I stare down at the call, bile rising up my throat as I hit Accept and wait for him to say something.
“Drew, sweetheart, are you okay?”
The sound of Dad’s voice rips an uncontrollable sob from my chest, and I lose it, a deep wail tearing from my throat. It feels like I’ve lost everything, including the man I risked it all for.
“Drew, it’s your mom. We’re both here, and we’ve both seen everything online. Where are you right now?”
“Are you at his place?” Dad asks, tone much harsher than when I first answered the call.
I shake my head even though it’s pointless. “No. I’m at home with a friend.”
I pull a huge breath into my lungs, and it feels like I might pass out.
“I want you to know we aren’t mad at you, but we are very concerned. We want you to call a taxi and come home for a few nights,” Mom pleads.
“No,” I protest. “I’m not a teenager anymore, and I’m not going to run to my parents at the first sign of trouble.”
Dad chuckles, but it sounds more dark than humored. “How did the messages get leaked, Drew?”
Vesper reappears, holding a glass of water out for me.
I offer her a tight smile and take a small sip.
“Drew?” Dad presses, and all I want to do is end the call.
“What’s going to happen with Will?” I question, knowing Dad will understand exactly what I’m referring to—his future on the team.
“That’s not your concern,” he simply replies, sounding increasingly frustrated.
“He’s my boyfriend.”
“Oh, honey.” Mom’s soft reply makes me crave the safety of her arms.
“I’ll deal with my player when I know my daughter is safe and okay,” Dad grumbles. He doesn’t mean for his voice to sound harsh, but it does. Whenever he’s really worried about me or Marley, he comes off as mad.
I close my eyes, hating having to say this, but all too aware that my parents deserve full disclosure. Dad’s reputation is also getting a hammering right now for his allegedly failing to control his players.
“We’re pretty sure the leak came from Will’s phone, and Will thinks the person responsible is Tristan Vaughn.”
A sharp scoff rings down the line. Genuinely, this couldn’t be worse news for Dad. One player and his daughter caught up in the scandal is bad enough. Two players, and he’ll be lucky to hold on to his job.
“I’m really sorry, Dad.”
“Hey, hey!” He immediately shuts down my apology. “I don’t want to hear a single sorry from you, sweetheart. Yes, it’s a mess, but I’d be a hypocrite to criticize you for making mistakes when I’ve made more than I can count in my life.”
The migraine forming makes me want to puke again, and I take another sip of water before setting the glass down on the coffee table.
“Will isn’t a mistake.”
When Dad doesn’t respond, I look across at Vesper. She’s chewing anxiously on her perfectly manicured thumb.
“I’m not saying he is, Drew.” Dad releases a forlorn sigh. “But that won’t prevent the PR shitstorm from raining down on us all.”
36
. . .
Will
