“How does it always end?” I ask.
“Look, he’s a nice kid. Good player. But he has no business fucking around in relationships. Especially with my daughter.”
I’m not a seeing-red person.
Competitive? Yes.
Driven? Also yes.
Prone to creative revenge? When needed.
Butangry?
That’s not generally me.
Untilright now, as all of these little bits and pieces click together in an implication that I absolutely do not want to believe.
The Leopards’ losing streak since Fletcher left. His insistence that he’s not done. Feeling abandoned by this man who was like a father to him.
And this man is standing here saying Fletcherhad to gobecausehe has no business fucking around with my daughter.
“Are you telling me,” I say, not even recognizing my own voice, “that you let Fletcher believe he was fired forhis performancebecause of an injury thatyou knew he was sensitive about, when it was all about you thinking he wasn’t good enough for your daughter?”
“He didn’t have more than another season in him anyway.”
“That’s clearly helping you win this year.”
He clears his throat and starts to move around us. “I’m due upstairs. Judith, tea sounds lovely.”
Oh, no.
He isnotdismissing us like this.
He’s not dismissingmelike this.
I don’t care if Fletcher Huxley never speaks to me again, but I do care that this man knows what an absolute prick he is. “You werehis family. He trusted you. He confided in you. He would have doneanythingfor you. Do you have any idea how much damage you’ve done to his sense of self-worth? To his belief in himself? You have forty-eight hours to tell him, or I will. Judith, again, please forgive me. I sincerely need to go now.”
It’s odd having a boss.
It’s even odder making a complete and total fool of myself in front of her.
But she sniffs in Oliver Rafferty’s direction, then slips an arm around my shoulders and marches out with me.
“Are you sure you need rest,” she asks, “or would a hit off a bottle of vodka be more in line?”
My eyes sting.
Rest won’t fix what’s wrong.
Vodka won’t fix what’s wrong.
The only thing that will fix what’s wrong is far, far outside of my hands.
40
Fletcher
It’s beenthree weeks since I last saw Goldie, and I have reached the stage of grief known asbinge eating expensive as fuck cookies.
