Page 122 of Second Chance with the Single Dad Goalie
“Don’t," he cuts me off. "Not right now."
“Before you leave, can you at least answer when Whitney calls?” My voice is quieter now. Almost pleading.
He pauses. His jaw flexes like he’s considering it, but instead, he exhales through his nose and shakes his head.
“I can’t do this right now,” he mutters, almost to himself. Then, without another word, he turns and walks out.
I watch him walk out, and for the first time in years, I can’t tell if I’ve lost my best friend for good. I knew this would hurt him, but I never thought it would cut this deep.
Chapter twenty-five
Whitney
Funny how silence can be louder than screaming.
It presses in from all sides, thick and suffocating, wrapping around me like an iron chain.
I sit, spine rigid, hands folded tight on my lap, the fabric of my dress bunched between my fingers. My eyes stay locked on the swirling pattern of blue and white, tracing the curves and lines as if they are the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen - something, anything, to keep me from looking up.
Because I know what waits for me if I do.
Anger. Disappointment. Hurt. All of it simmering in the silence, thickening the air until it presses against my chest, making it impossible to breathe.
Oh. Right. I’m back home.
Another family meeting.
Because of me.
Again.
The fourth one since I got back. That has to be a record, right? I’m starting to feel like a walking scandal, someone whose name will be muttered in family gatherings years from now.A cautionary tale. If I weren’t so tense, I might laugh at the absurdity of it. But my stomach twists instead, nerves coiling tighter and tighter.
I squeeze my hands together, swallowing against the tightness in my throat.
After trying Keith’s number for days, even after he met Blake three days ago, he finally picked up the call yesterday, only to tell me to come home because my parents wanted to see me.
I knew what it was about. Of course, I knew. And since yesterday, I’ve been trying to keep the nervous jitters in my belly from turning into full-blown nausea. Right now, though? Those jitters have multiplied into a swarm of nerves clawing at my insides.
No one speaks. No one moves. They just sit or stand there, staring at me. Keith’s leaning against the staircase, arms crossed over his chest, watching me like I’m an equation that doesn’t add up. Rosa, Edward, and Janet - each one of them practically burning holes into me with their glares. Disappointed. Angry. And my mother…, I can’t look at her. I won’t.
I’ve stolen quick glances at my dad, but his face is unreadable. Completely blank. A void.
That’s almost worse.
Because if he was angry, at least I’d know what to brace for. If he was disappointed, I’d know where I stood. But this…, this emptiness? This careful neutrality? It terrifies me.
I feel small. Like a child being scolded for something they don’t fully understand. Like I’ve been backed into a corner with no way out.
From the way they’re all looking at me, you’d think I set the house on fire.
Dad exhales, slow and heavy. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, his fingers clasped together. His gaze doesn’t waver, butI can see the restraint in the tight set of his jaw, in the way his knuckles blanch as he laces his fingers.
“Why, Whitney?” His voice is calm, but it carries weight, disappointment layered beneath every syllable.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
"Blake?" His jaw tightens as he says the name. "You’ve been with Blake this whole time, and you never thought to tell us?"
