Page 45 of Love at Second Down (Boys of Ann Arbor U #2)

DAMON

I wonder what Avery’s doing right now.

The thought drifts through my mind as the waitress places a stack of flapjacks in front of me.

“You always could eat your weight in pancakes.” Dad laughs, shaking his head as he salts his eggs. “It’s just like old times.”

I smile over at him, feeling a fleeting stab of guilt for daydreaming about Avery when my father traveled all this way to see me.

I bow my head over my meal while the fluorescent lights flicker overhead.

The little mom and pop diner is packed. Football fans and night owls fill nearly every booth.

It’s the kind of place with checkered tablecloths, laminated menus, and twenty-four-hour breakfast—the kind Dad and I always used frequent after games as a kid.

It wasn’t until high school that our tradition changed, and football nights became a time to spend with Avery.

I reach for the maple syrup, my championship ring catching the light as I drizzle some over my food.

“That hardware looks good on you,” he says, motioning toward my ring. Then, with another grin, he raises his glass of orange juice. “To my son, the champion. I always knew you’d make it far.”

I beam as I clink my water glass to his, still riding the high of victory. “Thanks, Dad.”

“I hope this place is okay,” he says waving his fork as he glances around the place. “Good thing your friend isn’t with us. I’m sure she’s used to much finer accommodations.”

I shift in my seat. Dad’s always been insecure about working with his hands for a living and how much money he has. When I dated Avery in high school, my time spent around the Astors only exacerbated that. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out which “friend” he’s referring to.

“Seeing as how she’s used to eating in the campus cafeteria these days, I’m sure she wouldn’t have minded it.”

Dad huffs out what I think is a laugh as he takes a bite of his food. “Speaking of, when did that happen?”

I glance up at him, blinking. “Avery?”

He nods. “When you mentioned she was here on the phone the other day, I was surprised. And then I saw you run to her after the game and I was shocked.”

“You know things with us were never really over,” I say with a shrug.

“It sure as hell seemed like it was over.”

“Even during our time apart, I had feelings for her. Turned out she felt the same. So, she transferred to AAU this semester, and we . . . reconnected,” I say, keeping it short.

Dad narrows his eyes. “I have to say I’m surprised you’re willing to give her another chance.”

“Dad,” I say, the word sounding like a warning. “Listen, I know you’re probably worried about me, but—”

“Damn right I’m worried about you,” he snaps. “The last time you were with that girl she left you high and dry. Broke your heart. Ran off to some Ivy League school while you bled all over the football field.”

“It wasn’t like that.” Dad arches a brow, so I’m quick to add, “I mean, it was, but she had her reasons.”

With a sigh, I shove my plate aside and lean back in the booth. I’d planned on approaching him about everything Avery told me, but I didn’t want to get into this with him tonight. Instead, I just wanted a nice night out to celebrate my win without the past fucking everything up.

“Look, I know about the walkway collapse,” I say, testing his reaction.

“You . . . what?” He swallows, his dark gaze searching my face.

“Avery told me. She said her parents pressured her to break up with me because they were worried you thought Reginald had something to do with the collapse. So, they made you sign some sort of agreement with a clause to get workers’ comp that stated we couldn’t have further contact with their family in either a professional or personal capacity. ”

He nods slowly, like he’s taking it all in. “I knew about the clause in the contract, of course. But I guess I didn’t know his reasoning.” Dad reaches up to scratch his jaw. “I guess when you have money, it makes you all kinds of paranoid.”

“Wait.” I frown. “So, you didn’t know anything about the cause of the collapse? I told Avery I thought it sounded crazy at the time. I said that if you knew, you’d do the right thing.”

“Damn right I would,” he says, stabbing a fork in my direction. “This just goes to show that the elite do and say what they want, no matter who gets hurt in the process.”

I have to admit, I’ve had the same thought myself.

“Which is exactly why I’m worried about you. What makes you think she won’t do it again? That her father won’t spin another tale because he doesn’t think a Huhn is good enough for his daughter?”

“It doesn’t really matter what he thinks. We love each other, Dad.”

“Love,” he says, drawing out the word like it’s something distasteful. “That’s a strong sentiment for someone so young.”

“I don’t think age has anything to do with it,” I say, unsure why I feel the need to contradict him.

My father hums under his breath while his fingers tap a steady rhythm against the tablecloth.

I don’t know a lot of the details behind my mother’s disappearance when I was just a baby—he rarely talked about it growing up—but from what I gleaned over the years, it crushed him.

In all the time he raised me, he never once brought another woman home.

I used to think it was because he worked so much.

Between construction and my games, he didn’t have much time.

But now I wonder if it was something more, if maybe it destroyed his belief in love.

Avery dumping me the way she did would only reinforce that notion.

“Coach pulled me aside after the game,” I say, wanting to change the subject to higher ground, something that will put a smile on his face instead of the frown he’s wearing. “I guess scouts from New England have been impressed with my performance this year, particularly these last few games.”

The tension around my father’s eyes vanishes. “The Patriots?” he chokes out.

I nod, laughing when my father smacks his palm on the table with a whoop of joy. “Damn, I knew you’d make it! I knew it!” His smile stretches, dark eyes beaming. “So, what now?”

“I guess they asked if I thought about petitioning the NFL and entering the draft early.” I laugh, barely able to believe it myself.

“And? What do you think?”

“I don’t know.” I bite my lip, mulling it over.

I’ve barely had time to think about it. “Maybe I’m wise to finish out my final year?

Coach thinks that if I perform as well as I did this year, I’ll stir up even more interest.” I shove a hand through my hair, remembering what Coach said and still having a hard time believing it.

“He actually thinks I might be the number one pick.”

“My son, a number one pick,” my father says in awe.

Turning, he cranes his neck, waving for a passing waiter. “Excuse me, waiter!” he cries, nearly knocking over his glass of orange juice in his excitement.

When the waiter stops, he waves him over, his eyes bright with pride. “Can we get a bottle of champagne, please? We’re celebrating my son’s future NFL career!”

The waiter hesitates. “Um, I’m sorry, sir. We don’t have champagne.”

“You don’t have champagne? What kind of restaurant is this?” he gripes.

“Uh, Dad, it’s okay,” I say, feeling a flush rise to my cheeks.

“No, no.” He waves me off. “They must have something. What kind of drinks do you have?”

“Actually, we don’t have any cocktails.”

My father stares at him, like he doesn’t believe it.

“Really, Dad. I’m good.”

With a scowl, my father turns back around, dismissing the waiter with a flap of the hand.

“Nothing’s guaranteed yet,” I say once he meets my gaze.

“Nonsense. I always knew you’d make it. But Patriots’ scouts?

Number one draft pick potential? That’s .

. . well, that’s not nothing, son. When we get back to the East Coast, we’ll have a proper celebration.

But for now, we’ll have to settle with this.

” He lifts his glass of OJ, and motions to my water.

“Not another toast, Dad.” I groan. “Really, you’re making too big a deal of this.”

“To you,” he declares, ignoring me. “And earning the future you’ve always dreamed of.”

We clink glasses and take a sip of our drinks before tucking back into our meals and discussing my plans for the offseason.

I ask Dad about work, his flight home, and his noisy neighbors.

Later, once we’re finished, the waiter clears our plates away, while I idly trace the condensation on my water glass as silence settles between us for the first time since I sat down.

“Thanks for the meal, Dad,” I say when the waiter brings him the check.

“I know I’ve said it a million times, but I’m proud of you, son, and I’m excited to see what you do next.”

“Me too.” I flash him a tired smile, more than ready to retire for the night, and wondering if Avery’s still awake.

“This next year is critical,” my father says as he slides out his wallet.

“Everything you’ve worked for is within reach.

” He holds his hand out, grasping at the air, as if snatching my future in it.

“You’re so close to the finish line, but you can’t afford any distractions now.

Until you cross it, you need to keep your head down. ”

“I know,” I say with a nod. By now, I’m used to his lectures on discipline.

“No trouble.” He points at me. “No complications. Nothing that might derail what you’ve built.”

“Dad, I get it.”

“Just making sure.” He holds his hands up, his smile tight. “You’ve worked too hard to let anything—or anyone—stand in your way.”

This is about Avery again.

“I understand you having some reservations about my relationship with Avery,” I say, shifting in my seat. “But I’m happy now. I thought you’d want that.”