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“I asked him not to.” Dad’s eyes snap to mine, and the hurt there makes me want to take the words back, even though I can’t take back what I did. “I wanted to be the one to tell you because you’re my dad before you’re his coach.”

“Why didn’t you trust me enough to tell me?”

The question hurts more than his anger would have. Dad has always been the person I could come home to, even when I had nothing figured out, and knowing I made him doubt that makes me want to tell him every version of the truth at once until he believes me again.

“I do trust you.” My voice cracks, and I hate that those words are the truth when everything I’ve done makes them sound like a lie. “I was scared of what would happen after.”

Dad turns to Jubal, and my stomach twists when Jubal doesn’t defend himself or remind him I’m the one who asked him to wait. When he reaches for my hand, I take it. Dad looks down at our joined hands, and the hurt on his face makes my eyes burn because I want to reach for him.

“I need you to leave, Jubal.”

“Dad—”

“Not tonight, Calliope.” He looks at me, and whatever I’m about to say dies when I see how exhausted he suddenly looks. “I can’t stand here and figure out what this means as your father while he’s standing in front of me. I need him to leave.”

My fingers tighten around Jubal’s, but he squeezes once before slipping his hand free. I catch at his fingers, but he’s already turning toward Dad. Jubal gives him a small nod, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. Jubal waits a second longer before looking at me, and everything in me fights the fact that he’s about to leave. I want to ask for enough time to make sure he knows this doesn’t change anything between us. But when I take a step toward him, Jubal gives me the smallest shake of his head. I stop even though every instinct I have is screaming to follow him.

I watch him disappear around the side of the house, wanting to follow after he’s gone. When I turn back to Dad, it isn’t the anger on his face that gets me. It’s how tired he looks.

“I’m sorry.”

His gaze drops to the mail crushed in his hand before lifting to mine again. “I know.”

I need more than that. I need him to yell at me or tell me how angry he is or do anything except stand there looking at me like I’m someone he doesn’t know what to do with.

“I wasn’t trying to make a fool ‌of you.”

“I know that.”

“Then say something.”

Dad looks at me for a long moment before frustration finally breaks through the tiredness in his face. “What do you want me to say, Bug?”

“I don’t know.” My voice breaks, and I hate how helpless the answer sounds when I’m the one who put us here. “Anything.”

“I thought you were doing better.” His voice stays quiet, which makes it worse. “You came home, and for the first time in a long time, you started letting me in again.”

“I was doing better.” My eyes burn as I look at him. “I am.”

“Then why didn’t you let me be a part of this too?”

All I wanted was for Dad to know I was happy. Instead, I waited until the only way he could find out was by catching me kissing his quarterback.

“I don’t know how to explain it without making it sound like I didn’t want you to know.” I wipe at my cheek when the first tear slips free. “I did. Every time I thought about telling you, I just kept getting scared and putting it off.”

“You could have come to me, Bug.” Dad looks down for a second, and when he looks back at me, his eyes are wet.

“I know.” My voice breaks again. “I wish I had.”

He nods, but it doesn’t make either of us feel better. I want to go to him the way I would’ve before tonight, but being afraid to hug my dad hurts enough that I cry harder. Dad sees it and opens his arms. I’m against his chest before he can change his mind. His arms close around me, and I grab the back of his shirt because this is what I feared losing. My dad still being the place I can fall apart when I don’t know what to do next.

“I’m still mad at both of you,” he says against my hair as a wet laugh catches between my tears. “But I need some time tonight, Bug. I need to be angry without saying something to you or Jubal that I don’t mean.”

I hold him tighter because I’m not ready for the hug to end. I spent the last few minutes terrified I’d broken something between us I couldn’t fix, and even with his arms around me, I can still feel how hurt he is. I hate that I did that to him. I hate even more that the only thing I can give him now is the space he’s asking for. Eventually, I loosen my grip on his shirt and step back.

“We’ll talk tomorrow.”

The promise eases some of the fear I’ve been carrying since he opened that door. Dad is still hurt and angry, but there will be a tomorrow. Jubal left here believing he disappointed a man whose respect matters to him, and I can’t leave that alone.