Page 81 of Faking Summer
“Where have you been all day?”
"Caroline's sister's wedding," I snapped. The audacity of that question made my blood boil. My jaw clenched, my breath came sharp, and if I wasn’t already fuming, I sure as hell was then.
He paused mid-sip. "Her again?" he asked, his voice a low drawl. "What are you doing with that girl?"
"Come on, Dad," I said, frustrated. I ran my hands through my hair. "You try to control so much of my life already. You made sure I didn’t have a relationship with my mom or Boston. You put so much pressure on me with baseball all my life. Do you have to have this too? You wanna arrange a marriage for me?"
His gaze studied the whiskey as it swirled in the glass. He chuckled. "There's a difference between controlling you and protecting you."
"There's a thin line, Dad."
“I’m just saying, you’re going places—she’s not,” he snapped. “You’re going to have more money than you know what to do with, and people—they see that. Not just her, but Cindee too. They’re going to use you, take advantage of you, and you’re too damn blind to see it.”
I let out a bitter laugh, pulling my tie loose and over my head with one sharp tug. “Then so be it.” I tossed it onto the floor,my chest heaving. “I’d rather learn the hard way. I’d rather know for myself than have you decide who I can trust.”
His nostrils flared, his free hand clenching into fists at his sides. When he spoke again, his voice was raw and strained like he was finally showing real emotion. “You are the only thing in this world I have ever truly cared about.” His eyes burned with something fierce, something desperate. “And the only way I knew to keep you safe was to keep you close. Toprotectyou. That is my job and it has always been my job.”
“No. Your job was to be my father,” I bit out, trembling with frustration.
If keeping me close was about protecting me, then why did it feel like I’ve spent my whole life trying to escape him? My jaw locked, the years of buried resentment pressing down on me. Then, without another glance, I grabbed the doorknob, and yanked it open. The door slammed shut behind me, rattling in its frame, but it still wasn’t loud enough to drown out the pounding in my chest.
thirty-three
Caroline
Just as I laid my head down after what felt like a never ending day, there was a knock at my door. My parents had got the bridal suite for Charlotte, themselves a room, and Cooper and I separate rooms. Which meant it was probably a devastated Charlotte at the door.
With a reluctant sigh, I pushed myself up and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. After shuffling forward, I unlocked the door and pulled it open. My arm was sore from being on auto-pilot all day as Charlotte’s lip gloss assistant. My hair was twisted into a messy bun, a loose shirt was hanging off one shoulder, and the absence of a bra was unmistakable. "Let me guess," I exhaled, "more lip gloss?"
"Not unless it's coming straight from your lips," Reese said back to me. I took him in. His button-up shirt had the top buttons undone. His tie was gone, and his hair was tousled like he'd been raking his fingers through it all night.
"I thought you went home?"
Something happened.I could see it in the way he was standing. In the tension in his jaw. Whatever it was, he seemed upset. And he’d come to me. Not just anywhere—to me. That thought alone mademy chest full and my throat tight with an emotion I had never quite felt before.
"I did," he said. His gaze avoided mine, but I noticed how the muscles along his jaw clenched. "And I shouldn't have. Can't be around my dad tonight. Can I come in?"
The sight of him like this surprised me. It was raw and unguarded in a way that made my stomach flip, like some part of him had unraveled, and I was the place he’d sought to put himself back together. I was worried, but no matter how shaken he was or what happened with his dad, he’d still come tome. And all I wanted was to make him feel as safe as he always made me feel.
"Are you okay?" I asked, my hand pushing the door open wider, inviting him in.
He stepped into the room, and the door fell shut behind him. My fingers brushed his arm as he walked past me, and it felt like a jolt of electricity, a way to show him that I was there, that whatever this was—whatever we were—I cared about him.
"I am now," Reese murmured, making his way through the room as he claimed the chair beside my bed, settling into it. He relaxed back, muscles easing beneath the fabric of his crumpled shirt.
I dropped onto the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly as I studied Reese. "What happened?"
"I'm just ready to figure out where I'm going," he said, with a bone-deep tiredness in his voice. "Which team I'm on." His hands—those large pitcher's hands—clenched into fists, then relaxed again. "It's long overdue that I get some space from my dad."
My fingers traced the pattern of the comforter beneath me, my hands always needing to fidget with something.
"Was he upset that you were with me?" The question slipped out, but I wasn’t quite sure if I wanted to hear his answer.
The chair creaked as Reese leaned forward, elbows planting themselves on his knees. "I think he's just unhappy with me," he said, shaking his head. "Upset that I'm challenging him on his opinions about my mom."
"I'm sorry he's putting you through that," I whispered. "I wish parents always put us first, put what was best for us first."
"Me too," he said, rising from his seat. I watched, captivated, as his fingers danced over the buttons of his dress shirt, each one coming undone with deliberate slowness. The fabric parted, revealing a glimpse of tanned skin and those abs I would recognize anywhere.
