“Shit!” Janelle hisses. “I totally forgot he was coming by with a new bike for Mason.” She ushers me toward the back door. “Go hang out with Owen. I’ll get rid of him.”
An unfamiliar feeling ofnot againfills me. No. I’m not going to run. Not this time.
“Where are my perfect grandbabies?!” Dad yells from the entryway. Small feet thunder across the floor and down the stairs.
“Jared.” Janelle shakes me, but it’s like my feet have grown roots into the floorboards.
“We’re here! We’re here!” Mia and Mason yell in unison.
“There you are,” my dad laughs in that booming way of his. “I missed you!”
Bile rises in my throat. I love my niece and nephew, but I’m so fucking envious that they get this version of my dad when all I ever got were harsh words and criticism. Anger builds inside me the more my dad laughs. Ihatehim. He ruined my life. He ruined what I had with Wes. Because he’s always fucking there, in my head, wherever I go, no matter how hard I try to leave my past behind. He’s the one who has held me back from living. And I let him.
“Janelle, those kids of yours are little monsters! You have to—” Dad freezes in the doorway to the kitchen, Mia and Mason hanging from his arms. “Oh,” he says, then looks me up and down from my hoodie to my sweats, like he’s already trying to find a fault somewhere. He frowns, then puts the kids down. They whine, but he steps away from them and toward me as heholds out his hand. “Jared,” he says, his voice uncertain. “This was unexpected.”
I eye his hand, but I don’t take it. I haven’t seen my dad since that day in Paris, and somehow, he’s smaller than I remember. Less intimidating.
Janelle ushers the kids out the back door. “Go play with your dad and Rufus.”
“But Granddad—” Mia protests.
“He’ll be right there. Get going.”
They both mope but run out the door. Dad’s hand hovers between us.
“Won’t you shake your father’s hand, son?” he says, that familiar edge of accusation in his voice.
“Can I offer you a coffee, Dad?” Janelle cuts in, heading for the coffee machine.
“Thanks, sweetheart. So, how’ve you been?” he asks me like I just went away for a long weekend. He clenches his fist, then drops his hand.
“Good.”
Dad’s shoulders relax a bit. “How’s coaching?” He moves to the table and pulls out a chair.
“Good.” If he thinks I’m going to give him more than he’s already taken from me, then he can think again.
“Bet you miss running,” he chuckles.
“I run,” I say, my voice dry.
“You know what I mean.” I do, and I don’t miss it, not even for a second. “Well, you know what they say, ‘If you can’t do, teach’.”
I just stare at him, the man who was supposed to love me, protect me, and build me up. I hate him.
Dad goes on, completely unfazed. “I heard that head coach Anyango is a real ball-breaker. That’s why I called you a while back. I wanted to give you some pointers if he, oh, thanks,sweetheart. You always spoil me, just like your momma.” He accepts the cup of coffee from Janelle. And it’s the first time I notice that he has a special tone reserved just for me and another for everyone else. How come I never noticed before? Was I really that detached from my own life?
“Sure, Dad.” My sister eyes me, mouthingyou okaybehind Dad’s back. I offer her a curt nod, then stare directly at my father.
“He’s amazing, actually,” I say.
Dad huffs, then mumbles, “He got lucky winning those World Athletics Championships if you ask me.”
And something explodes inside me. Whether it’s that overbearing huff or his smug expression, I can’t tell. It doesn’t matter because the outcome is the same. Anger flares to life inside of me. Fuck not giving Dad anything. I’m going to give him fucking everything I have, since he decided to bring the same old bullshit to the table.
“I didn’t.”
He looks up at me, stunned. “What?”
