Page 82 of Swiped By My Dad's Best Friend
“You’re still recovering,” he argued. “Why not stay a while longer? Thanksgiving is in less than a week.”
I shook my head, ignoring the dull ache that accompanied the movement. The headaches were better, providing I didn’t grind my teeth or move too quickly. One of those was easier around my father than the other.
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
I chewed the inside of my cheek, deciding how hard I wanted to push. “You know I’m not going to leave Trace, right?”
He looked thrown. “We can worry about that when you’re feeling better.”
“Stalling won’t change anything,” I said. “I’m going to keep seeing Trace, and he’s on his way to pick me up. So unless you’re okay with him staying here with me…”
He shook his head immediately. “No. Hell no. I’m not comfortable with that.”
“Then I’ll be leaving with him,” I said. “ I can’t stay somewhere Trace isn’t welcome.”
My father only shook his head again, words seeming to elude him. I crossed the room and reached for the front door. With any luck, Trace would arrive soon. I’d be fine on the porch for a few minutes.
Dad trailed me to the doorway. “What about Thanksgiving?”
Part of me wanted to toss him a bone, tell him that I’d come over for the holiday. Another part of me feared I’d just end up living another lie, visiting my father and pretending Trace wasn’t in my life. I couldn’t risk letting that happen. Maybe it was too fast too soon, but I had to take a stand for once in my life.
For my happiness. For Trace’s. Even for Dad’s. Because none of us would be happy if we played games. The sooner Dad came around, the better. And if he didn’t… Well, I couldn’t think about that right then. I wasn’t ready to confront what that might mean long-term. He had to come around. Trace wasn’t a bad man. I wasn’t a bad son. We were just two guys in love.
“Is Trace still invited to Thanksgiving?” I asked.
My dad’s face tensed. “I extended that invite before I knew what he was doing.”
“What he was doing?” I pushed. “You mean, making me happy?”
Dad clenched his jaw. “Sure, you’re happy now. But guys like him can’t be trusted. Look how he betrayed me! He’ll do the same to you. You’ll think you can trust him, and in the end, he’ll break your heart.”
“He isn’t Mom,” I said harshly. Dad looked as if I’d slapped him, and regret tightened my gut. “I’m sorry, but he didn’t vow loyalty to you. He was your friend, but—”
“Friends don’t sleep with their friends’ kids!”
His shout echoed through the house, and we both stilled, caught off guard by his fervor. After a minute I said quietly, “I guess if he really were your friend, you wouldn’t be so determined to see the worst in him. Maybe you guys weren’t friends at all.”
“Cooper…”
I turned and stepped through the doorway. I was relieved to see Trace’s pickup pulling up to the curb. Before leaving, I glanced back over my shoulder at my father’s pale face. “If Trace can’t be here, then I can’t either, and that goes for Thanksgiving too.”
Dad’s wounded expression, as if I’d stabbed him, made my own chest ache as I walked away.
* * *
TRACE
Cooper came out the front door as I pulled up to the curb, his father stepping into the doorway to watch with his lips pressed in a thin, angry line. Cooper didn’t look much happier as he descended the porch steps, loaded down with a duffel bag on one shoulder and his backpack on the other. He wore an ankle brace but seemed to move fine, if a bit slower than I’d come to expect from him. I was used to watching him jog down steps, filled with the effortless energy of the young. Today, he took each step gingerly, gradually making his way across the yard, but I didn’t know if it was fear for his ankle or his head that kept him in check.
I stepped out of my pickup and crossed the yard, meeting him halfway and relieving him of his bags.
“Such a gentleman,” he teased, a smile finally blooming on his face.
“Just wait until we get back to my room,” I murmured.
“Are you going to ravish me like a rake?”
