Page 96 of Betting on You

“Yeah, what’s with that?” I toed off my socks under the covers and said, “I don’t want to sound like a whiny little kid, but I don’t get our dads. Everyone in the world acts like it’s normal and fine,but to me, it seems absolutely bizarre that a parent would be cool living in an entirely different state than their kid.”

“But they have responsibilities, Bailey,” he said, his voice full of sarcasm. “Careers and real estate and health club memberships that they can’t just cancel.”

“Such bullshit.” I snorted and pictured my dad’s golfing buddies. “I’m not asking to be the center of his world or anything, but shouldn’t it bother them, never seeing us? Shouldn’t it give them an uncomfortable little pain just under their breastbone, every time they picture our faces?”

“Glasses,” Charlie said, a sweet, sympathetic lilt in his deep voice. “Do you get a little pain under your breastbone every time you picture your dad’s face?”

We were rarely serious, so maybe it was tiredness that changed things for me. But instead of joking, I answered honestly.

“Every single time,” I said, feeling that melancholy creep in as I remembered the way my dad’s laugh sounded. He laughed like Santa, slow and deep and loud, and part of me wondered if he even knew what my laugh sounded like.

My throat was tight as I explained, “It’s almost like panic, like I’m afraid if I don’t see him soon, I’m going to forget what he looks like. Or he’s going to forget all about me.”

“Honey,” he said, and it made me blink back tears in the dark. Charlie calling mehoneywas sweet and reassuring and hit me so hard in that emotional soft spot that I had to pretend I hadn’t heard it.

“Stop, I’m fine,” I said, my voice tight.

That kind of sweetness could annihilate me.

“It’s okay to not be fine. When was the last time you talked to him?”

My heart felt like it was beating a little heavier, all of a sudden, as I focused on the big thing I’d been avoiding focusing on. “That’s the thing. Nekesa pointed out that I’m always the one who instigates, the one who calls and texts him first, so I decided to prove her wrong. I decided to wait untilhereaches out tome.”

“Aw, shit,” he said. “How long has it been?”

I swallowed. “Four months and three days.”

He didn’t say anything, and I felt stupid. I knew Charlie didn’t judge me, butIjudged me. I was a fucking senior, goddammit, and it was pathetic that I was homesick for my dad like a thumb-sucking kindergartner.

I closed my eyes, wanting to push back the emotions, but then Charlie was there. The pullout bed dipped, and then his arms were around me in such a Charlie way that I laughed out my shock. He threw a long leg over me and physically hauled my body closer so he could big spoon me while he murmured, “Like I can sleep with this bullshit going on over here.”

“Charlie.” I laughed. “Go sleep—I’m good.”

“Nope,” he said, tightening his grip. “You’re not good until Charlie spoons you for a solid ten, trust me.”

I started giggling. “You’re an idiot.”

“Your hair smells like balsam needles,” he said, inhaling deeply. “And despair.”

“You know what despair smells like?”

“Hell yes, I do.”

We got quiet then, but it was comfortable.

I lay there, sad and relaxed in his arms, and I didn’t want to speak or move or do anything to change the moment. My heart was racing because he was holding me, and that response seemed to be my new normal, but better than electricity was the way I felt insulated in Charlie’s concern, blanketed in his warm support.

I almost thought he was asleep until Charlie said, “I’m sorry your dad’s a selfish asshole.”

“He’s not, though,” I said, letting my eyes close, suddenly exhausted. “He’s just really busy.”

“You deserve better,” he said, sounding offended on my behalf.

“So do you,” I said, meaning it. I turned over, so I could see his face, and I almost wished I hadn’t, because his smart-ass mask was nowhere to be found. He looked sweet—vulnerable—and a rush of fondness went through me. “You’re not nearly the jerk you purport yourself to be.”

I saw his throat move around a swallow before he said in a gravelly voice, “Trust me, I am.”

“Charlie,” I said, smiling as I looked at his face. Those dark eyes, slashing brows, that prominent nose—I loved his face. I mean, Ilikedhis face. My heart was in my throat as my gaze moved all over him, traveling everywhere. I didn’t dare bring my eyes back to his, yet I couldn’t keep them away.

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