Chapter 15
brYCE
A few days later, I walk up to my apartment building to find a man standing there with a suitcase. That man is my father.
“Dad?”
“Bryce,” he says in a cheerful voice as if I haven’t been dodging his and Mom’s calls.
“What are you doing here?” I unlock the outside apartment door because I’m not going to have this conversation with him on the street.
“I got tickets to the Grizzlies. We haven’t caught a game together in a long time. Figured it was time.” He hauls his suitcase up the stairs beside me.
“I can get us tickets. Cooper is the quarterback, plus I work at Sportsverse now.”
“Your mom and I are so proud of you. We’ve subscribed and read every article you’ve written. Your mom is clipping them out.”
I open my apartment door and hold it for him to walk in first. “Dad…”
He holds up his hand. “Listen, we don’t have to talk about it now. How about we go to the game, have a nice steak dinner, and then tomorrow morning we have breakfast and talk logistics? Let’s just enjoy today.”
My shoulders sag. Game days with my dad were always my favorite. He’d pick me up from Mom’s, and we’d either watch a local game or he’d fly me to a new stadium. It was what happened after the steak dinners that I didn’t care for.
“I can’t even get us into a good place this last minute. I might have to get Coop to call in a favor.”
“We can have pizza if you’d like. I don’t care.” He sits on the couch, looking over the apartment. Not judging though—my dad doesn’t judge anyone, not even himself, even when he should.
“Steak is the tradition. Let me see what I can do.”
I sit down and look up some restaurants on my phone, trying to find a reservation. The universe must be on my side because I scored a table for two tonight after the game. I hurry and book it.
At least he won’t talk to me in public about the fact that he and Mom are reconciling. It’d be most kids’ dream, but not mine. I saw too many things I can’t unsee now.
“So, tell me about your new job.” My dad leans back, stretching his arm out across the back of the couch.
I tell him about Shelly giving birth and not knowing she was pregnant and how my assignment with the Grizzlies is only temporary.
I’ll probably have to go to another team that isn’t a national team when she returns from maternity leave, but I’m trying to do everything right so I’ll be offered the next opportunity that arises.
“I feel like you’ve been a little nicer in your articles. Especially to Cavanaugh. Not that he’s done a lot to criticize this year.”
“Mr. Osterman, our editor, says he hired me for my tough reporting, but then he kind of suggested I play nice when he gave me the position. Shelly is a huge fan of Cavanaugh. Promised him one-on-ones and stuff before she had the baby. I just don’t want to make waves.”
“That’s not the Bryce Burns I know.”
I shrug. “Sometimes I have to play by the rules.”
He sits up and rests his elbows on his knees. “No, you don’t. You report how you see fit. Sportsverse is lucky to have you, and if they don’t see that, then they’re blind.”
“You’re my dad. You have to say that.”
He waves me off. “I told your mom I thought you and Cavanaugh were having some kind of relationship, the way you were complimenting him the other day.”
My face screws up and then heats when I remember our kiss on the raft. “Absolutely not.”
“I’m kidding, Bryce. Relax.” He stares at me for a long time as if he’s trying to read my mind.
I stand. “Do you want a drink? I don’t have a ton. Water, a few cans of diet soda…”
“Water is fine.” My head is buried in the fridge when he brings up the elephant in the room. “Your mom is good. Just had her checkup, and she’s still in remission.”
He doesn’t see me take a deep, relieved breath. “That’s good.”
“I figured you’d want to know.”
I straighten and close the fridge door, bringing him his water. “Of course I do.”
Awkwardness paints the room until he speaks again.
“Well, why don’t you give me a tour of the city?” he asks.
“Let me grab my coat,” I say and disappear to my bedroom, where I send a text to Ellery.
Me: My dad is here. He surprised me .
The three dots appear right away.
Miles: That sounds like it’s a bad thing.
I rear back and inspect my phone. Sure enough, I texted the wrong person.
Me: Sorry, that was for Elle.
Miles: I figured.
We don’t say anything else, and now I’ve given him a little kernel into my upbringing. He’s probably thinking, “Of course she walked out on me two years ago—she’s got daddy issues.” Which isn’t wrong, but I didn’t want him to know that.
I decide not to send the text to Elle, but rather just enjoy the day with my dad. She couldn’t go to the game today anyway because she’s pulling a double as a favor to someone.
My dad and I visit all the tourist spots—the Willis Tower, Navy Pier, Grant Park.
We walk the lakefront and museum campus, talking about everything except the one thing we should.
We talk about different players and who will do well this year and why.
Upcoming trades we think will happen and the draft prospects.
I’m the son my dad never had. Who knows, maybe a son would’ve understood what he did better than I can.
All I can do is see the hurt in my mom’s eyes for years after he left her. The hard work she did to pull herself out of her despair, only for him to reappear years later. I love my dad, but I don’t trust him with her.
When it gets closer to game time, we head to the stadium. Being surrounded by tens of thousands of people will make it a lot easier to pretend nothing is lying under the surface.
The Grizzlies won, and as much as I don’t want to admit it, I had a lot of fun with my dad. It was like old times. He’d even lean in and explain to me why they’re running this and that play as if I don’t know.
I had trouble keeping my attention off Miles when he was on the field.
The kiss we shared while tubing kept replaying in my head, and my skin would prickle.
I swear at one point, he took off his helmet and looked up at where I would usually sit with Elle.
Was it disappointment I saw on his face?
I don’t know, because I’m not sure what he wants from me.
He’s not a one-night stand kind of guy, so I don’t think he wants a repeat of what we’ve already done.
If that was the case, we’d probably have done it already at some point.
“I can’t wait for my ribeye. Let’s go.” My dad claps his hands together and rubs them when we leave the stadium. Then his phone rings, and he excuses himself and walks away to take the call.
I assume it’s my mom. It better be my mom.
I use the time to catch up on my emails and see that Shelly has sent me a screenshot she found on social media, showing Miles and me river tubing. What the hell? The person didn’t tag us, they didn’t even identify me, only Miles, saying how they took the picture but didn’t want to interrupt us.
I have no idea how she found it since Miles wasn’t tagged, but it’s clear she’s not happy about it .
I’m not sure what this is about, but I want to remind you that you’re not to sleep with players. We can discuss this in our next meeting.
Her attitude is unwarranted since it’s not like the picture shows anything besides the two of us floating side by side.
It certainly doesn’t show how my raft tipped me into him and that kiss we shared.
Or how it warmed me from head to toe when his hands slid under the edge of my swimsuit and gripped my ass, running his hard length right between my thighs.
This picture is just us before any of that happened. There’s nothing here that would even indicate that we’re together.
Not wanting to deal with this right now, I close the email.
“I always loved it when your cheeks got red from the cold.” My dad shows me his phone. “I ordered the Uber.”
No need to tell my dad that my cheeks are red from heat, not the cold.
“Perfect,” I say.
We wait on the curb, looking for the red sedan that’s picking us up.
“Mom said we were on television. It was brief, but they scanned the crowd. She said you looked happy. We were laughing, I guess.”
“Oh really?”
“She sounded jealous. Bryce, I really think?—”
“We said we’d talk about it tomorrow.”
He nods. “Yeah, we did.” He points at the street. “There’s the car.”
I’m still getting used to Chicago traffic, but I’m relieved when we get there, and I step onto the curb.
The sooner dinner is over, the sooner we go to bed.
And if I can dodge the conversation tomorrow morning, he’ll be on his way back home, and we can go back to ignoring one another until I feel up to dealing with him.
The restaurant is quiet and dim when we enter, the fancy tables shoved side by side, trying to squeeze in as many people as they can as though we’re cattle at the trough.
The hostess smiles as we approach.
“Reservation for two under Burns,” I say while my dad checks our coats.
She looks over her electronic device, her finger sliding down the screen, and frowns. “I don’t have that one here.”
I pull up my text messages to show her, but she takes the people next in line, showing them to their table.
“What’s the matter?” my dad asks.
“She says she doesn’t have our reservation, but I have the text confirmation right here.” I hold up my phone, and he glances at it.
“Then there shouldn’t be a problem.”
The hostess returns and I show her the screen.
Her eyes scan it, and she makes a noise that says something is wrong.
“You reserved at our other location. We’re the Gold Coast. You reserved at the one in Rosemont.
See the addresses?” She points, and sure enough, one says Chicago, and the other one says Rosemont.
“That’s why when you booked today there was an opening.
We’re usually booked out at least two to three weeks at this location. ”
She’s polite and nice, but I turn to my dad with a frown because we’re screwed. “Sorry, Dad.”
He swings his arm around my shoulders, then thanks the hostess. “Guess pizza is the new tradition.”
That’s one thing about my dad that’s great. He’s always easygoing, never makes me feel less than or like it’s a big deal when I mess up. Of course, he wasn’t much of a parent when I was growing up, so maybe it’s just that he’s never really filled the authoritarian role in my life .
He heads to the coat check to get our jackets back while I cancel the reservation at the other location. The circular doors rotate, and a scent so familiar surrounds me that I feel him before I look up to see him standing inside the restaurant, staring at me.
“Bryce,” Miles says.
“Do you have a tracker on me or something?” I shouldn’t have blurted that out, but every time I’m in distress, this man seems to find me.
He chuckles and scans the area, probably looking for my date. He’s let his hair grow a little since the summer, and it’s slightly longer. The ends still look damp from his shower. He doesn’t have a suit jacket on, but his shirt and slacks fit him perfectly.
“Are you eating here?” he asks, ignoring my remark.
In my peripheral vision, I catch my dad talking to the coat check woman. “No. We were going to, but I made the reservation at the other location by accident.” Embarrassment causes me to shift in place, and my attention turns to my dad.
“Oh, well…” He follows my line of sight. “Is that your date?”
I laugh. “My dad.”
Miles nods. “Well, in that case.”
He walks by me, sliding his body between the wall and me. Every inch of skin feels like a warm blanket on a cold night. He walks over to the hostess, lowering his voice. She looks up at us, smiles, and grabs three menus.
Then Miles comes back over to me, where my dad is holding my coat out to me. “I’d love it if you two would join me for dinner tonight.”
“Miles Cavanaugh?” my dad says excitedly, putting out his hand. “Huge fan.”
“Unlike your daughter, huh?” Miles says with good humor and shakes my dad’s hand .
“Well, if you know my daughter, you know she tends to keep her real feelings bottled up.”
Miles’s eyes shift to mine, and I swallow past the dryness in my throat. “Would you like to join me for dinner?”
I look at my dad, and he raises his hands. “Your decision.”
What choice do I have? This way my dad gets his steak dinner, and I can guarantee our dinner won’t be filled with conversation about his and my mom’s upcoming wedding and my refusal to attend.
“Sure. Thanks, Miles.”
My dad takes the coats back to the coat check, and Miles leans in close. “I like being your savior, though I’m very aware that you can save yourself. That’s why I enjoy it so much though.”
I turn my head and he’s right there, those delectable lips only millimeters away. Our eyes catch and stare into one another’s until my dad clears his throat.
Thank God for interruptions.