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Mom’s hand slipped away from me and she stepped forward. “You never told me that, Abe,” she said softly.
Dad shook his head. “If I’d had someone in my corner, I think things would have been different. But he thought college was a waste of time, that I was chasing stupid dreams. He didn’t want me to take the scholarship, said I should get a real job. And when I got injured, it was like a told-you-so moment, that he knew I’d never amount to anything.”
I flinched, his words hitting me hard. Yeah, I got mad at Dad, didn’t like the control he exerted over me, his constant pushing of me. But what if it was way worse for nobody to care what you did, to not support you, to dismiss your dreams?
“That’s why I want so much for you, son. I want it all for you,” he said, reverting to his Coach role, impassioned and emphatic. “I want you to achieve at the highest level. I wanted you to dream big, to believe you can do anything, be anything.”
Believe.
My heart hammered in my chest, and Mom gasped. Dad brought his hands up to his face, covered his eyes for a moment, then slid them down his cheeks, exposing his watery eyes.
“Cullen, I know I push too much sometimes,” he said, his chest heaving with his words. “I know I’m not perfect, not as a coach or a father. Maybe I’ve been terrified of letting you down. Of letting you both down.” He glanced over to Mom, his voice straining. “It’s hard to let go. Deep down, I think I’ll always be that kid from Dunstan Diggs. That kid who had nothing, would be nothing.”
I had to physically brace myself, leaning against the counter. Dad had always projected confidence and invincibility, so to hear him speak about his own self-doubt was mind numbing. Dunstan Diggs was the pits of the earth according to Dad, a small rural dot on a map in the middle of nowhere. Well, the north west, near the border actually, but it was a place Dad never mentioned, much like his family. Dad’s life was virtually a mystery, though Mom had told me he’d been raised by his father, and his mother had disappeared from his life when he was ‘a boy,’no specified timeframe ever given.
“Abe.” Mom reached out now, her arms going around him. It was one of those awkward moments where I wanted to look away, but at the same time I was mesmerized. “You were never nothing. Look at you. Look how far you’ve come.”
Now Mom was the one doing a motivational speech, and I wanted to jump in, reassure Dad that he was the best coach, but Mom was on a roll. “I still remember that day you came into my anatomy class, how my heart skipped a beat or two—”
“Wait, what?” I interrupted, frowning at Mom. “You took anatomy class?” I knew Mom and Dad met at college, but Mom was a business major.
“Yes, I took anatomy,” Mom said with a smug smile. “Why wouldn’t I? All the football players took it.” She winked, making me roll my eyes. “And lucky for me, your Dad had to change his timetable and ended up in my class!”
“Gross,” I muttered, not wanting to hear any more about my parents’ dating history.
But that lightened the mood, and Mom and Dad both chuckled.
“Actually, I was the lucky one, babe,” Dad said, blinking rapidly to clear his misty eyes. “You saved me.” He reached down and gently kissed her on the lips.
This time I did look away, but my heart seized. Mom saved Dad? Was that a thing with Mercer men—that we needed saving?
I was scratching my head and studying the hardwood floor when Dad’s voice indicated their kiss had stopped. “Cullen?”
“Yeah?” I looked up tentatively, folding my arms across my chest.
“I’m proud of you, son. I’m proud of your talent, your achievements. And especially the day you stood up for yourself, when you decided your granddad was more important to you than football practice, well, that was a moment that—” Dad’s lips twitched, unable to finish.
“Yes,” Mom jumped in—saving him, I guess, “yes, I was so proud of you too. You put family above everything.”
“You didn’t want to worry us, I get that,” I said in her defense.
Then Mom did exactly what I feared, she held out her arm, signaling me over, and Dad’s arm extended, and yep, I was swept into a group hug. Three of us in a huddle.
There were mumblings of me being their pride and joy, of being strong and united, of doing better, all things to make your heart go pitter-patter. In danger of being smothered by the excessive show of affection, I was ready to breakaway but Dad was still going strong, a reformed man. “And I’m sorry for today, for overreacting. When in fact you did everything right.”
My mixed-up head was already overwhelmed, so I wasn’t sure I was on the same wavelength as him. Was he now saying that apple pie and ice creamwasan acceptable recovery food?
“Pie is okay?” I asked tentatively.
Dad winced and bared his teeth. “I can’t totally agree with that, though your mother was right that it’s a source of vitamin C and fiber.” He paused and let out a heavy sigh. “But the only pie I’ll be having is humble pie. Son, I apologize for dragging you out of the Huntington house. Sierra is absolutely correct, the hot tubisgreat for muscle recovery and to drive home when you’re tiredisirresponsible.”
I didn’t respond, well, I couldn’t respond. A flash of heat seemed to render me dumbstruck, my stomach knotted and my lungs refused to function normally. All because he’d said Sierra’s name.
“Sierra?” Now Mom was saying it, and I could feel every blood vessel beneath my skin dilating, such was the rush of blood to my face.
“Yes,” Dad said, his steely eyes narrowing. “I got a very strongly worded text saying that Cullen wasn’t at fault.”
Mom’s eyebrows raised a fraction. “Oh. I had the very same conversation with her this afternoon, too. She was quite adamant it wasn’t Cullen’s fault.”
