The Game (Wagered Hearts Series, #3)(50)

When I was younger I'd looked up to him. He was my hero and I was daddy's little girl. As I grew older and his addiction became worse, I slowly grew to hate him. He could be charming and funny in front of his friends and a group of strangers, but to his family, he was mean and depressed.




Since I'd left home, we hadn't spoken much. Neither of us were very demonstrative or wore our emotions on our sleeves. We left that to my mother. I'd heard he had gotten sober and had gone to therapy to fix his demons.

My mother seemed happy, so that was something. Still, it was hard to erase years of painful memories. So I was surprised when he came to my room. I tried to brush it off like I always did.

"What's up with you, G?" he asked in his usual gruff tone.

"Nothing's up, dad," I said, still staring at the ceiling.

He flipped on the light switch and crossed the room to take a seat on my bed. I blinked my eyes several times, trying to adjust it to the sudden flood of light in the room.

"Don't lie to me. I know when you're moping, and you're doing a fine job of it now. Is it this thing with the Golden Globes?" he asked, kindly.

I looked at him slightly surprised. He'd never shown much interest in my career before. Whenever my mother would call, she'd always mention how proud he was of me, but I figured she would say something like that. Always the peacemaker.

"I'll tell you what; those bozos don't know what the hell they're doing. You don't need them to tell anyone how talented you are. Anyone who watched your movies could see that," he said.

"You don't have to say that," I said, surprised and a little touched at his kind words.

"I know, but it's still the truth. What they did was bullshit," he continued. My father went off on his rant about bribes, corrupt politicians, and the mafia again. Whenever something didn't go his way, it was always because someone got paid off.

"Thanks, dad," I said when he'd exhausted that line of conversation. We sat in awkward silence for a moment, not sure what to say next. Truthfully, I was surprised he was still here. Normally he'd shuffle off to his den and watch whatever sport was in season. Wasn't there some type of basketball game on or something? I wondered.

"Listen, G," he began hesitantly. My father ran a stubby, callused hand through his hair and sighed. He looked uncomfortable but determined and I sat up straighter, watching him with growing curiosity.

"I should have told you this a long time ago. Lord knows your mother's been on my back about it, but I could never seem to find the right time or moment. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being a drunk and a bad father. For all those times you had to watch your mother and I screaming at each other, and all those times I came home from the bar stumbling drunk. I'm sorry for kicking you out of the house when you were a kid. I was a bad father and I know that doesn't make up for anything, but I am sorry," he said.

His voice trembled and his eyes shone with unshed tears. I was too shocked to say anything for a while. Out of all the things I thought he'd say, an apology was not one I was expecting. It was the furthest thing from my mind, and I didn't know I had been expecting one until he actually spoke the words.

"You don't have to say anything. Hell, you don't even have to accept my apology. I just want you to know that I'll try my best for you from now on," he said.

"Jesus Dad, where's this coming from?" I finally asked, once I had found my voice.

"It's something I've been thinking about for a while now. But last year I had a health scare that really got me thinking about my life, you know. When the doc tells you that you might only have less than a year to live, it makes you think," he said.

"What? When did this happen? How come no one told me?" I asked.

He waved his hand in front of him in casual dismissal. "It turns out it was only a false scare, but still, it got to me. I'm not exactly young anymore and one day, I'll meet my maker like everyone will. I didn't want to leave with all this regret and baggage around inside my heart. I spent too much of my life playing the role of someone I thought people wanted me to be. I was always the life of the party and everyone loved to be around me. I enjoyed that. But then one day I looked around and the party was no longer fun, but I didn't know how to change. I'd spent so many years living that life, I didn't know how to be any other way."

"I had no idea," I said.

"You wouldn't have. But the point I'm trying to make is that I see a lot of myself in you. You're stubborn, hardheaded and I don't want to see you go down the same road I did," he said.

"I'm not an alcoholic," I said.

"I didn't say you were an alcoholic, but you're got the same personality as your old man. You continue down this path you're on because it's what you know and what you think is expected of you. You don't have to live up to anyone's standards but your own."

"Er--okay," I said.

I had no idea why my father decided to pour his heart out right at this moment. The conversation came completely out of left field and I wasn't expecting such emotion from him. The words he'd spoken had left an impression on me, though. Were we really that much alike?

I'd spent so much of my life trying to distance myself from him and the rest of my family, but maybe he was right. Maybe I was just like him and headed in the same direction he was. Rob had even mentioned how similar we were. I shook my head. I couldn't think about Rob. Not right now.