Chapter 17 – Seth #2
I’d rather sit here and stew in my own self-loathing, replaying all the ways I’ve failed my daughter and am pushing Bri away.
I’d rather dredge up the past with her mother dying before she could remember her and somehow blame myself for her cancer diagnosis.
Then I’d like to revisit the fact I married a woman who never really liked the idea of being a family and only wanted me for my money and status.
I’d rather wallow in the guilt; let it gnaw at me for the next two hours as I berate myself for having a demanding career when I also have a daughter who clearly needs me much more.
A daughter whose life I uprooted from California and moved across the country to be closer to family.
Instead, I force out a clipped, “That’s fine.”
She taps a button on the screen, and the speakers instantly fill the car with a familiar, gritty guitar riff.
I blink, recognizing the opening chords immediately and cutting my eyes to see her expression. Her smile is smug.
“Creed? Really? That’s your choice for road trip jams?”
She grins, her eyes flicking to mine for a brief second, mischief dancing in her gaze.
“What did you expect? Something light and poppy?”
I can’t stop the laugh that escapes me, low and under my breath.
“Definitely not this. Are we reliving your middle school years? Were you an emo girl?”
“Come on,” she grins wider, turning up the volume. “This is a classic. Everyone was listening to this back then.”
A classic? I shake my head, leaning back against the headrest and closing my eyes as the familiar lyrics kick in. And despite the ache in my legs, the exhaustion settling into my bones, and the anxiety that’s still clawing at my chest, I let it happen.
Because for the first time tonight, with Bri beside me and Creed blasting through the speakers… none of it feels so heavy.
I roll my head to the side to look at her again.
She looks so pretty with just the moonlight reflecting off her.
It’s too intimate in here. Way too intimate.
Everything between us is stripped down to just the console of her car.
There are no cameras. No reminder of who her father is and none of my family or teammates to witness what we’re doing.
And maybe it’s the fact that we’re far away from everything and everyone we know that makes me want to close the distance I’ve put between us.
Lean over, press my lips to the soft, smooth skin of her neck that I know smells like flower.
Maybe I’d kiss her there—maybe bite down and suck, just to hear that sweet little gasp I know she makes.
Then…
Then I’d tell her to pull over. We’d climb into the back seat of her SUV, I’d strip her tight yoga pants off those strong legs, press her down against the cool leather, and then sink into her wet, warm heat bare.
She’d gasp when she feels herself take every inch of me until I was driving my cock into her on a dark road we can’t name.
And neither of us would think about the consequences of doing it. Neither of us would regret it in the morning.
Fuck.
I shift in my seat and force the image out of my head.
I’m delirious. Lack of sleep. Adrenaline.
Exhaustion. The soreness that’s dragging at every muscle in my body is messing with my ability to think clearly.
It’s impossible to have any of that with Bri and not be conscious of the real consequences.
Ones that could be catastrophic to both myself, Bri, and Sawyer.
I probably should’ve grabbed something at the gas station to keep me going, but I need to sleep when we get to the hotel. If I don’t, I’ll be worthless in the morning, and I’m not letting Bri drive us home tomorrow. She’s already done too much tonight.
“You always listen to ’90s rock when you’re driving?” I ask, my voice gruff, cutting through the thick silence.
“Makes me think of happier days.” Her tone is lighter, but there’s an undercurrent of something heavier in her words. “It’s the only thing I’d listen to with my mom when we’d take road trips to the upper peninsula. She was a real big eighties and nineties rock fan.”
“Do you mind if I ask what happened to her?”
Her smile fades, and she looks straight ahead, her hands tightening slightly on the steering wheel. “I don’t mind. She died a little over a year ago,” she says quietly. “Ovarian cancer.”
“Dammit. I’m sorry to hear that.”
She nods, her lips pressing together, but I can see the ache that flickers across her face.
“Thanks. It was… tough.” Her voice wobbles just a bit, but she steadies it. “She was incredible. Such a beacon of light and positivity and my best friend in the whole world.” She pauses. “I miss her every day.”
I know that feeling well. Sawyer was only three when her mom passed away.
Too young to really understand what was happening when she got the diagnosis and started slowing down.
But she was old enough for the absence to leave a noticeable, gaping hole in her life.
I’ve seen it in her eyes; felt it in the way she clings to memories she doesn’t even fully remember when she sees pictures of her mother.
I try to keep those memories alive for her as much as I can.
“What about Sawyer’s mom?” Bri asks softly.
I nod, my throat tightening. “Yeah.” I clear it, my voice rough. “When Sawyer was three. Cancer… unexpected.”
“I’m sorry.”
I nod because I am too. It's been almost a decade since we lost her. Long enough that talking about it doesn't wreck me the way it used to. But the sting never fully leaves. It just changes shape and softens so it’s not quite so uncomfortable.
Sawyer's mom and I weren't a great love story.
Her pregnancy was unexpected, and we were young, but I stepped up.
Made a plan. Built something. I took care of her the best way I knew how, and I meant every bit of it.
And then she was gone. And I was alone with a little girl who deserved a mother and got me instead.
I tried to fix that once. Married someone a few years later, too fast, for the wrong reasons.
Thought maybe Sawyer needed a woman in the house more than she needed me to be careful.
That woman left almost as quickly as she arrived, and the only thing that marriage taught me was that I have terrible judgment when I'm lonely and trying to do right by my daughter at the same time.
So yeah. The ache that’s still there isn’t really for me anymore. It's for Sawyer. For every moment she should've had with her mom and didn't. For the kind of love that she's been missing her whole life without even fully knowing what she lost.
I push the back of my seat a little further, trying to ease the pressure on my lower back and mind filled with all the wrong decisions I’ve made in life. I’m a big guy, and even though her SUV is mid-sized, it’s not built for someone like me. I need a damn truck or a bus to handle my frame.
“What’s the deal with your dad?” I ask, trying to get comfortable as Creed’s raspy voice fills the quiet space. I glance over just in time to catch her lips rolling between her teeth—a dead giveaway that she’s trying to decide how much to tell me about Caleb.
"We've still got two hours," I say, softer than I mean to. "So, you can either tell me the details and we can actually talk, or we sit here in silence while Creed serenades us, and I fall asleep on you."
She chuckles softly, but there’s still hesitation in her expression.
“I’ll tell you,” she says, her voice quieter now. “I’d prefer if you stay awake and talk to me so that I don’t fall asleep. I’m just…” She sighs. Her fingers flex around the steering wheel. “I’m just trying to figure out where to start.”