“Sam!” Sam stopped and bit her lips. Every instinct screamed at her to keep walking, to pretend that she hadn’t heard Jake calling her. But his voice carried that sharp, commanding edge that she’d spent a lifetime obeying. Slowly, she turned to face him.
“Sam,” Jake said with a frown. “Where were you? I searched everywhere. I wanted to talk to you.”
“I was here,” Sam said dully. “All the time. You were too busy with Becky to see me.”
Jake’s gray eyes scanned his daughter’s face. “I see.”
“It’s okay, Dad,” Sam said. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You got a minute?” he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets in a way that she barely recognized.
Sam folded her arms across her chest. Really, he wanted to give her a minute—now—when he’d spent every other waking moment hyping up Becky. “Not really.”
“You need to be smart tomorrow,” he said. Sam rolled her eyes. He hadn’t even heard what she’d said. Just kept on talking at her—not to her. “Don’t let emotion drag you off course.”
She stared at him. “You mean, like Leo?”
Jake stiffened. “Leo made his choices,” he said after a beat. “I didn’t stop him, Sam. I told him he could still compete. Paralympics, coaching, anything. It wasn’t me who quit.”
Sam sucked in a breath. “He didn’t quit. He broke.”
Jake flinched, the guilt flashing so fast she almost missed it.
“But you quit—you quit Mom, right when she needed you most.” Sam swallowed hard, her voice thick. Her hands balled into fists, and she shoved them behind her back, shaking and sweating. She’d never even dreamed of speaking to her dad like that before.
Jake shifted awkwardly. “I know.” His voice was low, frayed. He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “But I can’t change the past, Sam. I did what I thought was best, at the time.”
Sam said nothing. Gripping her hands together behind her back, she clamped her lips together. Her chest tightened painfully. Part of her wanted to forgive him, but the other part remembered missed birthdays, constant training, early mornings and putting herself second. Her eyes stung as he stood before her, suddenly looking smaller and older than she’d ever realized he was. He’d given his life to this sport. He’d won awards and accolades, but he’d also lost so much.
Jake shifted and shrugged. “Tomorrow—”
“Tomorrow, I’ll do it my way.” Sam cut him off, her voice stronger than before. “I think I’ve earned that right.”
Jake’s eyes met hers. For once, there was no judgment, no anger, no power. Only something raw and lost. He nodded.
Before she could say anything else, Sam spun away and walked as quickly as she could to the exit. Her heart didn’t race; she didn’t long to turn around and apologize for speaking out. A quiet resolve warmed her, from her feet up. She was done being told what to do. It was going to be her way from now on—and that meant she was going to focus on herself. A sliver of sadness made her stop fora moment. She glanced back at Jake. Something softer gripped her heart. For a second she wanted to run back to him, to tell him it was okay, and that they could fix it—that she could fix it. But she couldn’t. She turned away. Her face crumpled. Wiping her nose with her cuff she blinked back her tears. It wasn’t up to her to fix it anymore—in truth, it never had been. She’d taken on that role blindly, trying to make everyone happy, not seeing that it was like putting a Band-Aid on a brain hemorrhage. It was never going to work, never going to mend them all. No, she had to fix herself, and hopefully her dad would learn that he had to do that too.
Crowds milled around outside, and she skirted the larger groups, pausing every now and then to pose for a photo, her hands trembling as the conversation with her dad rattled around inside her. She felt awkward, like an imposter, but no one seemed to notice or care. The crowds dispersed and she spotted Maya and Gabe by a hot food stand.
“Sam!” Maya waved both arms like she was directing traffic. “Over here! Emergency carbs!”
Sam made her way over, smiling and nodding to people as they called out to her.
“Look!” Maya shoved her hand under Sam’s nose. She rolled her eyes playfully. “It’s called a Würstel, sounds exotic, I know, but it’s basically a hot dog—though it tastes far superior to a hot dog.”
Gabriel snorted. “I tried to have a panini, but now …” He held up his hands, a Würstel in each. “She couldn’t decide on toppings.”
Maya beamed at him. “Well, I needed expert advice. Andwho’s more qualified than a man who treats mustard like a life decision?”
For a second, Gabriel stared at her, like he couldn’t quite believe she existed—and then, to Sam’s astonishment, he laughed. “Some of us like a more understated approach to … chaos.” His eyes glimmered as he handed Maya a Würstel.
“Ooooh what are these?” Maya picked up what looked like a pepper.
“Peperoncini—a little pickled spicy pepper,” Gabriel said, leaning heavily into his Italian accent. “A little like you—you should enjoy them.”
Maya lowered her chin. “Is that a promise?”
“So, this is how it begins.” Sam laughed, her mood picking up. Gabriel’s face froze and Sam burst out laughing. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” She slipped her hands into her pockets. Her fingers brushed against something cold, hard. She frowned, curling her hand around it she pulled it from her pocket.
