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Slowly, Brock lifts the steaming cup of coffee to his lips and takes another sip. I sure as hell hope it’s decaf, or the bastard’s going to be awake for the rest of the night.
His lips smack together, savoring the rich flavor from his French-pressed cup. “I know what I told you that night. That she deserved more than to be your sideline girl while you went and lived your life. I know that you didn’t agree but were too respectful to argue with your girlfriend’s dad. I know that if I hadn’t spoken with you that night, you wouldn’t have broken her heart on this very porch.”
I swallow thickly. “I’m the one that approached you, Mr. Swenson––”
“I still stand by my observation that you were both young and stupid, you know,” he interrupts. “But I should’ve let you make your own decisions. Your own potential mistakes. I was being overprotective and”––he studies me carefully––“maybe a little callous toward you.”
Scratching my chin, I tear my gaze away from his and look at Grady before putting myself in Brock’s shoes. I’ve done it more times than I can count since Grady was born, but this is the first time I really understand Brock’s perspective and the guilt he must be carrying around for intervening in his daughter’s relationship without her knowledge.
“I get it,” I rasp. “If Grady brought home a girl at sixteen and told me that he was going to marry her one day, I would think he was full of shit.”
“Yeah, but you would’ve probably had the decency to keep your nose out of their business instead of giving him an ultimatum between his future and his girlfriend.”
“I asked for your permission,” I counter.
“It was a promise ring, not an engagement.”
I scoff. “We both know that it was the same thing to me.”
He lifts his chin in agreement and takes another sip of his drink before sighing softly. “I shouldn’t have asked you to choose.”
“I should’ve chosen her.”
Brock smiles. “Don’t think I don’t remember what you said to me that night. You told me that you used to live for football before you met Say––”
“And now I live for her,” I repeat, living in the memory as if it were yesterday.
“But I didn’t believe you. I couldn’t see that you wanted to pursue your dreams so that you could provide for hers. And even when you told me you’d give up your future in football, I forced you to see the bigger picture. That you weren’t old enough to make a decision like that over a girl. I put you in a no-win situation, Owen. And that was a shitty thing to do. I was selfish. I wanted her to stay close. I didn’t want her to follow you across the country.” He shakes his head, his grip tightening around the mug that Say had painted for him when she was a little kid.
Again, I put myself in his shoes. I’d be protective with Grady, too, and I can’t even imagine keeping my Papa Bear in check with a little girl like Saylor.
“I get it,” I rasp again.
“Doesn’t make it right,” he counters. “She’s my baby girl, Owen. She might be almost thirty now, but she’s still my baby girl.”
“I know.”
His eyes glisten with unshed tears, but he swallows them back and admits, “I didn’t know how to let go.”
“I wasn’t asking you to,” I choke out. The memories swirl around me like the fog on a cold winter morning.
“I know that now.” His nod is somber. Almost reverent. “I need to know that you won’t hurt her again. That you won’t leave without her again.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“You promise?”
“Yes, sir.”
He sniffs, then takes another swig of his drink, running his thumb across the rim slowly, over and over again, as he mulls over something in his head.
“Just…make her happy,” he murmurs. “I’ve seen it with Sway and Anthony, I thought I saw it with Liam and Skye before he broke her heart, and I know that I saw it when Say was younger with you.” He lifts his chin toward his daughter, who’s helping Grady build a snowman. “And now, as I look at her playing with your little boy in the snow, I can see it again. I was so afraid of losing her that I did lose her. Her vibrant smile. Her vivacious need to explore and to live. She was just a shell before you turned back up. And right now, looking at her over there, I just…I’m sorry, Owen.”
“Me too. For hurting her and for taking so damn long to get my head out of my ass and fight for what I want.”
“Too long,” he agrees, his eyes shining with mirth. “But I’m glad you’re back.”
“Me too. And thank you for this chat. I needed it.”
