Page 99 of The Player Penalty
“We didn’t try at all.”
∞∞∞
“How can you drink iced coffee?”
I slurp through the straw. “Because it’s delicious.” Julian’s incredulous expression makes me laugh enough to snort into the straw. “Do you want some?”
“I like it the healthy way. Black and bitter.”
“That’s just you showing off.” I lean across the door’s threshold to check on Boone’s office. “They’re still in there.”
“Probably discussing my fate. Will your father demand a blood sacrifice, or will they allow me to leave with dignity?” For all Julian’s words, he’s remarkably unconcerned.
“I still don’t understand why you made that offer. It’s your career.”
“Calculated risks are part of my career.”
“It was dumb.”
“Calculated risk.”
“Dumb. Don’t ever do it again.” Muttered voices trickle down the hall, and I check one more time. “They’re out.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” This isn’t the first time Julian argued this was his responsibility. His palpable discomfort is appreciated, but it’s also unnecessary. “It’s my screwup, not yours.”
I cock my head to the side. “He’s my father, and frankly, I’m a little annoyed with you both.”
“But him more than me, right?”
“Both of you in equal measure,” I shoot back. “Be back shortly.”
It’s my typical day off from summer camp, and rather than spend it home alone, I came with Julian to the office. It’s a chance to check in with my father and spend time with Julian.
Dad’s open door makes it easy. “Coffee?” I set a fresh cup on his desk. “Hardly any sugar and a ton of cream.”
“You didn’t come home last night.”
“I was with Julian.”
“Did he tell you what happened?”
“Yes, every part, and I believe his version. Nothing happened, Dad.”
“You can’t know that.”
When Julian told me what happened, there was a very brief moment when I believed the absolute worst. My mind always goes to the worst possibilities, no matter how hard I try to stop it. Then, the rational part, the part not consumed by anxiety and self-doubt, stepped in. Julian and I became each other’s person more than a year ago, and we’ve been in a serious relationship for a few months now. At this point, I know him better than anyone, including his family and coworkers. If anything happened, I would know.
“I know, Dad. He’s a good man who loves me. Julian has witnessed my meltdowns and anxiety attacks. He’s researched my medication. Julian is a good man, Dad, and he loves me. He also deserves your trust.”
My parents were well into their forties when I was born, and Pete Webb is showing his age more and more. A lifetime in the sun, combined with raising a daughter like me on his own, canwear at the strongest people. His wrinkles are deeper than even a year ago. His white hair is thinner, too.
“Do you remember when I was little, and you’d take me along to the races?”
He lifts his hat and drops it back into place. “You never enjoyed them, did you? It was rough on you, I know. It was difficult finding someone I trusted enough to watch you.”
“I hid in the trailers, keeping myself entertained as best as possible.” My grandparents helped a little until they could no longer do so. They’ve been dead so long; all that I have are a few very faint memories. There were babysitters, too, college-aged women my dad paid to help watch me on the weekends. “Race tracks were loud and busy. You became this important man, and you were under stress. I used to worry that something would happen, like a car running over you or a big fight.”
“That never happened,” he says, trying to reassure me. “The tracks are designed for safety.”
