word, the tension building as I hover awkwardly by the door. I’m about to say that we can talk later, in private, if that’s better, when he motions to the empty chair across from him.

“Would you like to join me?” he asks, a hint of uncertainty in his tone.

“Sure,” I say, uncertainty in mine, too. “If you want me to.”

“I would.” He nods toward the paper coffee cup Grammercy abandoned in his haste to get out of Dodge. “That’s a vanilla latte. He didn’t have time to drink any of it. So, if you’d like coffee…”

“Sure, thanks.” I slide into the seat and instantly start picking at the paper cup sleeve before forcing myself to stop. Dad hates fidgeting. So, do I. And this isn’t the time for fidgeting. It’s time to be calm, kind, but direct. “I texted you yesterday.”

He nods again. “I received it.”

Silence falls again.

Thick, sticky, poisonous silence that makes my larynx feel too big for my neck.

“I don’t know what to say,” I finally confess, figuring honesty is the best policy, though maybe not the radical honesty I embraced at the hospital. “But I’m sorry I said all that stuff. About Mom.”

“Are you?” He looks up, the raw emotion in his gaze hitting like a sucker punch. “I mean, you were right. I was so focused on saving her, on controlling everything I could control that I…” He clears his throat before continuing in a softer voice, “I didn’t give her what she really wanted. I knew that, even back then. I could see how disappointed she was when I shut down her little adventures and convinced her to keep taking it easy. I just thought there would be time. I thought, when she was better, she would eventually thank me for putting her health above everything else, but…” He swallows, making a visible effort to pull himself together before adding, “But she didn’t get better, and there wasn’t time. And I should have taken her to the damned beach. Every day, if that’s what she wanted.”

Heart aching for him, I murmur, “It’s okay, Dad.”

“It’s not,” he insists.

“Okay, maybe not okay, but understandable,” I say. “Honestly, I do understand. I get it. If my partner were sick with a potentially terminal illness, I would be laser-focused on saving them, too. Especially if we had a kid.”

He gives a tiny shake of his head. “It’s no excuse. I should have helped her make the most of the time she had left. I should have told her that I was going to be lost without her. I should have made sure she knew she was…everything to me.”

Tears sting the backs of my eyes. “Were you? Lost without her?”

“More than you know,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. He keeps his gaze locked on his coffee cup as he adds, “But I had you. I couldn’t afford to fall apart, so I…did the same thing I did with your mother. I focused on control, strategy, and optimization. But it’s come to my attention that you can’t optimize someone into feeling loved, especially not a little girl.” He lifts his gaze, his eyes shining now, too. It’s the second time in my life I’ve seen my father close to tears, and it’s nearly as scary now as it was the first time, next to Mom’s grave. “But I’ve always loved you, Remy, and I always will. And if you’ll give me the chance, I’ll try to be better at showing it in a way that makes you feel it.”

“I do feel it, Dad,” I say, swiping a tear from my cheek as I reach out, taking his hand across the table. “I’ve always known you loved me. I just couldn’t tell if you liked me. Or if you would still be proud to be my dad if I wasn’t killing it all the time.”

He winces slightly before gripping my fingers tight. “Of course, I would be proud. You’re an incredible woman, Artemis Lauder. You’re smart and talented and fierce, but kind. You’re the best parts of your mother and me, all wrapped up in one beautiful person who I feel so lucky to call my daughter.” We’re both sniffling by the time he adds in a slightly lighter voice, “And I like you as much as I’ve ever liked anyone. You know I can’t stand people.”

I exhale a soft laugh, grateful for the reprieve from all the heavy emotional lifting. “Well, people are really annoying,” I agree, releasing his hand as I reach for a napkin from the dispenser to dab at my damp face.

“That boyfriend of yours is all right, though,” Dad says, accepting the napkin I extend his way. “Nosy and deeply unserious at times, but…all right.”

I smile. “That’s high praise from the feared and mighty Coach Lauder. So, I guess I can tell Stone that he’s forgiven for parent-trapping us with oatmeal? Or dad-and-daughter trapping or whatever this was?”

“This time,” Dad says, efficiently wiping his cheeks before balling the napkin in his hand and sitting up straighter. “Next time, I’ll rip him a new asshole. I’m not a child who has to be tricked into making things better with my daughter. I’ve already hired a therapist, and I was going to stop by your office today after work to talk.”

I fight to conceal my shock that he’s finally getting therapy as I say, “That’s good to hear. But I think this was better, don’t you? This way, no one we know will see us leaving the arena with red, puffy eyes.”

He grunts, but his tone is warm as he admits, “I’m glad to start the day on the right foot. I didn’t like being at odds. I knew your mother would be upset with me. She wouldn’t want anything to ever come between us.”

I nod. “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. She’d be proud of us right now.”

“She would,” Dad agrees.

We share a smile, soft and bittersweet.

“Well, I should probably grab Stone’s order and get back home,” I say. “Otherwise, I’m going to be late for my first day back at the office.”

Dad scoots his chair back with a nod. “I should go, too. We’re starting practice early so the team can have the rest of today and tomorrow off before the game on Thursday night.” He stands, his brows lifting as he adds, “Oh, and I’ve reserved seats for you and Stone in the box at the second home game next week. No need for him to sit the bench until he’s in less pain, but I don’t want him to miss a chance to study the evolution of play as we move forward.”

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