Page 40

“Dad, you can’t just ignore this,” she cut in. “What about the announcement that one of your players came forward? I tried calling your cell yesterday afternoon to talk about it but I kept getting your voice mail. I left you two messages.”
He ignored the last statement and said, “I was golfing with Judge Harrison. No cell service out on the course.”
She decided not to mention that she’d also called the house he was renting, knowing he’d probably have an excuse for not answering those calls, too.
God, why was he acting like none of this was a big deal? One of his players had admitted that Presley fixed games, and her father was brushing it off like a fleck of lint on his sleeve. Going to parties, smoking cigars, mingling with friends. Did he honestly think this would all just blow over? Hayden refused to believe her father had done the things he was accused of, but she wasn’t naive enough to think they could just close their eyes and blink the whole mess away.
“Did you at least talk to Judge Harrison about what your next move should be?” she asked.
“Why the hell would I do that?”
“Because this is starting to get serious.” Hayden clenched her fists at her sides. “You should give a press conference maintaining your innocence. Or at the very least, talk to your lawyer.”
He didn’t bother replying, just shrugged, then lifted his drink to his mouth. After swallowing the rest of the liquid, he signaled a passing waiter and swiped a glass of champagne.
Hayden took the opportunity to place her and Darcy’s drinks on the waiter’s tray, suddenly losing any taste for alcohol. Both times she’d seen her father this past week, he’d been drinking, but tonight it was obvious her father was drunk. His rosy cheeks and glazed eyes, the way he was swaying on his feet. The blatant case of denial.
“Dad…how much have you had to drink?”
His features instantly hardened. “Pardon me?”
“You just seem a little…buzzed,” she said for lack of a better word.
“Buzzed? Is that California slang for drunk?” He frowned. “I can assure you, Hayden, I am not drunk. I’ve only had a couple drinks.”
The defensive note in his voice deepened her concern. When people started making excuses for their inebriated state…wasn’t that a sign of a drinking problem?
She cursed her stepmother for putting all these absurd ideas into her head. Her father wasn’t an alcoholic. He didn’t have a drinking problem, he hadn’t had an affair, and he certainly hadn’t illegally fixed any Warrior games to make a profit.
Right?
Her temples began to throb. God, she didn’t want to doubt her dad, the man who’d raised her alone, the man who up until a few years ago had been her closest friend.
She opened her mouth to apologize, but he cut her off before she could. “I’m sick of these accusations, you hear me?”
She blinked. “What? Dad—”
“I get enough flak from Sheila, I don’t need to hear this shit from my own daughter.”
His eyes were on fire, his cheeks crimson with anger, and she found herself taking a step back. Tears stung her eyes. Oh, God. For the first time in her life she was frightened of her own father.
“So I made a few bad investments. Sue me,” he growled, his champagne glass shaking along with his hands. “It doesn’t make me a criminal. Don’t you dare accuse me of that.”
She swallowed. “I wasn’t—”
“I didn’t fix those games,” he snapped. “And I don’t have a drinking problem.”
A ragged breath escaped his lips, the stale odor of alcohol burning her nostrils and betraying his last statement. Her father was drunk. This time there wasn’t a single doubt in her mind. As she stood there, stunned, a tear crept down her cheek.
“Hayden…honey…oh, Lord, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that.”
She didn’t answer, just swallowed again and swiped at her face with a shaky hand.
Her father reached out and touched her shoulder. “Forgive me.”
Before she could respond, Jonas Quade approached with jovial strides, clasped his hand on Presley’s arm and said, “There you are, Pres. My son Gregory is dying to meet you. He’s the Warriors’ number-one fan.”
Her father’s dark green eyes pleaded with her, relaying the message he couldn’t voice at the moment. We’ll talk about this later.
She managed a nod, then drew in a ragged breath as Quade led her father away.
The second the two men ambled off, she spun on her heel and hurried to the French doors leading to the patio, hoping she could keep any more tears at bay until she was out of sight.