Page 171 of The Fine Line
“I think he was reliving that game-winning breakaway in the second,” one of the suits chimes in.
“Well, you know us Suttons,” Dad says, slapping my back. “We’re closers. Winners. Right, honey?”
He leans into my mother, who barely blinks. She hums and sips her drink.
“Did you play hockey?” Caroline asks my dad.
“Of course. Where do you think this one gets it?”
“Who did you play for?” She tilts her head. “Don’t recall hearing your name before.”
“So nowhere then?”
His smile holds, but his eyes flash with heat. He starts to reply, but then the waitress returns with our drinks.
My dad shifts gears fast. “So Jeremy, you said you travel to Texas often?”
“Ah yes,” the guy says, leaning forward. “I’ve got a good number of clients in Austin. I’m there pretty often. I’d love to come catch a game sometime.”
“You should,” I say automatically, my voice flat. I pick up my fresh gin and tonic and bring it to my lips. It feels safer now. Or necessary.
“Roger was telling me you might be able to hook me up with some VIP access?” Jeremy says with a grin.
“Of course he can,” Dad answers for me, clapping me on the back a little too hard. “Our boy’s got pull. And he’s always happy to take care of our closest friends. Isn’t that right, son?”
“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “Sure.”
They start talking about tickets, appearances, access. I nod, automatic. A machine.
Until I feel Caroline lean in.
“Rhett,” she whispers, “are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I mutter, not meeting her eyes. “Fine.”
“Were you ready to head back to the hotel?”
Before I can speak, my dad cuts in. “No, of course not.”
“I was asking Rhett,” Caroline says.
He smirks. “He’s not going anywhere.”
“That’s his choice to make.”
Dad straightens, laughs quietly. “You’re having a great time, aren’t you, bud?” he presses, loud enough for the table to hear. “With your parents? Your family?”
Caroline’s hand brushes my knee under the table. My pulse roars in my ears. Everyone’s watching. But I stare at my dad. And then I look at her.
And then back to my dad.
“She’s been more of a family to me than either of you ever have.”
The table goes still. My dad’s expression falters—just for a second. Then he chuckles and turns to the group.
“Young love,” he says. “That honeymoon phase.”
Laughter bubbles. The moment is dismissed.
