“But you left it behind for Meryl.”
“And the kids. Yeah.” He sighs, testing the edges of the cooking batter with a fork, frowning slightly. “I thought I’d go back at some point. But Meryl’s roles kept getting bigger, we kept getting busier. I figured one parent in the movie industry was enough.” His gaze flickers over to the living room, where Brenna sits quietly on the couch, her eyes glued to a cartoon, a beater in her hand. “How’s that coming over there, Brenna?”
“Not finished yet.”
He chuckles. “Michelle was like that. I always joked that she’d lick the chrome plating right off.”
I study a fleck of orange pulp sitting on the rim of my glass for a moment, deciding how to ask my bigger question. “How did you learn to handle the crazy parts? You know, the cameras and the newspapers, the gossip.”
He doesn’t answer right away. “I wouldn’t say I ever learned how to deal with them. More like I learned how to ignore them. I knew that if I let them get to me, Meryl and I wouldn’t last.” For just a moment, his gray eyes flicker over to me, where I sit perched on a barstool, and then he’s stooping to place the waffle onto the oven plate with the others. “You having a hard time with things?”
I feel like he already knows the answer to that, but he’s asking in that way fathers do, pretending to be clueless to get their kids to open up. “It’s been nice and quiet lately, but, yeah. It was overwhelming for me right after the accident.”
“That was in the height of the story. It’ll get better.”
Will it, once they find out that Brett and I are together? I push that worry aside. “Were they ever cruel to you?”
“We had our share of it, more so when Meryl was younger. Mostly rumors of affairs. A handsome costar that Meryl was filming a movie in Thailand with, a bodyguard . . . But if there is one thing that I can count on with my wife, it’s her unwavering belief in always being honest. I knew that if she even thought something might happen, she’d sit down and have a frank talk with me about it. It’s one of the things I love most about her. It’s one of the things that has kept us sane. We’ve really pushed the importance of honesty with our kids, too.”
I’ve noticed.
Richard is pulling bowls out of the fridge, getting last-minute preparations ready. “You have to remember, Brett has grown up knowing that world. Sure, we sheltered him from much of it, but the idea of a security detail and people being interested in our lives isn’t out of the ordinary for him. I’ve had to remind him that it is for you. Plus, the way you two met was bound to stir up a commotion from day one. At least Meryl and I could date in relative peace. You two have it harder.”
I try to hide my smile. What has Brett told him? I know they’re close, but the thought of him having a conversation with his father about us dating makes me feel warm inside.
Richard opens his mouth, but stalls for a moment, his eyes flashing to the hallway. “Just remember that you’re not alone in any of this. You have a lot of people who care about you. Including your family. And you’ll find that you can deal with a lot more than you realize.” He pauses. “If you decide that it’s worth it.”
There’s no doubt in my mind that Brett is worth it.
But will I always be worth it to him?
“Did you ever wonder why you? I mean . . . I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with you or anything, but . . .” I stumble over my words.
His knowing smile calms me. “I was dumbstruck the first time Meryl asked me out for coffee. I was sure the guys at work had coaxed her into playing a practical joke on me.”
“But you went anyway?”
“Heck, yeah. She was Meryl Price! I wasn’t going to pass up that chance, even if it ended in me tied naked to a pole in the middle of downtown Toronto.” He chuckles softly. “I still catch myself wondering if she’s going to finally wake up and reconsider, even twenty-eight years later.”
I watch quietly as Richard pours batter onto the waffle iron, admiring that easy, relaxed way about him. “Meryl’s not like a lot of the people we know in her industry, though. She loves her job and she plays the game well, but she’ll never choose fame and wealth over family. I think our kids have a good handle on that, too. Brett, especially. Of course, he’s put all of his focus on his career up until now. But that’s changing, quickly.”
“Do you think he’ll play again?”
Richard’s mouth curves in a thoughtful frown. “Yes, I do. As well as before? That remains to be seen. But he’s a fighter and he doesn’t give up easily.” With a casual toss of the dirty ladle into the sink, he adds, “And I’m not just talking about hockey.”
“Is breafkast ready, yet?” Brenna skips into the kitchen, a spit-polished beater dangling from her fingertips, interrupting our conversation.
“Breakfast,” I correct her.
“That’s what I said. I’m starving.”
“Well, you have been waiting awhile. And so patiently.” Richard pulls a waffle from the oven and sets it on a plate.
“Can I have extra whip cream?”
Richard’s eyes flash to me and I give a nod.
“Well . . . maybe just this once.” He winks at her.
Brett hobbles down the hall toward us, freshly showered and dressed in the T-shirt and track pants I set out for him.
I wish I’d showered, too, or at least had a change of outfit. I did my best to freshen up, wiping smears of eye shadow and liner with my thumb and finger-combing my hair.
He stops beside me, his hand settling on the small of my back as he leans in. “Thanks for the clothes,” he murmurs, laying a soft kiss on my mouth.
“You’re welcome.” Yes, this moment right here would be worth all the chaos out there.
When he pulls away, I find Brenna staring up at us, a wide, curious look in her eyes.
She’s never seen a guy kiss me on the lips before.
I’m saved from any awkward questions when Richard holds a plate out for her that I doubt even Brett could finish.
“So? How was it?”
“Not as good as Leroy’s but good.” Brenna skips off to the couch.
I give Richard an apologetic smile, but he’s smiling as he reaches for her plate.
“Here, let me clean up.” I move to climb out of my chair but he ushers me back.
“Finish eating! I don’t mind. I don’t get to cook for anyone anymore, now that my kids are out of the house and Meryl hired a chef.”
“She did?” Brett frowns. “Since when?”
“Since she complained that I use too much butter and I refuse to use less.”
Brett chuckles. “You know, she may have a valid argument.”
Richard wraps the half-finished block of butter and tucks it into the fridge as he peers over his shoulder at us, that same mischievous twinkle in his eye as his son has. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I smile around a mouthful, watching the two of them together. They remind me of Jack and my dad.
Brett sighs with exasperation, his gaze on his phone screen.
“What’s wrong?”
“Simone’s annoyed.”