I shook my head, more tears slipping free. “I ruined that.”
Erin huffed softly, like she didn’t believe me for a second. “Emmie…that man is so in love with you.” She brushed her thumb under my eye, wiping away a tear. “You haven’t ruined anything.”
I wanted to believe her. God, I did. But the image of Mateo walking out the door wouldn’t leave my head.
My chin wobbled. “You didn’t see the look on his face.”
Erin’s grip on me tightened. “Then we’ll fix it. But you don’t get to give up on him just because you’re hurting.”
I swallowed hard, her words settling somewhere deep inside of me.
I staredup at my childhood home. The dark gray wooden panels slightly faded. The white trim around the windows and doors had chips from over the years. What was once a small baby oak tree was now giant, towering over the tile roof. The front yard was still meticulously cared for. The lawn was green and freshly mowed, bushes and flowers lining both sides of the fence.
It was a modest two-story home despite how much my dad made as the Titans’ coach. It had four rooms, but since it was only just my dad and me, the other two were converted into a home office and gym.
A cold breeze got my feet moving toward the door. I needed to get out of the apartment, and there was really only one other place I wanted to be right now. Clad in a different pair of sweats and the same sweatshirt of Mateo’s I refused to take off, I walked up the steps and knocked on the door.
I barely gave my dad a heads-up, shooting him a text on the drive here. When he opened the door, the sight of him made fresh tears spring to my eyes.
“Emmie.” He barely got the words out before I dove into his chest, arms banding around his middle.
“Hey, Dad,” I mumbled against him as his own arms wrapped around me. I closed my eyes and just squeezed, needing his calming presence.
As if sensing I needed a moment, he rested his chin on my head and didn’t say a word. We stood like that in the doorway for a few minutes before I finally pulled away. He ushered me inside, closing the door with a click. I slipped off my shoes by the door, a house rule since I was little.
I was here only two weeks ago for dinner with Mateo, yet as soon as I stepped in, it was like I was transported to being fifteen again, helping dad unpack boxes to make this home our own. He still had the same photos hanging on the wall in the hallway that led toward the kitchen at the back of the house. Still had the same brown leather couches in the living room, some spots a lighter shade from being sat on so much.
My fingers trailed along the banister leading upstairs until I couldn’t reach any farther. I knew every creak in the floorboards. I used to carefully avoid them whenever I snuck out with Erin in high school.
Even after all these years, this place still felt like home.
“Want something to drink?” Dad asked over his shoulder as he headed for the kitchen.
“Do you have something stronger than water?” I blurted, then immediately winced. “I mean…water’s fine,” I backtracked. I might be a grown adult, but asking my dad for alcohol felt weird.
He paused in the arched doorway between the living room and kitchen, glancing back at me with a knowing look. “Em, I know you drink. You and Erin used to sneak wine bottles upstairs like I wasn’t going to notice.”
“You knew this whole time?” I asked, following behind him. He went straight for a cabinet and grabbed two glasses.
“You’re a horrible liar, always have been. Not that you did it often, thank god for that, but yes I knew.”
I leaned my hip against the island counter, watching him grab a bottle of whiskey and pour two finger lengths in eachcup. When he handed me a glass, he gestured toward the couch.
The coffee table in front of the couch was littered with paper. A quick glance showed a bunch of plays and routes for the football game tomorrow afternoon.
“Sorry to interrupt.”
Dad waved me off. “I was just finishing up.”
I sat on the far corner of the couch, the same spot I used to sit on as a teenager, the cushion below me soft and worn in. I tucked my feet underneath me before taking a small sip of the whiskey.
I held back a cough as it burned its way down my throat. Fuck, that was strong. My dad chuckled from his spot on the other side of the couch, sipping his own without any reaction.
I drank more before holding it in my lap, feeling it warm my belly.
“Not that I don’t love my daughter dropping by,” he said, shifting so he was facing me, “but you don’t usually show up asking for hard liquor. Want to talk about it?”
I let out a small breath, staring down at my glass. “What, I can’t come see my dad without it being a whole thing?”
