The Game (Carolina Connections Book 4)

by Sylvie Stewart

  My eyes found Emmy again just as she spotted me. Her steps faltered a bit and then she resumed her pace, attempting and failing to school her features. As she neared, I could see the tears sparkling in her eyes and the flush on her cheeks. I closed the distance between us and wrapped her up in my arms. “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey,” she answered weakly, her voice muffled by the fabric of my shirt.

  We were having a talk on the way home, no doubt about it.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Expectations and Fundamental Truths

  EMERSON

  I gripped the back of Gavin’s shirt as he held me to him. I had no idea how he knew I needed his arms around me, but I was so grateful he did. Tears pricked my eyes and threatened to fall again, but I did my best to hold them back. Gavin placed his lips on my hair and gave my head a small kiss, making me sigh into his chest.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said into my hair.

  I didn’t trust my voice to respond, so I just nodded and let him hold me for one more minute before he led me by the hand to his Jeep. I climbed in and fastened my seatbelt while he did the same, and then we were pulling out of the parking lot. I didn’t even have my glove or hat and had no idea if Gavin had grabbed any of the gear we’d brought, but I didn’t care. I just needed the breeze across my skin and the calming presence of the man next to me. Everything would be all right, I told myself. It had to be.

  For a twenty-nine-year-old woman, I suppose it was unusual that I’d never had an argument with my father. Never. I’d always been his shining star. From the moment I’d chosen tennis lessons over ballet at age six, his approving smile had become an addiction—one I began chasing and, apparently, never stopped. When I came in third place at the middle school science fair, I got a pat on the back, but when I came back the next year with a horizontal-axis windmill and a study on its energy output, I took home the blue ribbon and one of my dad’s beaming smiles.

  I’d always been somewhat aware that, had I been a boy, things would have been simpler growing up with my dad. But with all the loving reassurance and encouragement to “just be myself” that came with my mother’s parenting, it never seemed like a burden. I took it as more of a challenge to be met—one that came with its own rewards. My mother’s love and acceptance was given so freely, I had no expectations to live up to. There was no bar set, no push to achieve. But my father’s blood ran through my veins and I needed the challenge of setting goals and working to achieve them.

  Each time my father boasted to a friend or colleague about my accomplishments, it added another point to the tally I kept inside. When I followed in his footsteps and applied to law school, I thought he would burst with pride. And I reveled in it, soaking up the praise and adding the points to my ledger.

  The fact that so many of my life choices were made to garner his approval or to please him should have struck me as troublesome, but I’d honestly never given it much thought. I had two families, and they were so different, I’d needed to develop one personality—one life plan—and stick with it or I’d go nuts. I just happened to develop one that aligned more closely with my dad’s expectations. It should have sent huge, blue-whale-size red flags up, but it didn’t.

  Until today.

  Until I found myself on the receiving end of a look I’d never in my life gotten from my dad.

  Disapproval.

  Disdain.

  It caught me by complete surprise and stung me like a venomous wasp.

  I’d known I couldn’t avoid my father forever, and my confrontation with him probably would have been much less dramatic and hurtful if I’d just womaned up and responded to his first phone call after our encounter at the golf course. How I’d thought we’d be gone before his team showed up today, I had no idea. I must have been in a post-hot-sex stupor that turned me temporarily stupid.

  There I’d been in the outfield when I caught sight of my dad standing behind the blue team’s bench aiming a stern look my way. It was no use to pretend I hadn’t seen him, so I gave a weak wave. In response, he beckoned me over. I was not in the habit of disobeying my father, but the inning was about to start and there was no way either of us would tolerate any kind of public scene anyway. I mouthed that I’d talk to him later and did my best to finish out the game while wracking my brain for a good explanation.

  But, really, what was the big deal? So I hadn’t told him I was dating a guy—so what? But I knew why I hadn’t told him. I’d known all along. There would be questions, there would be expectations, and the answers would not please him, no matter how I tried to spin it.

  My dad is, in a word, a snob. I knew it and I accepted it, just as I accepted that my mom is a slightly batty hippie. I didn’t have to approve or emulate if I didn’t want to, but I had to accept it. They’re my parents. But having a snob for a father makes things a bit difficult when you bring other people into the mix. I may not mind adjusting my behavior and choices to meet his approval, but I could hardly expect other people to do the same.

  Luckily, I’d never had to. Sure, Ari is a bit wild and my dad wouldn’t ever want to claim her as his own, but he’d known her since she’d been a toddler so she was kind of grandfathered in. And my past boyfriends who’d lasted long enough to be introduced to my dad had all been stuffy lawyers or accountants—just the types he associated with on a daily basis.

  I knew he envisioned a future where I achieved a partnership at a prestigious law firm, then got married and had perhaps one or two children while my husband worked at his own high-profile job (or if not high-profile, at least high-earning) and our nanny cared for the kids while we joined my dad for rounds of golf at our club and spent holidays skiing and sending charitable donations to all the right philanthropic entities.

  I knew it because it was the same future I’d always envisioned for myself.

  “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and presume you’ve been too wrapped up in work to return my calls and e-mails,” my dad opened as we stood by his car after my game. We were far from the crowd, so we had plenty of privacy for our talk.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “That was rude of me. And I’m sorry you had to find out from Thomas Wheeler that I’m dating someone. That put you in an awkward position and I apologize.” I was hoping that would do it and he wouldn’t dig deeper. I also hoped that triple-fudge brownies would suddenly become a health-food staple, but neither had a snowball’s chance in hell of ever happening.

  He suddenly looked as if he’d smelled something foul. “Yes, dating.” His eyes locked on mine. “I saw your little display, Emerson. I have to say, I don’t understand what’s come over you.”

  I felt my brow crease. “Display?”

  His hands went to his hips and his mouth tightened. “I may be getting older, but my eyesight is still quite sharp. Really, Emerson, you jumped on that…boy as if you were some kind of rodeo queen, not a damn officer of the court. I can only imagine what the partners thought.”

  That sent my cheeks flaming. I’d never heard him use that tone with me. I thought back to my race toward home plate and the natural way my feet had taken me straight to Gavin. I’d felt such joy in that moment, and now it was overshadowed by shame. He was right, of course. It had been wildly inappropriate. How had I not realized it at the time?

  “I’m…I’m sorry. Of course, you’re right. I can’t think what came over me.”

  My father sighed, some of the disdain draining from his expression. “Well, at least this whole tournament business will be over soon. I understand you wanting to go the extra mile to impress Thomas, but associating with some second-rate local athlete just to secure Wheeler’s precious trophy is going too far, in my opinion. Impress him with your hard work and intelligence. I’d hate for you to gain the wrong reputation.”

  “Oh,” was all I could say for the moment. He was under the impression that I was fake-dating Gavin for the sake of the tournament. A notion that shouldn’t surprise me given that it had been my origi
nal plan. And he also clearly disapproved of Gavin, something that in no way surprised me.

  I finally cleared my throat and spoke, “His name is Gavin Monroe. He’s actually a terrific guy.”

  My father’s brows shot up. “You think I don’t know who he is? The minute I left the club that day, I was on the phone finding out exactly who my daughter was supposedly dating.” He said the last word so caustically I almost winced. This conversation was not going well. At all. “Do you know he doesn’t even have a full-time job?”

  I inhaled sharply. “Yes, he does! He works more than full time. He could give me a run for my money with how many hours he works!”

  My father looked shocked at my outburst. “Why are you championing this young man? Don’t tell me you’ve become attached.” He scoffed as if the notion were preposterous.

  I felt my face flame again.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” He raised his voice in anger. Then he coughed out a humorless laugh. “Oh, I’m sure your mother just loves this. Her ‘baby’ hitching herself to a falling star, rubbing shoulders with the underachievers of the world so she can help lift them up.”

  I was appalled. “That’s not fair!” I couldn’t decide who it was more insulting to—Gavin, my mom, or me.

  “Who ever said life was fair?!” He thundered at me.

  I felt the urge to retreat but I stood my ground. “You don’t know anything about Gavin. He’s smart and kind and hardworking. And he’s good to me.”

  He leaned down over me. “Don’t be naïve, Emerson. I’m sure he’s a swell good-ole-boy. But he’s nowhere close to your league! You need to keep your eye on your future. This boy may be Thomas’s best friend on the softball field, but he’ll never sit at a dinner table with the man. Which means, if you keep associating with this Gavin character, neither will you.”

  I hated his words. I hated that he felt this way, and even more, I hated that he was probably not wrong.

  He straightened and brought his voice down a notch. “Did you know that your baseball player dropped out of college and spent over two years living practically as a bum?” My head snapped up at that, catching his eyes. My dad continued. “I see he didn’t share that little bit of information with you. He sponged off his family and friends, spending all that time drinking and doing God knows what, not working a single day for over two years. Does this sound like someone you should be affiliating yourself with?”

  I was speechless. I knew Gavin had dropped out of school because of his accident and scholarship, but I didn’t know the rest. I shook my head, trying to gather my thoughts. I couldn’t just take my dad’s word for it. Surely, Gavin could clear the air. I looked at my dad, his face now calm, assuming he’d convinced me to see reason. But I was getting angry now. Even if all those things he said were true, that wasn’t the Gavin I knew. He’d changed. He’d grown up.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “If you knew him, you’d see that you’re wrong.”

  “Facts don’t lie, Emerson. We’re lawyers. It’s a fundamental truth.”

  I threw my arms out to the sides, feeling tears of frustration and sadness forming in my eyes and willing them back. I couldn’t let him see me cry, see me weak.

  “Maybe in court, but not in life. I think we need to table this conversation until we’ve both had a chance to calm down. I’ll speak with you later, Dad.” And I turned and walked away, a few tears spilling from my eyes. I wiped them away quickly and plodded back toward the field, not realizing Gavin stood waiting for me.

  “So, are you going to tell me who that guy was?”

  Gavin had given me the first half of the drive to sit in silence, but my reprieve was apparently over. We sat at a red light on Wendover Avenue and he turned to look at me. I swallowed.

  “It was my father,” I said quietly.

  “Your father?” He couldn’t have sounded more surprised if he tried.

  I just nodded in response.

  “But you guys were obviously fighting. I thought it was his wife you didn’t get along with.”

  I sighed. “Well, today it was him, I guess.”

  “What were you fighting about?” Gavin asked, sounding more serious.

  There was no way I was going to tell him my dad thought he wasn’t good enough for me and that I was making a fool of myself and committing career suicide by dating him. That’s not exactly something a guy wants to hear, I was guessing. So, I went with the ever-lame, “It’s complicated.”

  I saw Gavin’s grip tighten on the steering wheel, but he didn’t respond. We continued driving for another few minutes before I broke the silence. “So, did you get that assignment for your class finished?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “How about you? Ready for your AgPower meeting in the morning?”

  I groaned. “Not quite. I’ve got more to do tonight.”

  “I guess that means I should just drop you off, then?” Gavin asked, sounding half resigned and half hopeful.

  “Yeah. Probably.” But I wanted Gavin to come over, if for no other reason than to remind me how right I was about him and how wrong my dad was.

  I half-hated myself for what I knew I was going to ask next. I hadn’t brought up his class out of idle curiosity. “So, I’ve been meaning to ask, what did you do after your accident? I mean, after you left college. Because you said you’ve only been working your current jobs for a couple years…” I kept my eyes forward, but I saw his head turn to look at me.

  “Um, what made you think of that?” He sounded wary—as he had every right to. God, I was bad at this.

  “It’s just that you never talk about it.” Way to go, Emerson. Turn it back on him, just like a good little lawyer. Ugh.

  He sighed. “That’s because I don’t like to think about it.”

  I felt that like an arrow to the heart. What was I doing?

  “I’m sorry.” I finally looked at him, but his eyes were now on the road. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

  We were both silent for the remainder of the drive back to my place. Gavin pulled the Jeep into my driveway and put it in park, leaving the engine running.

  “I don’t like to think about it or talk about it because I’m embarrassed about the kind of guy I was,” he said quietly.

  “Gavin,” I interrupted. “Please. You don’t have to tell me this. It was wrong of me to question you like that.”

  “No,” he responded, taking his hat off and running a hand through his hair. “You deserve to know who you’re dating.”

  “I’m dating a hot baseball coach.” I tried a smile but it didn’t hit its mark.

  He laughed without much conviction. “If you say so, but you’re also dating the exact guy your dad just described to you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Miley Cyrus Ruins Everything

  GAVIN

  I’m no idiot, despite what Emmy’s dad might think. He was probably right about a lot of the things he thought about me, but that wasn’t one of them. As soon as Emmy told me the guy from the game was her dad, the pieces started falling into place. Then, when she’d brought up my classes, I knew exactly where this was going—and exactly where it had come from.

  But, really, how could I blame him? If I had a smart, driven, successful daughter like her, I’d want better for her than a guy like me. She could have any guy she wanted, and I was fucking thrilled that she was dating me. But I’d never be able to buy her a BMW or some McMansion in a fancy-ass neighborhood. I wouldn’t be hanging some Ivy League diploma on my wall, and I’d probably never have a job that didn’t have me coming home covered in sweat and dirt. And I’d never see the need for more than three utensils at the table. I mean, why the hell do you need a different fork for your salad, your main course, and your dessert? That’s just a whole hell of a lot of wasted dish detergent if you ask me.

  And, though I’d been keeping quiet about the years when I’d been an asshole freeloader, she had a right to know who she was getting into bed with. So I told her. I tol
d her all about the accident and the aftermath. About how I’d caused the whole damn thing in the first place with my arrogance and disregard for common sense. And about how I’d fallen into a well of self-pity and whining worthy of any four-year-old kid who didn’t get his way. How I’d taken advantage of my parents’ kindness and sympathy. And how I’d sponged off everyone and drank beer like it was my new career. She just let me talk as we sat in her driveway, the engine of my Jeep still running.

  Only when I finished did she speak. “Gavin, anybody else would do the same. I know if my dream had been taken from me, I’d wallow in regret and what-ifs. Who wouldn’t?” She reached her hand out and grabbed my arm.

  I raised an eyebrow at her. “I think once you pass the two-month mark, you’re all out of your allotted wallowing time. I milked this thing for over two years, Emmy. And that’s two years I’ll never get back.” I’d never said it aloud like that, and I felt a fresh wave of guilt and regret wash over me. But I shook it off as best I could. I didn’t do that shit anymore.

  She gave me a sad smile. “Well, either way, you can’t go back and change it. You have to move on. And that’s what you’ve done.”

  “I’m trying to,” I responded. “This probably wasn’t what you expected when you signed on to that first date with me, was it?” I tried to lighten the mood. It worked.

  She scoffed. “I was tricked into that!”

  “I am pretty sly, I have to say.”

  “Yeah, and about as subtle as a wrecking ball.” She pursed her lips.

  “Well, now you’ve done it. I’m going to have the image of you naked and swinging on a wrecking ball stuck in my head all damn night. You’d better kiss me quick and get out if you hope to get any work done tonight.”

  She scurried out of the car without kissing me, her cheeks pink and her voice muttering something about Miley Cyrus ruining everything.