Chapter Thirty-Four
I stare down at my dad’s name on my phone, anxiety gripping me. With a trembling hand, I answer his call. “Hello?”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line. Dread consumes every inch of me as I wait for him to speak.
“Scarlett, it’s Dad,” he says gruffly. “I would like to talk to you. And Aiden.”
Now I’m the one who is pausing for a moment.
“I know it’s a lot to ask after last night,” he continues. “But I have some clarity on things, and I’d like to talk to both of you about what happened.”
I bite my lip. I’m not sure if his clarity is “I made a mistake and I’m sorry” or “Seattle is interested in Aiden, and his ass is gone as soon as Christmas break is over.”
“Please, Scarlett. This is new territory for your mom and me. We aren’t perfect.”
Not an apology, but that makes me hopeful. “All right,” I say quietly. “What time?”
“The sooner, the better.”
“Okay. Let me see what Aiden is doing.”
“Thank you, Scarlett. See you soon.”
I get off the phone with my dad and dial Aiden’s number. He picks up on the second ring. “Hey,” he says.
“My dad wants us to come over and talk.”
Now Aiden is the silent one.
“I understand if you don’t want—”
“No, no, I will, I just can’t decide if it’s good or bad that he wants to speak to me so soon. How did he sound?”
“He was very calm. Admitted he wasn’t perfect.”
“That has to be good, right?” Aiden asks.
“I hope so, but I honestly don’t know what to think. He’d like us to come over as soon as we can. Are you busy now?”
“No, I just got back from walking Milo,” he says. “I’ll come pick you up.”
I say goodbye to Aiden and stare blankly at my Christmas tree. Will this be the last Christmas he and I share together in Miami? Or the first of many?
I take a breath and exhale. I hope with all my heart that my parents have found a way to see everything I see in Aiden—and that we belong together. Not just belong together, but here, in Miami, as a couple.
Our fate is in my dad’s hands.
I only hope that somehow, someway, he has come around since last night.
* * *
I grow anxious as we approach my parents’ neighborhood. The traffic was heavier today on the roads, with people out running to the grocery store, buying last-minute Christmas presents, or making their way out of town and to holiday celebrations.
Unless you are me, and you’re about to find out if your dad is going to trade the man you love to another team because he hates him.
There’s a chance of rain today, and the skies are gray.
As Aiden draws closer to my mom and dad’s house, my anxiety deepens.
My chest feels tight, and I feel slightly nauseous.
Aiden has the local sports-talk station on the radio, but I’m not really listening to it until they give the sound for a breaking-news alert.
“This is big,” the announcer says. “We have major trade news that has just broken.”
For a moment, panic seizes me. Oh my God, did Dad somehow do this already?
But then I remember the holiday roster freeze for the NHL and manage to start breathing again.
“This deal is massive. The Chicago Horned Owls have traded guard Hudson Rhodes to Miami,” the announcer says excitedly. “We are getting freaking HUDSON RHODES in exchange for two first-round draft picks and center James Grayson.”
I turn to Aiden, who has a look of complete shock on his face as he digests the news.
“Holy shit, I was thinking they’d have to give up Antoni Nowak to get someone like Hudson Rhodes,” he says.
“This is unbelievable.” Then he pauses before continuing.
“But there were no rumors about Hudson being unhappy or demanding a trade. For this to happen on Christmas Eve? Something’s up.
He’s a generational talent. You don’t trade players like Hudson. ”
I think of Aiden. What if this happens to him? What if Aiden is suddenly told to gather his things, that there’s a jet waiting for him, and he’s off to a new city?
I grow sick as I picture it, and I force myself to push the image aside.
We reach the gate to the driveway, and Aiden punches in the code I tell him to use.
Large green wreaths hang on the gates, adorned with red bows.
To anyone driving by, you’d think the perfect family is in the house behind them, ready to celebrate the season.
Not a family that had a huge confrontation last night.
After the gate opens and Aiden pulls forward, he abruptly stops. I look at him, and his face is one of confusion. “What the hell?” he blurts out. “What’s he doing here?”
“He?” I ask, and I follow his gaze to an Aston Martin sports car. “Who?”
A swear word escapes his lips. “Wyatt!”
Wyatt? What is Wyatt doing here?
Aiden lets out a groan of frustration. “I told Wyatt what happened. I hope he didn’t come over here and say anything stupid to your dad to make things worse.”
I honestly don’t see how things could be worse. I think of Dad’s tone when we spoke. It wasn’t angry or hostile. “No,” I say slowly. “Dad wasn’t angry when he talked to me.”
Aiden snorts. “Maybe it’s because he heard from the GM that I’m going to Minneapolis or something as soon as the holiday roster freeze is lifted.”
Suddenly something my dad said clicks in my brain. He told me he had clarity.
Did Wyatt give that to him?
My hopes begin to rise. I turn and look at Aiden, who is a mixture of frustration and fear. “Aiden,” I say, “it’s going to be okay.”
He turns his head and stares at me. “I know that, Scarlett. I know that wherever I’m traded, we’ll be together.”
“No, no, that’s not what I mean,” I say, my pulse quickening. “I think we’re going to be fine. Here. In Miami. Wyatt is here. If Dad were pissed at him for coming here and defending you, don’t you think he’d be gone?”
Aiden’s eyes search mine, and I see recognition in them. “You … do you think so?”
I nod. “Yes. If Wyatt spoke to him, and Dad and Mom listened … I think this is a good sign that Wyatt is still here, Aiden. Really good.”
Aiden continues to stare at me, and I see hope beginning to flicker in his eyes. He draws a breath of air and then exhales. “All right. Let’s see what your parents have to say.”
We get out of the car, and I smile at Aiden’s white dress shirt and gray trousers. He made sure to dress up for this meeting, to show my dad how serious he is about having this conversation.
And how serious he is about me.
We walk up the sidewalk to the door. Aiden reaches for my hand, and I entwine my fingers with his. We’re in this together, no matter what my parents say, and I want my mom and dad to be reminded of that the second they open the door.
I ring the doorbell. Nerves take over my body as I wait for someone to answer, but there’s hope running through me now knowing that Wyatt is still here.
If Dad were pissed, Wyatt would be far, far away from here right now.
Like Key West.
The door opens, and my dad is standing on the other side, dressed in a white Manatees polo and khaki pants. His expression is serious, but not furious.
My hope continues to grow.
“Scarlett, Aiden, thank you for coming over. Come in,” he says.
Christmas music is blaring from the kitchen—“Santa Baby” to be exact. As Dad leads us back, I stop dead in my tracks at what I see at the kitchen island.
Wyatt is making a gingerbread house with my mom.
She looks up from putting a gumdrop on the roof and when she sees me, a look of regret washing over her face. “Hello, Scarlett. Aiden. I’m glad you’re both here,” she says, moving away from the gingerbread house and washing her hands. “We need to talk.”
“Christine, I’d like to talk to them first,” Dad says softly. “If that’s okay.”
Mom wipes her hands on a festive kitchen towel embroidered in gold and white. “I understand.”
“I’m glad you’re here, too, Aiden. Because you can’t decorate, and I’m taking the gingerbread house decorating championship home,” Wyatt says, not looking up from his application of candies around his roof edge to look like outdoor Christmas lights.
Aiden continues to stare at him as if he’s a mirage. I don’t know if it’s from seeing Wyatt here, or seeing Wyatt decorate a gingerbread house with my mom.
“Aiden, Scarlett, would you mind stepping into my office? I’d like to talk to you in private,” Dad interjects.
Aiden blinks, obviously snapped out of his thoughts, and nods.
“Yes,” I say.
Dad leads us down the hall to his home office.
He opens the french doors, and as soon as we move past them, he closes them for privacy.
Dad eases his big frame down into the expensive ergonomic chair behind his desk.
Aiden and I sit down in the guest chairs across from it.
Aiden once again reaches for my hand and rests it on his thigh, his large hand covering mine.
It’s dark in the room because of the gloomy weather outside, and Dad reaches over and turns on his sleek silver desk lamp to provide some light.
The space is neat and modern, glass and black, with only some family pictures in the bookshelves to give it some personality.
This is where he spends so much time prepping for games, even at home, and that is the only thing he’s ever done in here.
Until today.
Dad clears his throat. “I had an unexpected visitor today, as I’m sure you’ve noticed,” he begins, absently tapping his fingers on the glass desktop.
He shifts his eyes to Aiden. “Wyatt asked to speak to me. He said it was important. It had to be done today, despite the fact that it was Christmas Eve. I admit I didn’t want to hear what he had to say because I knew it was about you.
But Wyatt was insistent. He said there’s no way he’d reach out to me if it wasn’t very important. ”
I have to remember to breathe.