I look away, but he doesn’t. He never does, and I hate the way my cheeks heat under his unwavering gaze.
Ignore him.
This is all part of his plan to get in my head. Flirt with me, throw me off my game.
But that’s where he’s wrong.
I won’t let anything get in the way of winning.
Certainly not a boy.
And definitely not Landon Fletcher.
“Hi, Dad.”
His tired eyes meet mine. “Hey, baby. How was practice?”
“Good.” I toss my backpack onto the floor and kick off my cleats. “We had a scrimmage and I scored five goals.”
He chuckles as he lifts the remote and mutes the TV. “That’s my girl.”
I glance at the balled-up tissues littering the coffee table, lying beside the bottle of Tylenol, and my stomach sinks. “How was work?”
“I left early.”
“Again?”
Dad rubs his temples in small circles. “I just can’t shake this headache. It’s making me tired.”
“Maybe it’s time to go to the doctor.” I lean on the arm of the chair, and touch the back of my hand to his forehead. “Headaches don’t usually last for days on end.”
“Ah, I’ll be fine. It’s just allergies.” He takes my hand and presses a kiss to my palm. “Tell me more about this scrimmage.”
I hesitate, heaving a sigh. “Dad...”
“I’m fine, baby. I promise.” He looks into my eyes, the ones that match my hazel color, and offers me a smile. “You don’t have to worry about your father. That’s my job.”
Losing my mother at eight-years-old instilled a fear in me that I still haven’t been able to shake. Her car accident was sudden and unexpected, leaving us reeling. My father is all I have in this world, and I need him to be okay. He hates the way I worry about him, but I don’t know how to stop. Maybe it’s codependent, but I’ve taken care of him since Mom died, and I always will.
Seeing me excel in lacrosse is one of the only things that puts a smile on his face, so I give up the fight and tell him about my scrimmage. He could’ve had a son if Mom was still around, so I’ve made it my mission in life to fill as many empty spaces in his heart as I can to keep him happy.
I can be enough for him.
“Come sit with me in the kitchen while I start dinner.” I turn off the TV and collect the used tissues into a pile. “And get these snot rags out of here.”
Dad groans as he pushes out of his chair, the old metal springs groaning with him.
I arch a brow. “Maybe everything hurts because of that old recliner. You could get a new one that’s better for your back.”
“The recliner stays.”
I shake my head, already expecting that response. “You’re such a creature of habit.”
“Don’t fix it if it’s not broken.” Dad follows me into the kitchen and lowers himself into a wooden chair at the table. “I love everything in this house because it holds a memory.”
“Then you won’t be turning my bedroom into an office when I go off to college?”
“Not a chance.” He points his index finger at me. “And no talking about college until next year. I’m not ready yet.”
