Page 73 of Never Date A Player
Cali’s eyes widen. “Then why are you crying?”
I drop my head on the table and cover it with my arm, sensing the pressure of Cali’s hand on my shoulder a second later. “Lewis is great, Cali. He’s not why I’m upset.” I stare up. “I think I ran into my father last night.”
Cali’s mouth parts. A second later, she stumbles out of her chair and returns with a tissue from the bathroom. “What do you mean? I thought you never talk to your dad?”
I wipe my eyes. “I don’t.” I pause. “Cali, I don’t know my dad.”
She squints. “You mean you haven’t seen him for years so you don’t know much about him?”
The truth is so humiliating. “I mean I don’t know who he is. My mom doesn’t either. She never said that, but she’s always acted like his identity wasn’t important, so it’s what I’ve assumed. Like downplaying him was her way of saving face.”
My mom acted like it didn’t matter who my dad was and I assumed she really didn’t know, but she made that weird comment the other day about athleticism running in the family. After meeting Jeb Kendrick and Lewis filling me in on his former profession… Did she know?
It seems unimaginable that she would keep this from me, but so was running into a man I believe might be my father.
When I look back, Tyler and Cali are staring. Tyler’s the first to say something. “That’s rough, man.” He nudges Cali, whose face is frozen and pale.
She clears her throat. “So, what did this guy say?”
“He wanted to talk to me. He knew my mom’s name. Her real name.” Cali knows all about my mom’s French proclivities.
“What’d you do?”
“I passed out.”
Cali and Tyler exchange a look. I wish people would stop doing that.
“I was over-exhausted. Anyway, once I regained consciousness, I mumbled something and ran away.” I shake my head. “It’s over. I told him I didn’t know the person he spoke of when he asked about my mom. Even if he didn’t believe me, he had to have figured out I want nothing to do with him. Chances are he won’t bother me again. It’s just—it upset me.” More tears spill down my cheeks.
Cali grabs my hand. “Gen, you need to talk to your mom.”
She’s right. But if my mom knew about my father, and it seems likely she did… The betrayal.
My lack of trust didn’t originate with crappy boyfriends. My mother allowed creepy men into our lives. Her relationships with them never seemed to last long enough to warrant a frank discussion, and though the men crossed the line, they did so just barely, and never within my mother’s view. I was young and passive. My inability to speak up didn’t stop me from blaming her, though. I still blame her to some extent. She brought me up in a world without the security a decent father could provide, and if she did that willingly…
I take a shower and sit outside on one of the lounge chairs relegated to the dirt, with Cali and Jaeger’s tent-home spilling over the patio. The legs of my lounge chair wobble on the uneven ground, but the clean pine scent of the trees reminds me of Lewis, and that helps calm the storm raging in my head. I work tonight and I need to get a grip before then, which means clearing up the big fat question I have.
Phone in hand, I click through recents and tap my mom’s contact. The shower didn’t help ease my nerves, but I’m not going to make the mistake I’ve made in the past and put off talking about something important.
The phone rings. My pulse pounds in my ear, muffling the ringtone.
“I can’t believe it,” my mom says by way of answering. “You’re up before noon?”
“Who’s my father, Mom?”
Silence on the other end, then, “It’s not impor?—”
“It’s fucking important. I met him last night. You never told me, and I met him. He found me.”
“What?” Her voice is faint.
“Jeb Kendrick. Ring a bell?”
My mother’s sharp intake of air is the only answer I get.
“Who is he, Mom? Is he my father?”
“Oh my God. He promised…”
