“When I dropped off Remy earlier and told her that Elodie was gone, she didn’t even ask what I had planned. She just told me to take as much time as I needed. Of course, I feel guilty for not being with my daughter right now, but I just--”
“Don’t feel guilty. Your pain is written all over your face, man.” Elliot shakes his head. “I know that look. It’s been staring back at me in the mirror for the past four months.”
“I just can’t believe she left,” I mutter for the hundredth time just as the waitress comes by with my fresh beer.
“Did you ask her to stay?”
“No. I—I couldn’t. I didn’t want to be the reason she’d always wonder what if, the person that stood between her and the chance to have a career in music.” Shaking my head, I lift my glass to my mouth and drain half of it, smacking my lips as I place it back down. “But the timing of it all is still fucking eating away at me. We were supposed to go on a date tonight. I had it all planned out, and I was gonna tell her how I feel about her…”
“Fuck, I’m sorry.”
My phone rings from its spot next to me on the booth. I practically launch upright, like a catapult of hope made me spring back to life. But when I see Fletcher’s request for a video call on the screen, that hope evaporates.
Elodie wouldn’t be calling me yet anyway. She’s probably just landed in L.A. The record label was sending her a driver to pick her up at the airport, and I’m sure she has a hotel to check into before attending meetings on top of meetings.
She’s a celebrity now, and I’m just the single dad she worked for on her road to fame.
When I answer the call, I prop the phone up on the table using the bottle of ketchup behind it so both Elliot and I can see our friend on the screen, and straighten my flannel that bunched up around my shoulders. “Hey, Fletch.”
His face instantly grows confused. “What the hell is wrong with you? You look like your dog just died.”
“We’re day drinking,” Elliot says, casting his gaze to me. “Elodie left for Los Angeles this morning.”
“Fuck, then that explains the text she sent Laney.” He reaches up and scratches the side of his head. “That’s part of the reason why I was calling. Laney wanted to know what happened. Elodie made it sound like she was leaving for good.”
“A record label wants her, man. Her performance at the winery is all over the internet and they wanted her out in L.A. as soon as possible,” I grate out before lifting my glass to my lips again, finally starting to feel the effects of the alcohol after four beers.
“Shit.” Fletcher lets out a heavy breath. “Well, now what?”
I glare at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, how is this going to work with you two?”
“It’s not. She’s gone. We’re done.”
Fletcher closes his eyes, clenches his jaw, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ, Henley. Please don’t tell me you just let her go?”
“What was I supposed to do, Fletcher? I’m not going to be the reason she doesn’t achieve her dreams.”
He smacks the table in front of him. “You’re a goddamn idiot. You love her! I saw your face when it fucking hit you the other night.”
“Looks like it doesn’t matter,” I fire back as my voice rises, drawing the attention of people around us.
Elliot scours the room then taps the table in front of me, gathering my attention. “Hey, keep it down, all right?”
“He started it,” I quip, pointing to the phone.
“And you ended it by not fighting for her,” Fletcher fires back.
“I’m not going to compete with her music, Fletch. Don’t you get it? That would be like Laney asking you to give up football.”
Fletcher shakes his head. “See? That’s where your lack of emotional intelligence is screwing you over.”
Elliot rolls his eyes. “Dr. Fletcher Adams, the therapist, has now entered the chat.”
“Fuck you, Elliot.” Fletcher flips us off through the screen. “But you know I’m right. Laney would never ask me to give up football because she knows what it means to me, but that doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t if it came down to the choice between the game and her.”
My eyes snap back to him. “Seriously?”
