Page 116 of Hard to Handle

I twist my lips and meet each one of my sisters’ eyes as I straighten my back. “He’s currently in the playoffs and I don’t think changing agents is where his mind is at.” And it’s true . . . but there is so much more at stake here.

For me.

“But he wasn’t months ago when you started this, so that doesn’t hold water,” Lennox says and raises her eyebrows.

I refrain from glaring. It’s hard, but I do.

“True, and all that time I’ve spent pursuing him, on top of my regular client load, and honestly, I’m not sure what’s going to happen. I’m helping the human he is before the athlete everyone wants. I’m just being there for him.” I draw in a deep breath and prepare myself to meet my father’s eyes. When I do, the disappointment I expected to be there . . . isn’t. Instead, his eyes are questioning but quiet. “I know I’m an agent and my job is to recruit him and help us on the whole, but I’m also a person who can’t push another human being who is hurting.”

His nod is just as reserved as his gaze, the muscle in his jaw ticks.

“So . . .” Lennox asks. “What does that mean? When all is said and done, I mean? Should I update that status on the recruit sheet for you?”

I open my mouth to give a vague response, but my dad cuts me off. “Ladies, can you give me a moment alone with Dekk?”

Feathers may be ruffled, but the conclusion of a meeting when they all have a million things to do overrides the irritation.

“Teacher’s pet,” Brexton says with a wink as she shuts the door so I’m alone with my dad.

“Take a seat,” he says.

“I’m fine.”

“Take a seat.” It’s the father tone and not the boss tone, so I begrudgingly slide into a chair at the complete opposite end of the table from him. If he’s angry at my failure, I have distance, and if he starts asking questions, I can hope the space might mask the emotions in my eyes.

“What did you need, Dad?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” I laugh. “Then why did you ask me to stay?”

It’s his turn to lean back in his chair and stare at me. He fidgets with the pen in his hand as the time stretches. “What is it you want to ask, Dekk?” he asks in that way where he knows exactly what I’m thinking—and need—without me ever saying a word.

And I do.

I have so many questions.

Ones that run through my mind as Hunter’s soft snores fill my bedroom in the wee hours of the morning. Ones that nag at me as I watch him tear up.

“How come you never got remarried after Mom died?” He startles, and I know I’ve caught him off guard.

“I never found someone I wanted to marry.”

“But you never dated.”

He nods until his twisted lips spread into the softest of smiles. “I date plenty. I had girlfriends for months at a time,” he says to my utter shock.

“When? Who? How come I don’t know this?”

“Because the last thing I wanted was for you girls to ever think I was trying to replace your mother.” He sets the pen down. “And I went out at night. Sometimes client dinners weren’t really client dinners. Sometimes business trips were a little more than that.”

Oh my God. I had no idea. How did I not know this?

“I’m stunned.”

“Why? Because your old man had lovers or because—”

“Because I had zero clue, Dad. None. You had this secret life as a gigolo, and here I was feeling sorry for you for devoting yourself to your family.” I laugh.