Stan’s defensive attitude leaked out him, his shoulders rounding forward slightly, his eyes dropping to the hat dying a torturous death in his grizzled hands. After a few moments, the older man sighed, rubbed a hand over the back of his head, and met Reid’s gaze.
“When your mother left, I felt like she ripped the heart from my chest and took it with her. I made up my mind that I’d never love anyone ever again. And I guess that included you.” With heavy feet he walked over to one of the couches in the room and sat down. “I was so goddamn angry at her, and looking at you was like…”
He shook his head as if to tell himself not to finish that thought, but it was pretty obvious what he’d been about to say. “I guess I thought if I was hard enough on you that you’d prove my theory right and give up…just like she gave up on us.”
Reid straddled the chair he’d been in earlier again, afraid that without its support, he’d collapse from shock. Never in his life had he thought he’d ever have this conversation with his father. Though he’d always suspected the cause of his father’s actions, to hear it directly from him was almost surreal.
Strength seeped into his father’s stocky frame, and with his jaw set and his brown eyes locked onto Reid, his resolve was palpable. “But no matter what I did, you never quit. And I respect the hell out of you for that.”
Reid refused to acknowledge the stinging behind his eyes, but it was much harder to discount the cracking of the ice that had entombed his feelings for his dad for so many years. “Guess I take after my father in that respect.”
His dad swallowed thickly and blinked a few times until the moisture that had momentarily covered his eyes was no longer there. Then he stood and placed his now-wrinkled cap on his head. “Maybe the next time you’re in town, we can go grab a beer or something.”
A social outing with his dad? The mere idea was baffling. When he didn’t answer right away, the man strode toward the door saying, “Or not, whatever. It was just an idea—”
Reid quickly swung himself off the chair. “I’d like that.”
Stan pulled up just short of the door and looked back with something that almost resembled relief, but then covered it with a stiff nod in Reid’s direction. “Good luck tonight.”
“Thanks, Pop.”
Reid wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing alone in the room after his father had walked out, but it must have been a while because his teammates actually had to come in and tell him it was time to glove up and go.
Thinking he must have slipped into some sort of daydreaming twilight zone, Reid turned to one of his buddies and said, “Punch me.” When all he got was a raised eyebrow in response, Reid slapped his stomach with both hands. “Come on!”
The guy shrugged and nailed him a good one right to the abs. He’d been ready for it, but Adam had a sledgehammer for a fist so it still pushed the air from his lungs. Nope. Definitely not dreaming. Rubbing his stomach, Reid grunted, “Thanks. I think.”
“Anytime, man. You ready to do this?”
Reid nodded and accepted the red gloves held out to him. As he made his way down the long hall toward the arena and the roar of the crowd, Reid felt like he’d already won one fight tonight. His dad had extended an olive branch of sorts and said he was proud of him. Un-fucking-believable.
Now all that was left was to get through the fight with Diaz and go talk to Lucie. Sounded simple enough, but they were both going to be the fight of his life in their own way. One, he could stand to lose. A loss on the other would crush him utterly and completely, leaving him broken.
But like his dad said, Reid had never been a quitter, and his wins practically eclipsed his losses. So he’d do what he always did. He’d fight like his life depended on it. Because this time, it very well might.
Chapter Nineteen
The ballroom resembled a starlit winter night in the middle of August. The committee had certainly outdone themselves, Lucie noted. Thousands of tiny lights twinkled among yards and yards of white tulle draped in graceful arcs along the ceiling with dozens of white paper lanterns hung in the spaces the netted lights had left open.
Tables were draped in linens, topped with fine china, and surrounded by linen covered chairs; all in white. Even the floral arrangements in the center of the tables and placed around the room were white roses, cut to several inches from the bloom and placed in shallow glass bowls until the entire surface area was filled. No greenery necessary.
The only colors in the entire room were the dresses of the guests. Moving among the white backdrop they sparkled like gemstones of every color, with the exception of the men in their black tuxes. Lucie watched them congregate and move in packs and almost shot punch from her nose when she realized they looked like penguins waddling on the ice of the Antarctic.