Page 92 of Let You Love Me

“I don’t know.” A twinge of worry gnaws on my gut. “I’m worried about Sophie. She’s getting really attached, and if I could convince myself this thing with Teagan and I was purely platonic, and we could remain friends with no complications, maybe I wouldn’t worry so much, but . . .”

A vise wraps around my chest, compressing the worry until it needles beneath my ribs. “I don’t want her to get hurt, Gabs.” I swallow. “I don’t ever want her to know what it feels like to think someone chose you, only for them to walk away.”

“Hey, Dad.” I climb the porch steps with Sophie racing ahead of me.

She flings herself into my father’s arms, going in for the kill before releasing him and running into the house in search of my mother.

“Have a seat.” Dad pats the empty space on the porch swing beside him, and I oblige, sinking down onto the thick cushion.

“How was brunch?” I ask, my guilt getting the better of me.

“Good. We missed you, you know.” I hum under my breath. “Chance was asking where you were.”

My head jerks to him and I frown. “Really?”

Why the hell did Chance care where I was? It’s not like my avoiding him is anything new.

My father nods. “I told him you’d be there next weekend.”

The way he says it leaves no room for argument. Unless I want to put up a fight, I’ll attend next Sunday’s brunch. I may be a grown-ass adult now with my own child, but I am still living under their roof, which means, to an extent, playing by their rules. Or at least, that’s how I feel. It’s one reason, among many, why I can’t wait to move into the lake house next month.

“You should’ve seen him yesterday, Lane. Damn, you’d have been proud. He wasfire. There’s no other way to put it. He made some last-minute decisions on the field because his gut was telling him something different from what I suggested. I was skeptical, but it paid off. We won.”

A massive knot lodges in my throat.

“That’s great, Dad,” I say, but it falls flat.

As long as his success is tied to Chance’s, I’ll always be less than enthusiastic. I look forward to the days when Chance is gone and playing for the NFL, so I can finally talk to my father without my stomach tying in knots.

I listen while he explains in great detail all the things Chance did well. Twenty minutes pass with him singing Lockhart’s praises like he’s invincible. Twenty minutes ofChance this, Chance that, until I’m about to burst from frustration.

Anger crawls under my skin as the urge to scream rises inside of me.

If I hear his name one more time, I might puke. Barf the cinnamon sugar pretzel I consumed with Gabby right onto the floor.

My hands fist at my side in an effort to restrain myself while I grit my teeth.

“I’ll tell ya what,” my father continues, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s top ten in the draft. That boy’s gonna go far. He’s turning into quite the young man.”

“Yep,” I somehow manage, but all I want to do is scream. I want to turn and tell him the boy he loves so much is the same one who got me pregnant. The same man who left.

I want to explain how the man he thinks is so fucking amazing is also the one person in this world my father despises the most; he just doesn’t know they’re one and the same.

But I do. I know, and it eats me up inside.

I’m so close to being free of Chance Lockhart.

One more season after this one and he’ll be gone.

If I’m lucky, they’ll draft him early.

There’s no doubt Chance will go to the NFL; it’s only a matter of when.

I listen for another minute, until I can’t possibly take anymore and then I blurt out, “How about Teagan Nichols?”

My father’s gaze flickers to mine, a question in his eyes I refuse to answer before he asks it. “How do you know Nichols?”

I shrug. “We have a class together,” I lie. “We talk sometimes. I guess you could say we’re friends.” I don’t hesitate with the label, knowing any kind of pause or inflection in my voice would be a red flag.