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I noticed a group of people whispering and pointing. Of course, I wasn’t surprised. He was James Dixon. Anyone who followed the Lakers hockey team knew that name and could recognize that face, all sharp angles and icy cold gaze.
“Harper?” The softness in Rory’s voice almost killed me. But not as much as knowing she’d heard our exchange.
“I’m fine.” I flashed her the brightest smile I could muster, forcing myself not to look out the window.
“So that’s your dad?” Her smile was less enthused.
“Yep. James Dixon in the flesh.” I glanced toward the door he’d walked out of, trying so hard to ignore the ache in my chest.
You’d think eighteen years would be enough time to get over the fact that your father treated you like a stranger, but that kind of pain never truly went away. Instead, it festered. Growing into something toxic and deadly. Something that poisoned your thoughts and actions and the person you became.
“He’s… not what I expected.”
“Sorry to disappoint.” My lips thinned as I stared at my coffee.
“Do you want to talk about it? I know a thing or two about shitty parents.”
“I’m fine, really.”
Although, I couldn’t shake the feeling I was missing something.
Something big.
Digging out my cell phone, I quickly texted Mom.
Harper: Why is Dad at Lakeshore U?
Mom: He is? He didn’t tell me…
Harper: He’s meeting with Coach Tucker.
I didn’t need to explain who Coach Tucker was. My father was a big Lakers fan. Still followed their progress, reliving his glory days from his favorite armchair.
Mom: I don’t know what to tell you sweetheart. I’m as in the dark as you are. But this is a good thing, Harper. It’s been a while since he left the house.
I didn’t know what to say to that, my stomach churning with guilt and other things I didn’t want to think about.
Before I could figure out a reply, she texted again.
Mom: Maybe you can spend some time together. I bet he’d like that.
Bitter laughter spilled off my lips. Was she for real?
I didn’t know what was worse, having a father who didn’t give a shit about you or a mother who refused to acknowledge it.
“Harper?”
I’d almost forgotten Rory was sitting there, watching me.
“Sorry,” I murmured. “That was rude of me.”
“It’s okay.” She gave me a soft, sympathetic smile. “I’m here for you. Always.”
“Really, I’m fine. In fact, I’ve been thinking of doing some volunteer work. Something to keep me busy.”
“Don’t you already have a lot on your plate with classes and your job at Millers?”
“Yeah, but I have a couple of afternoons where I can make it work. And I volunteered back home.” Anything to keep me out of the house and away from my father.
