Chapter 41 Scotty
Scotty
Morgan didn't answer him, and I remained glued to my chair, unable to move a muscle. Stuck. Mentally buffering. Trying to decide if I should bolt out the back like a feral little gremlin or stay put and hope Morgan handled it like the absolute queen she'd proven herself to be.
I wasn't ready for another confrontation with my dad. Not even after Morgan had peeled back all my defenses and made me face the truth that this wasn't my fault.
The truth was still settling in, and underneath all the hurt and panic, there was this small, stubborn flicker of hope trying to exist. The kind that whispered that maybe—just maybe—I didn't have to give everything up.
Maybe I could have the life I wanted. The one with Ryder and Hunter.
The one that felt right in a way nothing else ever had.
Which made the timing of Dad showing up here absolutely terrible.
I pushed to my feet slowly, my chair scraping softly against the floor, and hovered there for a second like that might somehow help me decide whether I was about to fight or flee.
My body clearly voted flee, considering I glanced toward the back door like I could make a clean escape and pretend none of this was happening, but curiosity—my biggest debuff—won out in the end.
I crept forward until I reached the edge of the kitchen and could just make out Morgan's silhouette at the door, her body angled in a way that blocked most of my view of him.
"Can I come in, Love? I know you want nothing to do with me right now, but I just… I need you."
His voice was all.. wrong. Stripped down. It tugged at my chest, and I hated that my first reaction wasn't anger. It was that stupid, instinctive concern that had been wired into me since I was a kid. Because no matter how badly he fucked up, he was still my dad.
Apparently, my heart didn't come with a temporarily out of service due to emotional damage setting.
"Richard… I don't know what to say. You didn't just hurt Rebecca last night, you know? You opened up some old insecurities and wounds of my own. You made threats against my son and his career. I hate that I need you too. Especially because you're the reason everything is wrong in the first place."
Guilt tried to worm its way in, but I shut it down just as fast. I had nothing to feel guilty about. This wasn't my mess to fix, even if my brain really liked pretending it was.
"Morgan, fuck, I am so sorry. I am such a fucking idiot. I love you so fucking much, and I hate what I did. How I handled shit with Scotty. With you. Your son and his mate thoroughly put me in my place this morning."
I stilled completely.
Oh.
Well, that was… unexpected.
My father apologizing without being dragged there, kicking and screaming, was already a rare occurrence. My father admitting someone else was right? I was pretty sure that required a full moon, a solar eclipse, and at least one divine intervention.
"You saw them?" Morgan's voice sharpened slightly.
"Yeah. I went by when they didn't show up for practice to yell at them."
I didn't have to guess how that went. Ryder's patience stretched paper-thin over the last few days, and I was the one doing most of the stretching. That Alpha could take a situation from tense to truly fucked with the emotional precision of a sniper if someone hurt the people he loved.
"Goddammit, Richard," Morgan snapped, bracing a hand on the door like she needed something solid to hold onto. "You just can't help yourself, can you?"
"It was an excuse. I was hoping Scotty would be there so I could fix things with her. Apologize." He dragged a hand over his face, and even from where I stood half-hidden in the kitchen, I could see the slump in his shoulders. "I'm glad she wasn't there, though."
He was glad I wasn't there?
"I realized after my talk with them that it wouldn't have gone well.
I was still in a stubborn mood when I showed up there.
They said some things—pointed out some things—and, god, I hate saying this, but they're fucking right.
I can't treat my relationship with Scotty the same way I treat the players on my team.
" He took a deep breath, and I wished I could see his face.
"She's my kid, and I hurt her. The look on her face… I'll never unsee it, Morgan."
"She didn't deserve that, Richard. Ken was attacking her, and you fed into her insecurities and made it worse. Do you know how devastated she is?"
"I should've been the one kicking his ass," he muttered. "Instead, I stood there and made her feel ashamed. I made her cry. I let her leave, thinking I hated her."
I was going to fucking cry again.
Because yeah… That's exactly what it felt like.
"Yes, you did," Morgan agreed, and I loved that she wasn't backing down or going easy on him. She just let it sit there exactly as ugly and true as it was, and for once, shockingly, he didn't argue. He just took it.
He let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. "Those two fuckers... they looked me straight in the eye and called me out. No hesitation. No sugar-coating. Just the cold, hard truth that I'd failed my daughter when she needed me the most."
There was respect in his voice, and maybe that shouldn't have mattered as much as it did.
"I was wrong," he continued, quieter now, all the bluster stripped out of him.
"About everything. They're both good men and I…
I want that for Scotty. Partners who will put her above all else.
" He swallowed hard enough that I heard it from where I stood.
"I just hope someday she'll forgive me and let me earn my way back into her life. And yours."
Well. Shit.
I stepped into the room before I could overthink it into oblivion. "Daddy…"
His body whipped around at the sound of my voice, then froze completely when his eyes found mine. "Scotty." He moved toward me, then hesitated, his eyes searching mine for permission. When I gave a small nod, he crossed the space between us and pulled me into his arms.
His arms wrapped around me, and I let myself forget everything else. All the hurt and anger. I just sank into the feeling of being safe in my father's arms like nothing was wrong between us.
He held me tighter than usual, like he was scared I might disappear if he loosened his grip. It didn't erase what happened. It didn't smooth over the cracks between us. But it mattered in a way I couldn't deny, and pretending otherwise would've been a lie.