“That’s Ashton’s dad,” Reagan whispers to me as I watch him reach out and extend his somewhat stiff arm to Ashton. Ashton immediately takes it, dipping his head as he does so, I notice. As a sign of respect or submission, I’m not sure.
I study the man, looking for signs of the devil hidden within, of the manacle he has clasped around his son’s neck. I see nothing. But I know that’s meaningless because I’ve seen the proof. I’ve seen the scars, the belt, the resignation and pain in Ashton’s voice the few times he’s let it in. And this man’s smile doesn’t touch his eyes. I notice that.
I look between him and Dana’s father and I wonder how those conversations went. Does Dana’s father know his daughter is being used as collateral over Ashton’s head?
Reagan’s hand rubs my back. “He’s a jerk, Livie. A ridiculously hot, brooding jerk that even I’d have a hard time saying no to if he made me scream like that . . .” I have to look away from Ashton as my cheeks flame with the reminder. Through the snippets of teasing, I’ve quickly deduced that Reagan walked in right at the pinnacle moment. She sighs. “There’s nothing worthwhile beneath all that. It’s just who he is. He likes the game.”
Is she right? I can’t play this game with you, Irish.
Have I fallen for Ashton’s act? Everything in my heart says that the answer is no. But my head . . . This is all such a mess when it doesn’t need to be. I have a wonderful guy bringing his parents over to meet me while I fight back tears over a guy who makes me lose all control, all sensibility. Who makes me hurt.
“Gidget!” Grant’s loud call for Reagan pulls my attention away from my inner turmoil for a second to see him grab her from behind, folding his long, lean arms around her body in a fierce hug.
She squeals and spins around to loop her short arms around his neck. “Stop it! Daddy’s somewhere around.” She places a kiss on his cheek.
As if on cue, Reagan’s dad booms from behind, “Grant!”
Reagan breaks away quickly, her eyes widening for a split second. “Shit,” she mumbles, edging away from Grant before Robert’s looming stature appears beside him.
Slapping his hand over Grant’s shoulder, he says, “Good race, son.”
“Thanks, Coach.” Grant flashes his trademark goofy grin, but I notice he can’t hold Robert’s eye, his focus quickly shifting to the crowd.
If Robert notices Grant’s nervousness, he doesn’t let on. “Ty’s looking for you.” Pointing to the water, he adds, “Down there.” Away from his daughter.
With a salute, Grant spins on his heels and disappears into the crowd.
“Young lady . . . ,” Robert starts to say, his brow pulled together in a frown as he regards his tiny daughter.
She throws her arms around his sizeable belly. “Great race, Daddy! I’m going to go find Mom.” Like a small child in a crowd, she easily slithers between two people and vanishes before he can utter another word, leaving him shaking his head in her direction. “I wonder how long it’s going to take before she admits to me that they’re together.”
My mouth drops open, my eyes no doubt wide with shock. Is he testing me? Does he want to see if I’ll confirm his suspicions?
“Oh, don’t tell her I know.” Robert’s head shakes dismissively. “As long as she thinks I disapprove of Grant, she’ll stay with him.”
I have to purse my lips tight to keep from bursting out in laughter. I see where Reagan has gained her skills in deception.
“So how did you enjoy the races, Livie?”
“Exciting, sir.”
He smiles. “Isn’t it? Now I need to work these boys to the bone over the winter so they’re ready for the spring season.” I hear hollers of “Coach!” from the crowd. He holds up a hand to acknowledge the person as a sigh escapes him. “Never a dull moment on race day . . .” Turning back to me, his smile has been replaced with seriousness. “Before I forget . . .” He reaches into his jacket pocket to pull out a small, plain envelope. “I was hoping I’d run into you here.”
Furrowing my brow, I gingerly open it and slip a picture out. It’s clearly an old photo, by the quality of the developing. A young couple leans against a tree, the guy’s arm slung over the girl’s shoulder. She’s resting her raven-haired head against his chest as they both smile into the camera.
My breath catches.
It’s my parents.
I can’t speak for a moment, as my free hand flies to my mouth, as I stare down at the two faces that I remember and yet are so new to me. “Where did you—” My voice breaks off.
“I have boxes upon boxes of old school pictures sitting in my attic. I’ve been meaning to go through them for years. ”
I can’t speak.
“I thought I might have an old picture of your parents in there but I wasn’t sure. It took a good week, sorting through.”
“You did this?” I look up at Reagan’s dad. “I mean . . .” Tears don’t even threaten. They just start spilling out. “Thank you. I don’t have any pictures of them in college.”
He opens his mouth. I catch the momentary hesitation. “I know, Livie.”
My frown lasts only a second before it clicks.
Only one person knew that.