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Instead of going to the bar or one of my teammates’ homes to celebrate another win, I’m in the living room of my apartment, Scotch in hand with Dad sitting on the other couch, nursing his own drink. I prefer the quiet night in, in comparison to a louder, rowdier celebration, and Dad doesn’t seem to mind it, either.
He had come to the game, of course, the guys thrilled to see him before he was up in the box to watch with a hell of a view. The game had been intense and demanded every single bit of my focus—which was just as well--because it was a welcome distraction from all of the dizzying, confusing as hell thoughts of Daria. Run, get the ball,run, run, run—like I was trying to outrun Daria and those bright blue eyes and the smile that stopped my Goddamn heart right in my chest. And for a while, for the duration of the game at least, thoughts of Daria evaded me. Now I’m home, well aware she is most likely down a few floors in her own apartment, and she is once again flooding my head no matter how hard I try to resist.
“So—out with it, boy,” Dad says, shooting me a pointed look as my gaze snaps over to him. “Something is weighing on you and it looks heavy as shit.”
My expression falls flat. “Your accent’s growing strong,” I comment.
“Over a decade in Texas will do that to a man,” he says. “Now, come on. What’s going on, Caden? Is it work?”
“I wish,” I chuckle dryly before taking a sip of my drink. I suck my teeth before tilting my head back, staring at the high ceiling for a moment. Finally, I confess, “It’s Daria.”
Surprise flits across Dad’s face, head tilting to the side in curiosity. “Daria? Your friend, the one with the daughter?” I smile wryly and dip my chin in a nod. Dad shakes his head. “What about her?”
“It’s complicated.”Thatis an understatement. I run my fingers through my hair as Dad stares at me patiently waiting. “We’re friends. . . A little bit more than that, actually, but she doesn’t want a relationship. I don’t think so, at least. Not with all of the baggage I come with.”
“Baggage?” Dad repeats disbelievingly, arching an eyebrow.
I give him a one shoulder shrug. “The media. The public.” I wave my free hand around in a vague gesture. “We’ve kept our damnfriendshipa secret, for fuck’s sake, because she doesn’t want the public to know about her being in my life. She wants to protect her daughter from it because it can be a shit show, which Iunderstand. But I just—”
“You like her,” Dad concludes; simple and true—a fucking fact of life I can’t deny.
“More than I should,” I mumble out with a sigh, looking at the liquid in my glass.
Dad huffs out a breath. “You can’t blame yourself for having feelings, son. Have you talked to Daria about this?”
“What’s the point, when I already know what she’s going to say?”
“The point is—” Dad stresses, leaning forward with his arms resting on his knees and his gaze fixed on me. “You don’t internalize that kind of stuff. Whether you think you know what she’s going to say or not, you owe it to yourself to be clear with her on how you feel.”
My teeth press together at his words. He has a point, and if anyone knows better than to keep torrential feelings to ourselves, it’s Dad and me. After Sean died, years of therapy wasn’t enough to move on from his death, but it did help to work through the grief. It’s how Dad and I were able to move forward, one foot after the other. My mother, on the other hand, is a different story. One I haven’t indulged in for years, ever since she left us.
“And what if it makes things weird between us?” I ask Dad before taking a sip of my drink.
He shoots me a bemused look. “What are you guys, middle schoolers? You’re grown adults. I’m sure you will be able to figure things out, no matter what happens.”
I snort. He’s giving us a little too much credit. “I’ll take your word for it.”
The conversation shifts after that, which is just as well, except it doesn’t stave off thoughts about Daria. Despite my minor reluctance, I know Dad has a point. She and I have to talk about things, so we are on the same page—whatever the hell that may be. Because I know I sure as hell can’t keep acting as if I don’t want her for more than just sex. I don’t even know when it stopped being true, but it is. The whole no strings attached arrangement isn’t enough for me anymore and, frankly, I don’t know if it ever had been. And if she were to give me a chance. . . Fucking hell, I would make it more than worth her while .
Which is why, hours later when Dad goes to bed, I pull out my phone and send Daria a text.
Caden:Are you up?
Her response comes two minutes later.
Daria:Yeah.
I drag my teeth along my lower lip for a moment, before finally sending my own response.
Caden:I’m coming down.
11
DARIA
“Are you gonna tell me why you’ve been acting so off?”
