Page 151 of Falling Offsides

“Daddy,” he hums. “You think I don’t know youDaddyme when you want to pacify me?”

“I took self-defense classes in college and I have an overflowing stash of Mace spray, thanks to Delilah.”

“That’s great, but I still want to put you up somewhere safer. Closer to the facility. More security.”

I look away because the look he’s giving me is the equivalent to me buttering him up withdaddy.

It’s working too. Especially with the knowledge that this isn’t something new to him. That he’s not trying to ease a misplaced sense of guilt. He’s always cared, always been there, looking after me behind the scenes, and I feel so fucking bad for being so clueless. So naïve and trusting of my mother’s indifference to him.

I’m an idiot.

“Okay,” I say, glancing up at him to find him beaming with relief. “But… I don’t want anything over the top like the penthouse here.”

His head bounces from side to side. “That isn’t over the top, it’s?—”

“Literally a penthouse, Dad.”

An awkward chuckle vibrates his chest as he scratches his jaw. “Okay. No penthouses. Something simple. Something safe. Did you look through all the options I sent you?”

“Yes.” I nod, heart squeezing because all the options were luxury condos like the one I’m staying in now. “The smallest one was three bedrooms.”

“A master suite, a guest bedroom, and an office,” Dad corrects like he isn’t simply assigning labels to the two extra rooms I don’t need. “You have a ton of kit you carry around and need a place to store, and if your mother visits there’s room for her.”

Ugh, I chuff to myself. I don’t think my mother will be visiting me,and I’m not sure I want her to. She lied to me. She knew how badly I missed him and she never, not once, told me that he called regularly…for years…

I don’t know if I can forgive her for that. Not with all the shit I’ve lived with because of her toxic marriage to Martin. All those times she let him talk shit about Dad to me. All the times she didn’t correct him when he told me I was lucky she chose to keep me when my father bailed. It wasn’t even remotely true.

“Will you visit me?” I ask him, my voice barely above a whisper.

I can’t bring myself to look at him when he asks, “Would you like me to?”

That’s not a yes. Not even a maybe…“I mean if you’re paying for the place, you should get to?—”

“Courtney… honey?” Tentatively I lift my gaze to his, allowing him to pry my hands apart. He frowns down at the angry divots my nails left. “Would you like me to come visit you?”

“Yes,” I say, softer. A sigh of relief escapes me when he smiles at my reply. “Not just for games, though. I mean like… really visit. We can spend time together and… I don’t know… do things together.”

His eyes soften.

“I would love that,” he says. “And, I’d like it if you did the same. Visited, spent some of the holidays here, with me.”

I smile because it’s the only response I can give without getting overly emotional.

“Come on, kiddo, let’s go grab a soda and candy bar from the vending machine.” He stands, stretching his back and cracking his neck as he grumbles at the wall behind him, “These assholes have my blood sugar all over the place.”

We head past the equipment room to the vending machine at the end of the hallway. Today is the first open practice the team is having and the atmosphere is livelier than usual. I’m looking forward to this afternoon’s session. The board is attending along with the VIP fan pass holders. Cecelia mentioned the kids from the community rink are going to be joining the guys at the end. It’s going to be fun, and I need something else to think about than the fact my mother let me believe my dad was always too busy for me.

“Here,” Dad hands me a can of raspberry pink lemonade seltzer, my favorite, “Wai?—”

“Oh my God,” I screech as the cap pops, spraying me in the face and chest.

I’m soaked through, my light t-shirt sticking to my chest. My only option is to hug myself so I preserve my modesty. Dad’s a panicked shade of purple as he takes his baseball cap off and holds it in front of me like it’s going to make a difference.

“Oh, hell, Court… honey, I’ve told you to wait before you open the cans.”

“I know,” I groan, looking around for an escape. “I forgot.”

“Jesus! Okay, well…” He looks around too before light flashes in his eyes. “Come on.”