Blind Side(89)

Dad lifted a brow. “Okay, now you’re not leaving until you tell me everything.”

And so I did.

I didn’t realize how badly I needed to confide in someone about what happened between me and Clay until the words were spilling from me like an avalanche, faster and faster until the dust was so thick I couldn’t speak through it. I told him about Shawn, about the deal, about how Clay wanted Maliyah back. I left out the gritty details of exactly how we played our little game, but I didn’t hold back on how close we’d become, on how much I knew he cared about me.

How much I cared about him.

When I finished, Dad let out a low whistle, tapping my hand in his. “Well, I can’t say I don’t want to kill the kid for hurting my baby girl.”

“Dad.”

“I also can’t say that I understand why you would ever agree to fake date someone,” he added. “Although, some of your book titles make more sense now. My Fake Bodyguard.”

I smiled a little at that.

“But,” he continued. “I have to agree with you that something doesn’t add up here.”

“Right?” I leaned forward as if my father and I were cracking open the case together. “I mean, I think I could admit it if I’d judged his character wrong, if I’d misread the signs and just let some asshole jock take advantage of me.”

Dad arched a brow that made me flush and look away, choosing not to elaborate on that.

“But I know him. I know him maybe better than any of his teammates. And I just… I can’t believe that suddenly, out of nowhere, he decided he wanted to be with Maliyah again. I mean, Dad… he was crying when he broke up with me.”

“Guys cry, too, you know,” he said with a smirk.

“Yes, but… it takes a lot,” I pointed out. “No?”

Dad nodded. “Yes, usually. But maybe he was just crying because he knew he was hurting you. He could very well want to end the relationship, but not want to bring you pain in the process.”

I frowned, deflating as I realized that was a possibility. “I guess I hadn’t thought of that.”

Dad patted my hand. “I know this is hard, little mouse. Believe it or not, I dated a few girls pretty seriously before I found your mom. I know what it’s like to have a heart broken.”

I folded in on myself, my heart squeezing painfully tight in my chest as if cued.

“But if Bonnie Raitt taught me anything, it’s that you can’t make someone love you if they don’t.”

“Wait,” I said. “That’s an Adele song.”

“She covered it.”

“Bonnie Raitt did?”

Dad blinked. “I’m going to choose to ignore the fact that my daughter doesn’t know who Bonnie Raitt is and get back to the matter at hand, which is this,” he said, leaning in closer. His blue eyes flashed with warmth, a sympathetic smile on the lips that mine were mirrored after. “At this point, it doesn’t matter what you think you know about what might be going on behind the scenes for this boy. All you have to go off is what actually happened, what he told you, and what you do know for certain.” He paused. “He looked you right in the eyes and told you it’s over.”

My bottom lip trembled, and Dad squeezed my hand.

“At some point, you have to accept that and move forward. I’m not saying you need to sprint, or that it’s not going to hurt every step of the way. But that’s what life is, sometimes. It’s just getting up, getting dressed, and putting one foot in front of the other until one day… the pain fades. And you know what else?”

“What?” I whispered.

“Life has a funny way of surprising us and bringing us something even better down the line.”

I swallowed, nodding, trying to find solace in his words. “I… I think I love him, Dad.”

My words broke at the end of the confession, tears blurring my eyes as I glanced up at my father who looked like I’d just fallen off a cliff right in front of his eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, and in a flash, he was up out of his side of the booth and dipping into mine.

He wrapped me up in a fierce hug, one I felt all the way to my bones as I clung to him and let myself cry.

“It’s okay to love him.”

“Even if he doesn’t love me back?”

“That’s the thing about love,” he said, kissing my hair. “It doesn’t need to be reciprocated to be real.”

I couldn’t be sure how long we sat there, Dad holding me while I fell apart in a hole-in-the-wall restaurant full of rowdy college students, but I savored every moment of that comfort he brought me.

And the next morning, I woke up with the same excruciating agony that had plagued me since Clay broke my heart. But this time, I didn’t surrender to it. I didn’t overanalyze every word he’d said to me, or replay all the moments we spent in my bed. I didn’t cling to the memory of his laugh, or how I could still close my eyes and feel his hands on my face, his lips on my lips.

This time, I got dressed.

I put on my shoes.

And one slow step at a time, I moved forward.





Giana



A week later, I waited on the bench outside Rum & Roasters, tucking my peacoat tight around me against the chilly breeze. It was a poor choice to wear my tights and skirt today, but I missed skirt season. I was tired of wearing sweaters and pants, and I wanted to break out the whiskers skirt.