Page 88 of Unforgettable Player

“No? Well, looks like you’re course correcting now.”

He gives me one of those dad smiles.

My shoulders relax. “Does Mom know?”

“She’s suspicious, but I managed to convince her she’s imagining things.”

“Good old-fashioned gaslighting. Nice.”

He chuckles. “I wanted to give you time to figure things out for yourself.”

I nod.

“You sure you can’t work through things with Elliot? I could always talk to your sister, if you want.”

“Nah.” I shake my head. “I don’t want to pressure him. He knows what I want. The ball’s in his court now.”

ELLIOT

I can’t stay in that house and be around Connor without giving something away. It all feels like a waste of time. Like no matter what I do, I can’t go back. I’ve opened Pandora’s box and all this shit has flown out and everything I thought I knew before is alien to me now. Like I’ve ruined it, no matter what. All because I couldn’t stop myself from giving in.

The house is silent when I step through the front door. I take a deep breath and grit my teeth. This is my house. That man in a hole-ridden cardigan, hiding in his study, is my dad. Scout’s family is her family, and this is mine.

Channeling Scout, I storm down the hallway and open my dad’s study door without knocking.

He looks up from his computer, blinking in surprise when he sees me standing there, being rude.

“You need to get up,” I say.

He frowns. “Eli⁠—”

“No, Dad. Enough. You need to stop hiding away in here and get up, take a shower, put some clothes on that aren’t full of holes, shave, eat something, and go back to work.”

His throat works, like he’s trying to find something to say. Finally, he manages to choke out, “I am working.”

“No, not your academic papers, I mean teaching. I mean, talking to other people. Not just reading peer reviews. I mean, using your voice. Showing your face.”

He looks down at the keyboard. “Elliot….”

“Look at me, Dad.”

He keeps staring at the keyboard. I take a few more steps into the room. “I said, look at me.”

Nothing.

“Please.” I feel the tears in my voice before it breaks.

His gaze snaps up to mine and I see surprise and pain written all over his face.

“Why can’t you look at me?”

His eyes get watery. “You remind me of her.”

I bite my cheek to stop from overflowing like I did at the movies. “Of course I do. She was my mom.”

“I know that.”

“If you don’t talk about her … if you take the pictures down and pretend it didn’t happen … you let her die all over again.”