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He nodded, the lines in his face etched deeper than before, but his eyes were still full of the wisdom I’d always admired in him. My dad was a rock; nothing threw him for a loop. Or if it did, he never let it show.
“You know how proud I was of your career,” he said. “I can only imagine the amount of commitment it takes to play at that level for more than a decade. But I’ve never been more proud than I was on the day you retired.”
Emotion flooded my chest; my dad was always supportive but rarely emotional.
“You’ve made your kids number one for a year now,” he said. “And look at them, they’re thriving.”
I nodded. “I hope so. I know I’ve done my best.”
“You know it’s okay if you don’t want to live here alone with them until they’re adults, right? To want someone in your life again? That just means you’ve gotten enough distance from what happened with Andrea that you’re ready to move on.”
I knew he’d heard about me and Shea. Word spread fast in the Beard and we’d spent Grady and Avon’s entire wedding night in each other’s arms on the dance floor.
“When will I know if my kids are ready, though?”
My dad smiled. “You’ll know. Just don’t overcompensate for what their mom did. Never being with a woman because she left for another man doesn’t prove anything. Martyrdom is a lonely pursuit, son.”
“I’m not trying to be a martyr,” I said, furrowing my brow in thought. “Is that what it seems like?”
“It seems like you’re giving up everything for them just to cover all your bases. But don’t throw out the baby with the bathwater.”
After a few seconds of silent thought, I sighed heavily. “It’s hard to imagine trusting someone again. I had no idea what was going on with Andrea.”
“Don’t fault someone else for what she did. Life’s too short for that.”
I looked up at the vaulted ceiling in the great room, covered with wood planks. This house was very different from the cozy three-bedroom ranch I’d grown up in. Mom had always had something baking in the oven and we’d all gathered around the same TV to watch a show on our free evenings. There were definitely no castles. But home had been my safe place, and I loved it.
“You think this place feels like a home?” I asked my dad.
“Oh, I imagine it will. The kids will make it feel like one.”
“You know you guys are welcome here anytime. Don’t let Mom sell you on having to be invited. I want you guys here.”
He gave me a knowing smile. “I don’t think a lack of an invitation will keep her from our grandkids.”
“Good.”
“And you know, we’re damn good babysitters. When you need us. We love having them overnight.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
He nodded. “Be a shame to sit in one of those rockers by yourself every day, you know. Some things are just better in pairs.”
It was eerie how well he knew me. I hoped one day I’d know my kids that well and that I’d steer them in the right direction when they needed it—whether they asked me to or not.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Shea
“Where is the gravy?”
I’d asked nicely twice; now I was yelling. I had seven plates of beef Wellington, garlic mashed potatoes and roasted veggies that were cooling by the second. I refused to use warming lamps in my kitchen because they made cooks lazy.
“Sorry, Chef.” Priscilla hurried over to ladle gravy onto the mashed potatoes on each plate.
“Everything okay?” I asked her because she was always someone I could count on to have her jobs done on time.
She gave me a frantic look. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
