“Tanner, this is enough. You know better than to act like this,” I growl, low enough the cameras can’t hear what I’m saying.
Tanner doesn’t give me the same courtesy when he looks me straight in the eye and says, “And how would I know that, Dad? It’s not like you were around to teach me.”
His words might as well have been a bomb exploding inside my chest. I drop his hand and step back, shaking my head. I’m not mad at him. He’s right. I wasn’t, but I am disappointed because I know he’s so much better than how he’s acting.
“We’ll talk about this at home,” I say, my voice deep and steady despite the turmoil ripping my chest apart.
Tanner doesn’t look at me when he says, “I’m going to Mom’s tonight.”
He spins on his heel, returning to his job and not sparing me a second glance.
Beside me, Morgan stiffens. “I’m sorry, Coach. I shouldn’t have—”
“You’re right,” I say, scrubbing my hand over my face. “You shouldn’t have, but neither should he. Let’s go so we can get your sister her medicine.”
Moran follows me to the checkout in silence, not saying a word as the cashier rings us up and I pay. He doesn’t speak again until we are at the Harrison house.
Abigail awaits us outside, ready to usher us into her home like the perfect host. Shutting off the engine, I jump out of the truck and jog around to the back passenger side door. I open it up and gather Mia up in my arms. Morgan slides across the seat, following his sister out.
I step toward the front door, but Morgan’s hand catches my arm.Turning my head, I look at him over my shoulder. “For what it’s worth, Coach, I’d kill to have a dad like you.”
And maybe that’s true. Maybe he would kill to have the dad I am now, but the problem is, I wasn’t always that Dad for Tanner. I was more like Morgan’s dad than I like to admit.
Chapter 27
Lily
It’s another Saturday morning in which my attempt to pretend I’m laid back is interrupted by a noise outside my house. Only this time, it’s a banging on my door, not a saw running in my front yard.
For one split second, I think about hiding under my covers and leaving the person to knock. But in the end, the incessant knocking decides for me because whoever is at my door won’t stop until I answer it.
With a long, drawn-out groan, I roll out of bed, adjust my silk pajama set, and walk to the door, and then I blow out a breath of relief when I see it’s not Theo standing there. It’s MJ.
Through the glass, I see her bounce up and down on her toes, her red ponytail moving with her. The woman is a force to be reckoned with, but she absolutely cannot sit still.
Spying me coming down the hall, she gives a little wave. Her energy is so infectious that I can’t help but wave back.
“Hey,” I say, cracking the door open, but like in every other part of my life, MJ shoves her way into the house.
“Get dressed. Your presence is needed.”
“Umm, actually, I was planning on hanging out around here today. I have things I need to finish up.”
MJ isn’t listening. She isn’t even standing there anymore. She’s heading down the hall toward my room, and I chase after her.
“No, ma’am. No excuses. You’re coming with me. Here,” she says, grabbing an outfit from my closet and throwing it at me, “put this on.”
“Fine,” I say, giving in because MJ has that look in her eye, and she’s likely to do something crazy if I say no. “But at least tell me where we are going.”
A glow washes over MJ’s face when she says, “To my final dress fitting.”
The only bridal store in our area is two counties over and over an hour away. MJ spends the whole drive chattering while I figure out how to be normal and carry on small talk. Since the day Abigail told me the Birdies see me as cold, I’ve spent every waking moment thinking about how I can change, and I realized that most of the conversations I have with people aren’t real. They are all things I plan in my head ahead of time because I’m terrified of silence. Because when people stop talking, they look at you—really look at you.
Abigail is already waiting for us at the bridal store when we pull in. Before I can think about what I’m asking, I turn to MJ and ask, “Does it ever intimidate you to have a mom like that?”
MJ’s face screws up into a funny look as if remembering something unpleasant, but then she smiles at me, wiping all traces of whatever that look was before.
“You have no idea,” she says, looking out the windshield to where her mother waits. “I used to feel like I’d never live up to her, but then I realized we are different people. And I gave myself grace to be myself.”
