“Jack.” Her tone was telling. I probably shouldn’t have begged for pity, but what could I say? Maggie’s soft spot for me was her only way of telling me she loved me back without words. “We’re both going to do the best we can, and if he doesn’t like it, then fine. He can deal with it in his own way. What I do expect from both of you, though, is respect. Can I trust that you’ll abide by that?”
I still wouldn’t look her in the eye. “Yes, I promise.”
“Can you tell me, instead of the strawberries?”
God, I felt childish. My eyes met hers. “I promise. I’ll kiss the man’s feet to make you happy, Mags.”
That earned me a small smile. “Thank you. And you’re sure you’re okay with having Ramón groom for you at the game so I can pick my dad up from the airport?”
“So long as he gets to see how badass I look out on the field. Make sure you park the gator close to midfield so he doesn’t miss any of the action.” Richard’s approval of me needed to be earned bit by bit. I was willing to do it for Maggie. What better way toconvince your father-in-law that you can take good care of his daughter than by kicking ass on the polo field?
“Yes, I’ll bring him close enough so he can see you dominate every player out there. You’ll do great today.”
Mike and I were playing the twelve-goal tournament series. We had a strong team with two other fantastic players. The team worked well together, and we each gave each other our moments to shine. As the Number Four player, or the team captain, I would make sure to amp up the guys so we had good morale. Today, we played a team in the tournament that had only lost one of their three games. It would be tough, judging that most of their players were flown in by their all-too-wealthy patron, whose head was almost bigger than his bank account.
But I wasn’t nervous. A challenge never frightened me, and I was determined to prove that to Richard Rynne.
Maggie
The drive to the airport was nerve-wracking. I had nearly gotten into an accident, and I was only ten minutes into it. I probably shouldn’t have been driving. My thoughts were off the road and on my dad. I was almost five months along, and I looked a little more than bloated now. My father wouldn’t notice as soon as he entered the truck, since the steering wheel blocked my lower body, and I wore an oversized sweater despite the heat, but he would definitely say something once I got out. Maybe I wouldn’t have to say anything yet.
No, I had to. The truth needed to come out, especially before he saw Jack. A cool-down period was necessary so he didn’t kill my fake husband. My dad was understanding, but his reaction to ababywas impossible to gauge. A car horn honked next to me,and I realized I needed to move my attention to something that didn’t scare me out of my mind or get me into a car accident.
Besides the surprise baby bomb, I was excited to spend time with my dad. We had so much to catch up on, and he always told bizarre stories that ended with everyone laughing. I hoped we could find peace as a family. Whether he liked it or not, we would all be one for the rest of our lives. No matter his feelings toward Jack, he needed to stay within his boundaries. Yes, he was my father, and understandably protective of me, but that didn’t give him the right to blow up at my husband. Myfakehusband.
Ten minutes later, I pulled up to the pick-up area and waved to my dad, who was waiting near a pillar by the entrance to the airport. Per usual, a flask in his hand, leaning on the concrete pillar.
My heart sank.
It was barely three in the afternoon, and he couldn’t even wait to get out of the airport to snag a drink. I had no idea how he would have gotten alcohol on the plane, but maybe he ordered a drink at the bar when he landed and poured it into his flask. I caught his eye, and he immediately perked up. Smiling, he dragged his suitcase toward the truck and chucked it into the bed before opening the passenger door. I leaned forward so my bump wasn’t visible. He would throw a fit if it were the first thing he saw.
“My Maggie!” he boomed, clearly tipsy. He climbed into the passenger seat, shut the door, and leaned over the console to hug me. “How are you, honey?”
“I’m good, Dad. How have you been?” The first thing that threw me off was the smell of alcohol that almost made me gag. New nausea trigger unlocked.
It was awful watching my father battle with addiction while I grew up, and I tried not to press him about it. Sometimes, though, things would get out of control, and I would hide inmy room—or worse, get picked up by Lenz Hennicke—when my father got upset about my mother leaving. Begged her to come back as if she were in the room listening. He was notorious for that particular behavior when drunk.
“I’ve been good—good, baby girl. Polo kept me busy, but now that Pennsylvania’s season’s over, I’m going to turn some horses out in New York and play over in Massachusetts with the Morenos. They’ve got a nice place for me to stay.” The way he slurred and dragged out his words was disgusting. I didn’t remember his drinking being this bad when I left. It came and went in spurts.
I didn’t want to bring it up and ruin his cheery mood, but…
“Dad, I’m sorry to ask so early, but why are you drinking at the airport?”
He raised his eyebrows. Not in offense, but an emotion I couldn’t quite place. “Why not? There was only one bar in the whole damn airport. Bartender looked lonely, so I went over and bought a beer. No harm done.”
I inwardly rolled my eyes. Of course, there was harm done. He was showing up to meet his daughter, whom he hadn’t seen in three months, half drunk.
“Plus, you know, the nice complimentary drinks they offer you on the plane.”
The airline he flew didn’t offer complimentary drinks. He’d find that out as soon as they sent him the bill.
“I know, Dad, just…I wish we could spend time together while you’re sober. It’s so much more fun that way.”
Pulling the guilt card didn’t hurt a bit.
He sighed and closed his eyes. “I know, Maggie. I’m working on it.”
Was he really? Or was this the same excuse I’d heard for over fifteen years, similar to the one that said, “It’s just one drink?” It was never just one. It was never just a “fun night.” It was alwaysDad passed out on the couch after a few too many, waking up just to nurse another beer to “cure the hangover.”
