Chapter 40
FORTY
The next week went by in a blur of sex, hockey, and playing Stardew Valley next to my girl.
And it was perfect.
Every moment with Abby felt like discovering something new. The way she’d arch her back when I kissed that spot just below her ear. How she’d bite her lip to keep from making too much noise when my roommates were home. The soft, breathy way she’d say my name when she was close.
When we weren’t having sex, I’d find myself captivated, watching her build her farm like her life depended on it—naming cows after classic authors and planting neat rows of strawberries.
It was even more endearing to see the fierce concentration on her face or the way she tilted her head when she was meticulously organizing her farm.
These were all things I hadn’t been able to witness before, and too often I’d find myself mesmerized by her.
On the ice, things were just as good. Our team was on a winning streak—three games in seven days, and we’d taken all of them. Coach Maxwell had even pulled me aside after Thursday’s game against Helena College to tell me he’d never seen me play better.
“Whatever’s got you so focused, Kane, keep doing it,” he’d said with a knowing smirk.
I was walking on cloud nine until a single text message threatened my bliss.
Dad
Great game last night. Let me take you out to dinner Sunday night to celebrate how great your season is going.
You should bring your girlfriend too.
The messages had come in Friday morning as I was getting dressed for class, and my stomach had immediately knotted. I stared at my phone for a full minute, reading and rereading the texts.
The whole pretense of celebrating had me on edge. My father didn’t “celebrate” my hockey accomplishments—he tolerated them at best. And he certainly didn’t take interest in my dating life unless he thought he could use it somehow.
But when I brought it up to Abby, she thought it might be a good idea—that maybe it was an olive branch. She was more optimistic than I was about my relationship with my father.
So on Sunday, Abby and I joined my dad at one of his favorite restaurants in town.
It was one of those upscale places with white tablecloths and waiters who looked down their noses at college students.
The kind of place where the menu didn’t list prices because if you had to ask, you couldn’t afford it.
Abby squeezed my hand as we walked inside. “Relax. I’m sure it’s going to be fine.”
“You don’t know my dad,” I said. I couldn’t help but be wary. “He never does anything without an ulterior motive.”
But it made me especially nervous that he had specifically asked for Abby to come. I didn’t know what his play was, but it made me tense, nonetheless.
I wanted to protect her from my dad’s vitriol.
The hostess showed us to my dad’s table and he stood, his eyes brightening as he saw me.
He was wearing one of his expensive suits—tailor-made and probably costing more than my entire semester’s tuition.
His silver-streaked dark hair was perfectly styled, and his smile was practiced and polished like everything else about him.
“My boy,” he said, clapping me on the back and pulling me in for a hug. I returned it stiffly, the familiar cologne he wore bringing back a flood of memories—most of them involving disappointment and criticism.
Then his gaze landed on Abby. “Abby, so nice to see you again. You’ve done well, son,” he said, giving me a wink that made me feel gross.
Like Abby was some trophy I’d won rather than an amazing person in her own right.
“Aren’t you just a cutie? I didn’t notice the last time we met,” he said to Abby.
Abby stiffened beside me. She was wearing a simple blue dress, and her hair down. She looked beautiful, but I knew she hated being reduced to her appearance, especially by men like my father.
Her smile was fixed on her face, but didn’t reach her eyes. “Thanks,” she said.
He laughed, but only he was in on the joke. “Oh, no need to be so short. We can forget that little thing with Holt.”
My hackles raised. That “little thing” was him refusing to learn her name and then insulting her intelligence. My jaw tightened as I remembered how dismissive he’d been of her at Parker’s office.
“It’s no wonder my boy stood up for you. I should have known things were getting serious.”
I frowned. “I didn’t defend her because she’s my girlfriend. I defended her because you couldn’t even get her name right.”
He brushed his hand across the space between us like he was sweeping the past under the rug. “Oh, that’s old news. Let’s move forward now. Take a seat.”
“Where’s Mom?”
“She had a headache, so she decided to stay in tonight,” he shared, not an ounce of concern for his wife’s well-being in his tone. His behavior wasn’t necessarily better with her present, but it made me even more nervous that he’d say something out of line with just the three of us here.
The restaurant buzzed with quiet conversation around us, the clink of silverware against fine china creating a background melody to my growing anxiety.
I glanced at Abby, hoping maybe she’d indicate that she wanted to bail as badly as I did, but she just moved toward her chair.
I held it out for her as she sat down and then, with a sigh, I took my own seat next to her, already regretting this dinner.
A waiter immediately appeared with water and wine menus. My dad ordered a bottle of red without consulting either of us, something pretentious and expensive that he probably knew the vintage of.
He made polite conversation and actually deigned to take interest in Abby, asking her about her major and her plans for the future. He nodded appreciatively when she spoke about her internship at Holt & Associates, and even seemed genuinely impressed when she mentioned her academic scholarships.
It wasn’t an interrogation like I expected. In fact, the dinner was almost pleasant. My father even asked about our classes, and showed genuine interest in my hockey season.
By the time dessert arrived—a chocolate soufflé that my father insisted we try—I had almost relaxed. Maybe I’d misjudged him. Maybe he really was just trying to get to know the woman I was dating.
I should have known it was all a ploy so I would let my guard down.