Page 131 of Hard to Handle

I wait for the criticism to come. For my phone to alert another text where he tells me what I did wrong or what I could have done better. I expect the negativity that I’ve lived with all my life to come roaring in.

But he doesn’t send another text, he doesn’t say a word. He only gives a nod, but it’s a nod that says more than I could ever ask for. It says things I’ve longed to hear for far too long and now that I don’t need to hear them, I can probably appreciate them more.

But it takes me back. It challenges me to remember a time when there wasn’t something negative to weigh down anything positive that has happened.

And still, the text doesn’t come.

I struggle with how to feel. Relieved. Confused. Uncertain. At a loss. I’d think one of them would stand out, but it’s been so long since I’ve been given a chance to have an emotion other than shame and anger when it comes to my dad, that I don’t know how to feel.

And then there’s the fact that he’s over there staring at me but can’t voice the word.

I should be angry at that. I should expect more . . . but I lost hope over that so very long ago.

So what now? How do I proceed?

While Jonah’s body bears physical scars, mine are within, unseen, and just as devastating.

Some scars may never heal, but for the first time, it seems I’ve accomplished what he never thought I could. I won the Cup. I lived up to his ridiculous standards.

And a part of me suddenly feels free.

While I shouldn’t give a fuck that I made my dad proud or happy because he stole or dominated so many years of my life, I have more to be thankful for than angry about right now.

I did this for Jonah.

I did this for me.

I did this for my team.

I’ve found Dekker.

Now I can really live.

A dream has been won. My heart is full because of the love of a woman I never thought I’d deserve.

I’m a winner in more ways than one.

And fuck . . . I’m thankful.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

DEKKER

1 week later

HE’S IGNORING ME.

Plain ignoring me.

Chase, Lennox, and Brexton are all out pursuing new clients, and I’m sitting here trying to figure out why he keeps getting up and shutting his door every time a phone call comes in.

Is it the doctor? Isn’t that how this all started to begin with? My dad asking me to accomplish something and all of us in a panic that something was wrong with him?

I glance at my dad through the glass window of the conference room, but his back is to me as he talks to whoever has called him this time.

And it’s not like phone calls are uncommon. That’s all we do in here—talk and talk and talk some more.

So why am I on the defensive without him saying a word? Why am I panicked to talk to him and desperate to as well?