Page 33 of No More Heartbreakers

“Okay. Maybe I’ll see you then. Thanks, Daddy.”

After I hung up, Aric shot me an amused glance. “You call your father ‘Daddy?’”

“Yes. Why?”

“It makes you sound about five years old.” He lifted a finger and added quickly, “Don’t get offended. I think it’s cute.”

I shrugged. “It’s a Southern thing. Everyone calls their dad ‘Daddy’ here—even guys. Why? What do you call your father?”

“Peter.”

“You call him by his first name?”

“Yeah, but it’s not like a California thing or anything. He thinks Dad, or Pop, or whatever makes him sound old… and the one thing Peter Amore can’t tolerate is being thought of as old. He’s been in full midlife crisis mode for the past, oh, twenty years.”

Glancing over at me, he answered my unspoken question. “He left us when I was three. I don’t even remember him living with us. He was a professional baseball player—he was on the road a lot even when my parents were together.”

“Do you ever see him?”

“Not much. He’s more into sending gifts and money than the whole ‘quality time’ thing. That’s where my car came from.”

“I see.” I’d wondered about that car. I highly doubted Mankato, Minnesota paid its reporters enough to afford a Lamborghini.

“We hang out every so often when he can get away from New York or I can go there,” Aric continued. “But he’s more like a buddy than a father, you know?”

I didn’t. I couldn’t picture such a parental relationship. “No brothers or sisters?”

“Nope—it was just us three, and then the two of us after he left.”

“Wow, I can’t imagine having such a small family.”

“Yeah, I guess I’ve got a smaller circle of people, you know, but once someone’s in, they’re in—nothing could make me give up on them.”

He glanced away from the road to look at my face, then back. “Sometimes I wished for a brother or two, but my mom didn’t get remarried until a few years ago—nice guy.”

“And your dad?”

“Nope, never married again. He likes his freedom too much. I used to think his wild, no-roots kind of life was really fun. Now… I guess now he seems a little pathetic.”

Aric huffed an unamused laugh. “It’s kind of funny his name is Peter, actually—I’ve always wondered if he tookPeter Pana bit too seriously.”

“I do think people subconsciously live up, ordownto their names. It’s like a self-fulfilling prophesy. You wouldn’t believe how many sex offenders we’ve reported on who are named Chester.”

“What?”

“Seriously. Think about it—how many times when they were growing up did they hear ‘Chester the Molester?’” I mimicked a childlike bratty tone as I said it. “I’m not kidding. We’ve had like three or four of them. Promise me you’ll never name your kid Chester.”

He held up one hand like he was taking a vow. “You got it. I’ll probably never have kids anyway.”

“Like, never? Do you hate kids or something?”

“No. Not at all. Kids are fine. It’s this career, you know? I mean I like the idea of having a family someday, more people to love—but how do you do it with the constant moving, working nights, weekends, holidays? It’s not fair to the kids.”

“You’re right. Imagine poor little Chester, growing up without a father.” I laughed, but Aric didn’t. He winced.

“Oh, sorry. That was stupid. I didn’t mean anything by it,” I said quickly.

“It’s okay. It’s just—that’s exactly my point. Kids need a dad who’sthere.Not someone who’s constantly gone or uprooting them every couple of years.”

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