But I played like shit during the first half. We were up by ten when the defense read my play, and I threw the ball right into the beefy hands of one of the Carolina players, who ran it back for a touchdown.
At halftime, my gaze locked with Sunny’s and I sent her a two-finger kiss and held it up. It was something she’d come up with early in the season—a public display to make me look good when the news covered me or it was photographed.
Now, it actually meant something to me, but I didn’t know how to define it. I didn’t allow myself to think about the depth of emotion she created. It was as if I was standing at a crossroads and I couldn’t decide which direction I wanted to move.
Coach sat me down in the locker room. “Whatever’s been eating at you, work it out of your system.”
Right. I resolved once again to push Sunny—and my dad out of my head.
In the fourth quarter, I threw a gorgeous touchdown pass to Tate. We scored again with a field goal in the next series and won us the game.
I met Dad after the game, and we headed to the press conference where I was asked questions and then Dad and I posed for photo ops. Later, we piled up in his Escalade, picked up Sunny at her house, and headed to an exclusive Italian place. Millicent had tipped off a few choice reporters that we’d all be there.
At the restaurant, he talked loudly to everyone we passed who knew him, signed a few autographs, and generally made an ass of himself over Sunny.
He finished chewing a bite of his filet and considered me. In his late forties, he was still a handsome man with sandy brown hair and a trim build. The only hint of age was a slight dusting of gray at his temples and the crow’s feet around his eyes.
Sunny kept eyeballing us, probably sensing the tension roiling off me.
I zoned in when I realized he’d been talking for a while.
He finished a long critique about my throwing technique and how it was off. Then he went on to talk about the merits of the freshman quarterback at Ohio who’d been taking up most of the news coverage for the past two weeks.
Sunny set down her knife and fork on her plate. “With all due respect, Mr. Kent. Max is the highest rated quarterback in the country. No freshman at Ohio can hold a candle to him.”
A burst of laughter came from him. “Oh honey, call me Byron. I’m way too young to be Mr. to you—and you’re my future daughter-in-law. Hopefully, we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other in the future.”
She smiled politely, but I sensed her reserve. She’d worn a soft blue dress with pleats at the neckline and a flowy skirt and strappy heels—which I fully intended to take off with my teeth later.
Dad set down his napkin and considered her. “Are you pregnant, dear?”
I froze mid-bite. What a fucking jerk!
Sunny looked at me and then at Dad. “Ah, no. Perhaps I shouldn’t have worn this loose dress.” She smiled wryly and shrugged.
She was too damn nice to him.
I set my fork down. “I’d appreciate it if you minded your own damn business.”
“You’re my son. Am I not allowed to ask questions?” His expression changed, growing pensive. “I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but you’re growing up, getting married, and I’m cutting back on my hours at the station. Maybe we can spend more time together.”
My food wanted to crawl up out of my stomach. “Now?”
“I know I wasn’t always there for you—”
I scowled. “You were never there. And now you want to show interest when life is going well for me?”
He folded his hands together. “Don’t be a little bitch, Max.”
Keeping my voice low and making sure my face stayed impassive, I said, “I’m here right now for the photo op, so they can see a father and son together.” I waved my hand around at the people in the restaurant. “But it’s all a goddam lie.”
Seconds ticked by as we stared at each other. His phone on the table pinged, and he flicked his eyes down at it. Mine followed, seeing it was his current girlfriend, some ex-supermodel. And it just hammered it home.
“You can’t fix something that you never cared about in the first place.” I nudged my head at the phone. “Go on, answer it.”
“Can I interest you in any dessert?” the server said as he reached our table, oblivious to the tension.
“Sunny, do you want anything?” I asked.
“No,” she said quietly.
I read disappointment on her face before she quickly covered it.
I exhaled heavily, feeling the exhaustion from the day catching up to me.
What did she want from me?
I pushed the thought away. I couldn’t let anything get to me right now—not when there was only one regular season game left. Tonight I’d nearly screwed up everything when I’d thrown that interception.
“We’ll take the check,” my father added, tucking his phone back in his pocket.
Good.
I was ready to get the hell out of here.
Sunny
WE WENT BACK TO MAX’S after dinner with his dad. He made love to me as if on autopilot.
This is a photo op. We’re a goddam lie.
My heart dipped at the memory of those words he’d uttered to his father.