23. Darcy
Chapter 23
Darcy
I T TURNS OUT that Anthony is a freaking beast at bowling. Surprising everyone, honestly. Why the man never truly bothered to mention it other than the first time he showed off for us is a mystery, but with only one week to go, he took it upon himself to put our team through its paces, making us come to Hall’s Balls every night to practice.
Then, after wringing us out night after night, he’d take me upstairs and we tumbled into bed. It’s been the best week of my life, but also the most intense and most stressful.
Last night, Anthony pulled us all together and gave us what was, I’m sure in his mind, a very inspiring pep talk. But the man is no Ted Lasso, or even Coach Saban. I’m honestly not sure what he said because I blacked out imagining him using the same voice on me as he made me swallow his cock, so when Amanda snorted while simultaneously saying “Thanks, Anthony,” all I could do was nod.
And if you’re wondering, I absolutely asked him to use that same voice on me last night…while coaching me to, well, swallow his cock like a good girl.
I wave my suddenly heated face in the morning breeze of Mobile, the location of the bowling tournament, and take a giant slurp of the extra-large iced coffee with vanilla cold cream that Amanda, God bless her soul, handed to me wordlessly when I climbed into her car this morning. Agatha carpooled with us, but she had her thermos of sweet iced tea and wanted nothing to do with our “overpriced coffee shenanigans.”
Devon showed up with Aaron, and Agatha’s daughter Betty is also here.
“Hey, Darcy girl,” comes my dad’s gruff voice as he wraps an arm around me and pulls me to him.
“Dad!” I look up in surprise. “You’re here?”
He winks down at me. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
I tip up to kiss him on his leathery cheek. “Thank you. Means a lot.” And it does, more than I thought it would, judging by the way my heart ka-thumps in happiness. It’s the first time he’s shown up for me like this, but in fairness, it’s the first time in my life I’ve done anything approaching sporty. “Can’t believe it’s finally here!” I gush, looking at the bowling pin sign that turns slowly in the air above us.
“ I can’t believe we all got here on time,” Amanda snorts.
“With everything we needed,” Agatha adds.
“In our shirts!” Devon finishes.
I laugh. “C’mon, ladies. Let’s go register and see if we can intimidate our competition with our sweet matching shirts.”
A half hour later, an announcer calls the raucous room to attention. “Each bowler rolls ten frames, and the team with the highest score wins. We have thirty teams here, so we’re breaking you into six sets of five. The top three teams in each set of five will move on to the next round, meaning we’ll have eighteen teams remaining. From there, we’ll break you into six sets of three, and the top two teams in each will progress, getting us to twelve teams. We’ll take a break, then after that, the twelve teams break into six sets of two. The highest-scoring six teams will then bowl against each other. The top three teams go on for the final placement. Questions?”
No one dares raise a hand. Pretty sure the woman barking instructions at all of us scared just about the entire room.
Ignoring my ridiculous wish that Anthony could be here—my dad is here, and Anthony has a whole business to run, and it feels like I’m being greedy—I turn to my team and grin. “Let’s go, girls!”
“Woo, a Shania Twain reference!” comes Agatha’s enthusiastic hoot.
I’m gonna be honest: my only goal was to get us all here and bowling. Imagine my surprise when we actually make it through the first cut— and we’re not even at the very bottom. That distinction falls to the group of middle school teenage girls who look like they’re trying to make bowling the modern version of the word “fetch.” In other words, it’s not going great. But alllll the points for enthusiasm.
“Looks like you made it to the next round.”
I turn, surprised at the gravelly voice behind me. “Anthony?”
His hazel eyes bright, he tips a grin at me. “Did you think I wouldn’t come?”
“I mean…a little,” I admit. “You’re busy.”
He tilts his head and frowns. “Darcy. Of course I’d come. This is your moment!” Then he steps closer and murmurs, “Plus, I worked my ass off with you four this past week. I deserve to see some action.”
I giggle. “You’re insane.” Still, there’s no denying the way my insides warm at his actions. He pulls me to him, and I wrap my arms around his neck, tipping up to kiss him. The distinctive woodsy-Anthony scent of him curls around me. “Thank you,” I whisper.
His hands are warm and reassuring on my waist. “Any time.” He steps away and claps. “Okay, girls, let’s kick some ass.”
Agatha howls again, making all of us laugh. “You got it, Coach.”
“Give me the rundown, Amanda,” he says.
Amanda’s cheeks blaze, but she does it, pointing out who we’re up against and what she’s seen from each team. When she’s done, I gawk at her.
“What?” she asks self-consciously.
“You—holy shit, Amanda, you know your stuff!”
She shrugs, her blush deepening. “I mean…yeah.”
I shake my head. “I’m so impressed with you right now I could kiss you.”
She’s saved from my affections by all of us being called to start the next set. We’re in the first heat of nine teams and our lane is dead center.
Anthony sucks his teeth. “Not great positioning, but that’s okay.” He takes off at a business-like stride, and the four of us look at each other, shrug, and follow.
After a game in which I was almost certain we were on fire we were playing so well, we break for the next set of nine. Nearly an hour later, we learn that we’ve made it into the next bracket of twelve.
Which is unbelievable.
But what’s even more wild is that we get to the top six.
At this point, I’m in full-body chills. No way is this even happening. Like, we’re four random ladies—three of whom I essentially bullied into doing this—and yet, we’ve held our own in our very first tournament!
“Huddle up,” Anthony says. We gather around, and he lays out the strategy. Which isn’t ground-breaking: the strategy is to play our hearts out.
That’s it.
Play.
Seems easy enough. Or hard enough, depending on how you look at it. But no matter, because we head out and take our place at the third lane from center, which Anthony had been angling for us to have the entire time. Something about the oil sheen looking the best out of all the lanes.
And so, with my dad, Devon’s husband Aaron, and Agatha’s daughter Betty cheering us on from the side, we do exactly what Anthony asked us to do: we play our hearts out.
It’s not enough to take first, second, or even third. But our fourth-place statue is the greatest thing I think I’ve ever achieved in my adult life, and we take way too many pictures with it. I’m pretty sure we were more excited about our fourth-place finish than the winners were with their giant trophy. After packing up our shoes and balls, I hear my name.
“Darcy.” Dad’s face is drawn and pensive.
I frown. “Dad?”
“A word? Outside?”
“I—sure?” I look at the group, and everyone is still celebrating, laughing and smiling and carrying on. Even Anthony is almost smiling, off to the side and talking to Aaron.
I follow Dad outside, and we’re barely out of the door before he whirls on me. “What is that in there?”
I draw up short. “Excuse me?”
“You and Anthony. Did you think I didn’t see the way you two hugged and kissed?” He says the last word as though it pains him.
And for the first time in my life, I’m actually speechless.
Dad does not have that problem, however, because he keeps going. “Do you have any idea how old he is? How old he was when you were born ? What in the world do you think you’re doing? You’re a?—”
“I’m a what, Dad?” I finally say, my voice having come roaring back alongside my temper. “Because I’ll tell you exactly what I am: a grown woman who can do what she wants, when she wants, and who she wants.”
He winces, but it doesn’t stop him. “It’s disgusting, Darcy.”
My head whips back so quickly that it feels like I give myself whiplash. “Disgusting?” My voice cracks. “You know absolutely nothing about it.”
He crosses his arms. “Well, maybe disgusting is a strong word?—”
“It’s a terrible word, Dad,” I interrupt.
“He’s too old for you, Darcy.”
“I’m a grown woman, Dad,” I shoot back. “I don’t know what it’ll take to get you to see that, but I am. And this isn’t the nineteen-fifties—you don’t have any say in this.”
My words don’t seem to faze him. “Do you love him? Because no way does he love you.” His tone is gentle, soft even, as though he’s delivering a killing blow but still feels bad about it.
And it hurts. God, does it hurt. All of it. His unkind words, the seeds of doubt he’s planted…all of it. Crossing a hand over my stomach in a bid to keep myself from doubling over, I swallow the lump in my throat. “Thanks for your concern.”
His eyes are kind. “I’m just worried about you, Darcy. You’re my little girl.”
I shake my head, resolved. “But I’m not. Whether this thing with Anthony goes the distance or not, I’m not your little girl. I stopped being that a long time ago, even though you never wanted to see it.”
He blows out a breath, bringing his gaze to mine once more. “Be careful on the way home.” Without another glance, he walks away.
I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. I keep repeating it over and over until Dad is out of sight.
And because life is a fickle bitch, all my friends come out right then, still happy and hollering about winning.
Anthony’s arm wraps around me, hugging me to his side as he looks around for my dad. “Jim have to go?”
I nod silently, unable to say anything.
“Want a ride?”
Again, I nod, grateful for the layer of numbness that’s washed over me. But I smile and hand out hugs and excited squeals to everyone else, keeping it together until Anthony opens his truck door for me.
I pull myself into the cab, Anthony gently shutting the door behind me with a concerned look sweeping across his face. It undoes me, and I cry, trails of silent tears streaking down my cheeks. Which pisses me off. I’m not a crier. Unless I’ve really hurt myself, but crying over something emotional isn’t my bag.
Not until now, apparently.
Anthony starts the engine and places a warm palm on my knee. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong, just reverses out of the parking lot and gets onto the road. The unspoken acceptance releases something in me, and I sob, covering my face with my hands, shoulders shaking. Anthony’s palm remains on my leg, his thumb moving back and forth over the fabric of my skirt, and I let it all out.
It isn’t until we’re ten minutes onto the highway, another twenty to go, when I finally stop crying and clean my face with the tissues in his glove compartment.
Quietly, Anthony asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”
I sniffle. “Yes.”
“Then lay it on me, baby.”
“Dad said that you and I were...” I can’t bring myself to say the word, especially because I’m not really sure Dad meant it to be as cruel as it was. Maybe that makes me naive, but I can’t believe he truly meant to be as hurtful as he was. “He isn’t a fan of this.” I settle on the easiest way to put it, gesturing between the two of us.
“Understandable.” He seems so calm and relaxed. Like he just accepts that my dad might hate him. One hand on the steering wheel, the other still resting on my upper thigh like it has every right to be there.
I tense. “Seriously?”
Anthony chuffs. “He’s your dad. He’s not going to be a fan of anyone who dates his daughter. And when it’s some old geezer who’s probably closer to his age than his daughter’s?”
I stiffen. “It’s not his business,” I say, leaning into the anger.
“It’s not,” he agrees.
“And did he really have to say something today? After what was supposed to be a really happy time? Like, shit. I’ve never won anything, Anthony. Ever. I finally do it with a team of women I love, and the first thing my dad does is shit all over my day with a speech about I’m too young? Fuck that.”
“Darcy.”
“No. Stop it with the placating tone. It was totally uncalled for. And why aren’t you mad? You get mad at everything.”
He chuckles. “I don’t get mad at everything. I just frown a lot. And I don’t talk. Not my fault that people assume I’m mad.”
My chest is tight. The air conditioner can’t fight the flush on my cheeks. “You’re not helping.”
He puts his blinker on, then guides us to the side of the interstate and slowly comes to a stop. Cars whoosh by, rocking the truck as they do.
“What are you doing?”
Putting the truck in park, he turns to look at me. “What do you want from me, Darcy?”
“What do you mean?” My emotions swirl, unable to land on anything.
“Do you want sympathy, or do you want solutions? An ear, or actions? Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”
“I want you to be just as pissed off and confused as me!” My words come out forcefully, and they take me aback.
But not Anthony. He nods, licking his lips and studying me intently.
I take a deep breath and let it out. “How aren’t you mad?”
A sympathetic grin. “Because I see his side of it. And I see yours. Beauty of being forty-one, I guess. Nothing is black and white.”
“Yeah, well, tell that to Jim Belle,” I snark, crossing my arms and wanting nothing more than to wallow in petulance. Seems like a great place to be right now.
“I will, if you want me to.”
“Ugh, stop being so understanding!” I groan in frustration.
He leans over, cupping my chin and pulling me to him for a soft kiss. He deepens it instantly, sweeping his tongue into my mouth and claiming me with a sureness that I’m desperate for. I kiss him back, needy and eager, but this time it’s not a physical need. It’s emotional. And it wallops me so hard that it nearly takes my breath away.
Even still, the kiss doesn’t settle me. It might actually make it worse, because all I want to do is go to the hardware store and yell at my dad that if he’d just give me one ounce of understanding like the incredible man driving this truck, he’d see I’m happier than I’ve ever been.
He’d see that I love this man.
The realization is unsettling. Terrifying, actually. Am I deciding I love him purely out of spite? Or has it taken something like this to push me to that realization?
I don’t know.
“Darcy, I…” he stops, his eyes searching mine.
For one heart-stopping moment, I think he’s going to say the very words I just thought. I love you.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he sighs. “I’m on your side. Always. Okay?”
I nod silently, not trusting myself to speak.
The gravel crunches beneath the tires as Anthony pulls us back onto the highway, the engine revving as we get back up to speed.
“I know what I need.” The words come out steady.
Anthony simply glances at me, nothing but understanding in his eyes.
“Take me home. I need power tools.”
“Hell yeah, you do.” He grins, then punches the gas.