“Yes,” I say immediately. “Of course. I want to know anything that’s related to you, Savannah.”
I shift back so I can look at her. Her expression is tight, and I’m getting a sense of what it’s taking for her to let me in like this.
She twists her hands in her lap, and I wait quietly for her to continue. The heat blasts out of the truck vents, and the dark, cold night feels somehow far away from whatever’s happening in this vehicle. Because whatever Savannah’s about to tell me, she’s clearly been holding it in for a long fucking time.
“My father sent me a text yesterday. It’s the first time I’ve heard from him since he left. He wants to see me when his team comes to town for the game.”
“How do you feel about that?” I ask her.
She shrugs noncommittally. “I’m going to see him with my sisters. Like Celie said, he wants something. And it will be up to me to figure out what that something is.”
“I’m confused.”
“I don’t know if you’re aware of the Cannons history,” she says. “But the last time we made the finals was six years ago.”
“Craig said it was six years,” I say, remembering his glare when he delivered the information. “He really wants to get there as the head coach.”
“He does. He was the assistant when we were there last.” She takes a deep breath. “My dad was the coach then. And he left our family because of that final. We lost. And he blamed me.”
The air goes out of the car at her words. She delivers them with no emotion, no sign of what she’s feeling inside. But her eyes…the blank look in them gives me chills.
“Since you weren’t a player or a coach, that makes no fucking sense,” I say in a low tone. “I don’t get it.”
“My father isn’t always a rational person,” she says, her eyes averted. “But in this case, he had a thread of logic to his accusation. Our best scorer at the time—his name was Watts—he developed an…interest in me, I guess you could say.”
“You were sixteen years old,” I say.
“Right. So it was creepy more than exciting. He had a huge ego and acted like he’d never been told no in his life. I was very naïve and had never dated anyone. Watts would wait for me after practice and just kind of hang around me. I never gave him any reason to think I was interested. I would be polite with him, but that’s it. And my father backed me. At first.”
“I don’t think I’m going to like where this is going,” I murmur.
She darts a glance in my direction and then returns her gaze to her hands still curled in her lap. “Watts pinned me against the wall one evening. I squirmed out of his grasp, and my father was coming down the hall at the same moment. He got in Watts’s face and threatened him if he so much as looked at me again. To be honest, I wanted him kicked off the team. I didn’t feel safe at work anymore. And I knew my father’s protection would only go so far. Because winning the title was so important to him.”
“More important than his daughter’s safety?”
My question hangs in the air unanswered.
“Watts was embarrassed. I think he was more embarrassed I didn’t return his affection than anything else. For the next week, he taunted me whenever he could. He whispered things to me, rude, despicable things. By this point, we were in the playoffs, and the season couldn’t end fast enough. But the playoffs dragged. Watts wasn’t playing well, and my father kept hinting that his mind wasn’t on the games. You know, because of me.”
I clench my jaw, willing myself to stay silent until she’s finished the story. Because I’m already pretty sure I’m going to fucking hate the ending.
“We made the finals, and the game was played here in Climax. A few hours before the game, Watts burst into my office and slammed the door. He proceeded to call me a tease; you know, for not giving it up for him. He was high on something; I could tell. He was one of those guys born with so much talent he didn’t need to outwork everyone to be the best. He could party the night before a game and still function. Anyway, he grabbed me so hard that I screamed.”
“Savannah.” I reach for her hand, and she lets me hold it.
“My father broke into my office seconds later and punched Watts in the face. Watts ended up with a big cut on his cheek, but nothing was broken.” She looks up at me. “The owner of the Cannons was walking down the hall with my father when it happened. He said Watts couldn’t play on the team anymore. He wanted him gone right away, but my father fought to let him play in the final. And the owner caved to the coach’s demand.”
The unsaid hangs between us, and I force myself to get confirmation. “So your father allowed the man who assaulted his daughter to play in the game that night.”
“Correct.” She exhales. “And we lost anyway. Watts played half-heartedly, knowing he’d be traded right afterward, and we got killed. My dad was so angry on the drive home—he wouldn’t speak to me except to call me a bitch and tell me to go fuck myself when I tried to apologize.”
I let out a noise of shock, but Savannah just waves her hand in the air dismissively. “That was nothing new for him. He swore at all of us when he got angry. He’d done that our whole lives. So we were used to it, believe me. The b-word was one of his favorites, but he reserved ‘go f— yourself’ for special occasions.”
Everything I’ve complained about with my own father, all the arguments and fights—it all goes out the window at Savannah’s casual acceptance of her father’s abuse.
And I realize partly why she and I connected from the first moment we met—as the child of an abusive parent, you feel like no one understands you. People can empathize, but they aren’t in your place. They don’t know what life is like when you feel unsafe around the people who are supposed to be your biggest protectors. And my father’s a damn teddy bear in comparison to Lawrence McMann.
“Savannah, he was wrong. He should never have treated you that way. You don’t deserve it. You never did.”
