Page 29 of Reality With You (Arden Beach #1)

“The show’s going to help with his image,” Erin interjected. “That’s the whole point. To help him get back on the team.”

Rhett kept his attention on Dylan. “You don’t think there are less time-consuming ways to do that?”

“My manager thought it was a good idea,” Dylan stated, voice flat with an edge of annoyance.

“Maybe you need a better manager. One who understands your priorities,” Rhett returned. “Maybe you could use a refresher on them, as well.” He cut another piece of steak. “How’s your velocity looking?”

Dylan ground his teeth, his grip on his fork tightening as he pushed his food around on his plate. “Been averaging around eighty-nine.”

“You were at a hundred and six before the accident.”

“I’m working on it.”

“He’s getting stronger every week,” Marcos said. “Can’t rush these things. Recovery takes time.”

The shake of Rhett’s head was almost imperceptible, but Lennon saw the ripple effect it had on Dylan. Shame took root. His expression went hard, numb, but she saw the pain locked behind it.

Lennon fought the urge to reach across the table and take his hand. She had experienced similar treatment from her mother regarding her music career. Nothing was ever good enough.

Lennon bit her tongue, unsure if she should get in the middle of it. She wasn’t a part of their family anymore. It wasn’t her place to get involved.

“You might as well retire with numbers like that,” Rhett commented before tossing another piece of steak into his mouth. Dylan pressed his eyes shut.

“Dad—” Erin reproved, her fork clanking against her plate as she dropped her hand.

“What? It’s the truth. He’s below the league average now.

The accident set him way back. He should be doing everything he can to get back to where he was.

When I tore my ACL, I worked fifteen hours a day, seven days a week to get back on my game.

That’s the year we won the championship.

Best season I ever played. He should be much farther ahead by now.

He’s just not putting the time into it. Do you actually care about getting back on the team? ”

Dylan released a dark laugh, shaking his head.

“Dad, why the hell would you even ask him that?” Erin hissed.

“Because right now, it doesn’t seem to me like he does, Erin.”

“I do care,” Dylan said firmly, voice rasping.

“Every free moment I have is spent training. It’s hard to put as much time in as I used to between therapy, meetings, and filming, but I’m devoting every second I can to it.

My trainers have all said I’ve made more progress than they expected at this stage. ”

“It’s true, he has,” Marcos confirmed.

“The producers know Dylan will be a huge draw for viewers,” Lennon interjected. “They practically bent over backward to get him on the cast because of the value he brings.”

Dylan looked up at her. His dark eyes slightly softened, gratitude piercing through the tension.

“She’s right,” Erin agreed. “This show’s going to remind people why they love him. And maybe even inspire some people who aren’t into baseball to take an interest in it just to support him. That’ll help the Tidebreakers, too.”

“They won’t love him so much if he costs the team wins his first season back,” Rhett stated blankly.

The table was stunned to silence again. Erin gaped at her father, incensed, while Dylan’s nostrils flared, muscles flexing in his jaw.

“You could drop the therapy and spend that time training,” Rhett suggested.

“I can’t do that—” Dylan began tightly.

“You’re just paying someone to listen to you talk. You get better by doing , by getting back out there—not talking about it.”

Dylan abruptly stood from the table, the legs of his chair scraping along the hardwood floor. “Excuse me,” he said, dropping his napkin beside his plate. “I need some air.” He strode out of the dining room, sneakers pounding against the hardwood until he reached the patio.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Marcos said as Erin rose. A look of understanding passed between them before he excused himself and followed Dylan outside.

“What the hell was that?” Erin spat at her father as soon as Marcos left. “Why do you have to be so hard on him? Can’t you see he’s trying? And don’t even get me started on what you said about therapy.”

The awkwardness of sitting between them during an argument had Lennon feeling as though her skin turned inside out. She wanted to bolt up from her chair. Wondered if she should excuse herself, too.

“He’s the one who got himself into this mess. Trying doesn’t mean shit if he’s doing the bare minimum.” Rhett wiped his mouth with his napkin. “This is the major league. He can’t phone it in. It has to be his entire life.”

“When it was his entire life, it was killing him.” Erin let that one sit in the air for a few seconds. “You should show him more compassion. The pressure he’s under has stressed him out to the point where he can’t even enjoy the game anymore. Or his life, for that matter.”

Lennon looked at Erin, the gravity of that statement rooting her to her chair. Even though he’d never admitted it to her, she’d always known the pressure weighed on him. She just hadn’t realized how deep it ran.

“My grandfather grew up in a tiny house with no running water and worked from the time he was ten years old. He fought like hell to make a better life for himself. To dig himself out of poverty,” Rhett said calmly, though his voice—and the look in his light hazel eyes—held an edge.

She’d struck a nerve. “Dylan was born with every opportunity handed to him thanks to the legacy my father started for us. He’s made millions of dollars and he’s not even thirty.

What the hell does he have to be stressed about? ”

Lennon bit her tongue. She understood where Rhett was coming from.

As someone who grew up with a single mother who barely made enough to scrape by for a while, it wasn’t lost on her the impact money—or a lack thereof—had on a person’s life.

However, the suggestion that having it should preclude any other type of stress was flat-out wrong.

“Everyone’s situation comes with different stresses, Dad,” Erin said. “And Dylan’s wired differently than you.”

“He needs to toughen up, then. Stricklands are strong. It’s in his blood.” Rhett swept a piece of steak through the juice on his plate and the last of his potatoes, enjoying his meal as though he hadn’t had a massive confrontation with his children.

Lennon gazed across the patio at the silhouettes of Dylan and Marcos framed by pines and oaks. She wished she could help him.

She wished he would let her.