Page 178 of It Should Have Been Us

I blink, surprised at the change of subject. “Nothing.”

“Oh, please, you look like your puppy died, and you were all chipper when you left a few hours ago.”

“I…” I lift my hand and rub at my jaw, feeling the stubble scratch my fingertips.

Dad makes his way to his trusty old recliner and slowly takes a seat, but then his attention is back on me. It’s unnerving, the way he looks at me, like he’s actually waiting for my answer. Like he’s… listening.

I wasn’t quite sure what to do about it.

He quirks one of his brows, crossing his arms over his stomach. “So?”

“My teammate called earlier. He…” I clear my throat. “He reminded me I should get back if I don’t want to miss the beginning of training camp.”

There is a beat of silence as Dad watches me. I shift in my seat, uncomfortable under his scrutinizing stare. My whole bodyis stiff, muscles taunt and bracing for whatever he’s about to dish at me.

Probably one of his many complaints about me leaving and betraying my family, how I’m a grown-ass man playing a game and refusing to grow up or—

“I was wondering when you’d get your ass back to Austin.”

I square my shoulders, my lips parting…

“It was about damn time. I didn’t want to have to be the one to remind you of your job. I wanted to, trust me, but your mother threatened I could move my ass permanently to the couch if I chased you away again, so…”

Wait…

“What?”

“You know your mother. She can be nice as a kitten, but if you piss her off, you better be prepared to duck from her claws.”

“Not that, but…”

I shake my head unsure of what to say,howto say it.

“What?”

“This is the first time you’ve acknowledged the fact that football is my job.”

“Ah.” He nods. “That.”

“Yeah, that.”

What the hell was going on here? It felt like I entered a parallel universe of some sort.

All the years of dealing with my dad and having to fight him about football have done a number on me, and I had a hard time believing that Dad might have changed.

Dad lifts his hand and runs it through his hair. “I know I’ve been hard on you in the past.”

I snort, the need to tell him exactly what I think is on the tip of my tongue, but I bite the words back, giving him a chance to finish.

“You might think I don’t realize it, but I do. I’m ahard man in general. I was hard with Aaron, too. Just in a different way, but you…” He looks away, a distant expression passing over his face. “I never quite knew what to do with you. You loved football from a very young age. I knew that. It was so obvious in the way you played. But I worried about you. I worried about your dreams crashing down if you didn’t succeed.”

“But I did succeed.”

Dad turns toward me. “You did. And I’m happy for you. I genuinely am. I hate it because there is nothing I’d love more than for you to be here, but I can see that you’re happy and doing well. I know I don’t say it nearly enough, but I am proud of you, Miguel. I’m proud of the man you’ve become.”

A knot forms in my throat at his words. It takes me a couple of tries before I can rasp, “Thanks, Dad.”

“There is nothing to thank me for. It was all you. Your hard work, your stubbornness, and your determination lead you to where you are.” For a moment, he just observes me. “But you don’t seem happy to be going back.”

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