Or a reminder.
Maybe both.
Richard’s eyes flicked down to the contact, then back to her face.
“Well,” he said, lifting his glass slightly. “This is a welcome change.”
There it was.
Not even five minutes.
I smiled because the alternative was worse.
“Dad.”
“What?” He looked perfectly innocent. “A compliment. You remember those, don’t you?”
Everett laughed under his breath.
Isa’s grip tightened around my wrist.
Not because she needed me calm.
Because she knew I was one heartbeat from becoming a headline.
My father turned his attention back to her.
“Drew tells us you play soccer.”
“He undersold it,” I said.
Isa glanced at me.
I kept my eyes on Richard.
“She started as a freshman before her injury.”
“Ah, yes.” Richard gave a sympathetic nod that had nothing to do with sympathy. “The hamstring. Terrible timing.”
Isa’s smile did not move.
“It was.”
“But you’ll recover.”
“I will.”
“No doubt. Girls like you usually do.” He took a sip of his drink. “Discipline shows.”
There.
That word.
Discipline.
The highest compliment in my father’s language.
Not kindness. Not joy. Not courage.
