If I was avoiding him before, I was hell-bent on not talking to him now that news of my indefinite suspension had leaked. As predicted, Blackcastle fans were in an uproar, though today’s victory had soothed their anger somewhat.
That wouldn’t matter to my father. In fact, it probably made him more angry. I was supposed to be indispensable, and if I wasn’t, then I was clearly doing something wrong.
I reached for a second bottle when the phone rang again, and I sent it to voicemail. Again. If it was an emergency, he would’ve left a message after his first call. He hadn’t, so I assumed he simply wanted to yell at me and make me feel like shit. What else was new?
Between my suspension, the car crash, and the media circus around my relationship with Scarlett, he had plenty to vent about. But I’d taken enough verbal beatings this month, and I wasn’t interested in serving as his punching bag tonight.
I took my drink into the living room.
The house felt unbearably cold and lonely these days, but it was my only feasible sanctuary. I couldn’t go out in public without risking my privacy. I couldn’t go to my parents’ house without facing, well, my parents. And I didn’t have the privilege of staying at Scarlett’s flat anymore.
Remorse swelled in my throat. I was surrounded by the best luxuries money could buy, but I would give it all up for the chance to see her again.
I care about you. I care about you so much, and that’s why I can’t be with you.
Perhaps I was delusional, but I could’ve sworn she was about to use another word before she settled on “care about.” A word with four letters that began with the letter L.
I wasn’t sure whether that would’ve made things better or worse, though I couldn’t imagine feeling worse than I did at that moment.
My phone rang again.
And again.
And again.
Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I picked up, but I didn’t even get the chance to speak before my father’s gruff voice filled the line.
“About time you picked up,” he snapped. “Open your gates.”
I shot up straight. “What?”
“I said, open your bloody gates.” His voice deepened into an irritated grumble. “The taxi driver is getting impatient and so am I.”
I checked my home security app, which allowed me to surveil various sections of the estate from my phone. Sure enough, a black cab idled outside the gates. I could just make out my father’s scowl through the back window.
Fuck. My pulse sputtered.
My father showing up in London unannounced wasn’t on my bingo card for the night. Since he was here, I had no choice but to let him in.
I opened the gates and waited for him by the front door. Every inch of my body, from my skin to my bones, was saturated with dread.
The cab dropped him off right in front of the door and sped off.
My father walked toward me, his cane gleaming under the house lights. It’d been months since his heart attack, but according to my mother, he got winded easily, so his doctor had suggested the regular use of a walking aid.
“Dad.” I greeted him stiffly.
“Asher.” He looked a little haggard, but his stare was as piercing as ever.
We didn’t exchange another word as I led him to the living room. Tension sprouted between us like weeds through cracks in the pavement. It tangled around our ankles, making me feel like a prisoner in my own home.
This was my father’s first time visiting my house in London. He didn’t look particularly impressed even though the mansion was about fifty times bigger and more expensive than my childhood home. In fact, he looked almost annoyed by the display of wealth.
When we reached the living room, we settled on separate sofas, as far away from each other as possible.
“Where’s Mum?” I asked, breaking the silence. He wouldn’t leave Holchester without her.
“She’s at the hotel. She wanted to come, but I told her I wanted to talk to you alone first.” He sounded deceptively calm. “I didn’t want her to be here when I asked you what the bloody hell you’re doing!”
I went rigid at the sudden but not unexpected escalation in his temper. Honestly, I was surprised it’d taken him this long to march to my house and read me the riot act.
He glared at me, flaying me alive with his anger.
I glared back, my muscles taut. I’ll admit, I’d made my fair share of mistakes this year, but I wasn’t a kid anymore. I wasn’t going to let him ambush me in my own fucking house.
“I’m not in the mood, Dad,” I said, striving for calm. “If you came to yell at me for the crash or getting suspended, you’re out of luck. I already got the talk from Coach. I don’t need it from you, too.”
His face reddened further. “You think I came all this way because you got benched? Boy, if I wanted to yell at you about that, I could’ve called you on the phone and saved myself the train and hotel money. And no, I don’t give a shit that you’ve been avoiding my calls. I would’ve found a way.” His eyes flashed. “I’m here because I want you to look me in the fucking eye and tell me why you’re sitting on your ass at home when you should be proving to those vultures out there”—he thrust a finger toward the entryway—“that you’re Asher fucking Donovan for a reason. Have you seen what they’re saying about you? Are you going to take it lying down?”
My jaw clenched.
The tabloids were relentless in their coverage. They were dragging Coach through the mud for suspending me, but they were howling at me too for putting myself in a position to be benched.
It was a lose-lose situation for everyone except fucking Bocci, who’d gotten off scot-free after the “investigation” into what happened the night of the crash yielded no actionable results.
“How?” I snapped, my temper igniting. “The tabloids are uncontrollable, and Coach benched me because he thinks something is driving my impulsiveness, whatever the hell that means. I assume he wants me to figure out why I feel compelled to race, even though I said I wouldn’t do it again. I have no desire. But how am I supposed to prove I’m not going to do something?”
“By showing him why he signed you in the first place!” My father stamped his cane against the floor. “Have I taught you nothing? When life throws you obstacles, you either obliterate them or you find a way around them. You don’t bloody wait for the universe to haul them out of the way for you. You think those parasite paps sit around waiting for a photo to fall into their laps? I don’t fucking think so. You can’t prove you’re not going to do something, but you can bloody well do more than drown in self-pity!”
