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What fucking time is it? Undiluted sunshine stings my eyes as I blink awake, my hand instantly going to the bedside table where my phone would normally be. By the time I’m up and I find my jeans, the ringing stops.
Pulling my underwear on, I head out to the living area. While I dial my father back, I get the coffee on before rummaging through the refrigerator for breakfast.
“Where the hell are you?” he answers the call, an irate edge to his voice catching me off guard. “Every time I call you, you never answer. What’s up with that?”
“I’m asleep, Dad.”
“Not where you’re supposed to be.”
“Stop calling me at the ass crack of dawn,” I laugh, but all I get in return is stark silence opposed to one of his light reprimands.
“You said you were going to lie low, Brody.”
“I am,” I shrug my reply, pulling some eggs out of the fridge along with the milk and butter.
“Not low enough if I know what you’re doing.” His tone is low and unamused. It’s not like him to comment on what I do off the track, not unless I ask him his opinion anyway. “You’re meant to be relaxing and regrouping. Getting your head in a good place so you can keep your cool. A repeat of what happened the last few races isn’t going to end well, Son.”
“My head is in a great place, Dad,” or at least it was before you called me.
“I’m looking out for you. The last thing you need is a distraction, unnecessary drama that’s going to impact your performance.”
“It won’t.”
“I know you. This isn’t who you are. You don’t indulge girls like this.”
“She’s different.”
“Oh hell. I’ve been where you are, Brody, and someone always gets hurt. You don’t want to make the same mistakes I did. She might be a nice girl, but—”
“Stop,” I snap.
Irritation coils my insides at the underhanded insinuations and assumptions he’s making from whatever his spies have reported back to him. Ever since he took me away from Mom, he’s overcompensated in every way. It’s why I’m where I am today, not because he’s used his money to get me here, but because he invested his time and efforts in me. I wouldn’t have a career or legacy without him. He’s always got someone watching, ready to clean up any mess I leave behind because the shinier my persona is, the more the legacy grows.
“Rosie’s not just nice, she’s…” something beyond everything I’ve ever known.
“Unprepared to deal with who you are. What your life entails. And it is foolish of you to get carried away.” I hear him blow out a long, sad breath down the line. “It’s cruel to lead some poor, young girl on when you’re never going to see her again.”
“Dad.”
“Please tell me you’re at least being safe.”
Anger burns deep in my gut at the way he’s preaching at me. He may be my father, but we’re totally different people, and Rosie is nothing like Mom. I would never hurt her the way he hurt Mom.
“It’s a little late for this conversation, don’t you think? I’m thirty-seven years old, I’m a man, and I sure as hell don’t need my father telling me how to live my life or how to treat someone I care about.”
“Brody—”
“No.” The scoff pushes from my lips, cutting him off. “You fucked up with Mom, and that’s on you. Not me. I’m not you and Rosie’s not her.”
The bedroom door opens, the sight of Rosie in my t-shirt has me smiling past all the tension in me as I continue listening to him. Second by second, with every step she takes toward me, his voice blurs. Holding my phone between my shoulder and ear, I hitch her up onto the counter as she mouths, ‘Morning.’
‘Morning,’ I mouth back at her, zoning back onto the call so I can end it.
“…just trying to look out for you,” Dad sighs. “I love you.”
“Okay. I’ll call you later.”
“Brody…Son…”
