“Hey,” I said.
Although most the time I looked forward to Monday nights with Daddy, I wasn’t in the mood for his grand gestures of goodwill and promises to do better. He looked good, though. Had a fresh tan, probably from taking his current girlfriend to the Bahamas a few weeks ago. His dark hair and chocolate eyes looked like mine, but he had a larger nose and defined jawline. It was odd, but he looked younger since moving out. The frown lines around his lips had almost disappeared and he’d obviously been working out, his beer gut was almost completely gone. Leaving his family looked good on him.
“You’re home late,” he observed while glancing at the clock. He’d gotten used to me not having much of a social life these last few months.
“I had dance class for the cotillion ball.”
Daddy straightened while checking a folder on a shelf above him. I wasn’t sure what he was looking for in his office, but he was making a messy disaster in the process.
“The junior ball? Was that why your mama bought a fourteen thousand dollar dress at Neiman Marcus today?” he asked with a frown.
“Could be?” I replied with a shrug. “Or she could just like fucking with you.”
Daddy sunk into his swiveling office chair before spinning to look at me. “She’s kind of a bitch,” he agreed stubbornly.
“So why not divorce her? Isn’t it exhausting trying to live like this?” I asked, walking inside his office and propping myself against the wall. I wasn’t sure why I was asking my father about his opinions on his marriage. It probably had something to do with my inability to completely give up on Rogue. Was it in my blood? Did I crave a toxic relationship because I didn’t know any better?
“There’s a phrase that us lawyers like to toss around in regards to divorce court, Scarlett,” Daddy began while pulling out his phone and smiling at whatever message his girlfriend of the week sent him. “It’s cheaper to keep her,” Daddy laughed at his joke, like it was the funniest thing he’d ever said. “Besides, it’s important that you grow up in a healthy home environment.”
I snorted “Right. Because this is just oh so functional. Y’all are the picture of a healthy relationship,” I replied, deadpan. I started cleaning the papers on his desk when another question came to me. “So that’s it? There’s no other reason to stay with her other than me and money?”
Daddy’s humorous disposition dropped for a moment. “Ah, I guess…” he struggled to find his words. “I guess sometimes it’s just hard to let go. Even when the things we’re clinging to hurt us.”
I swallowed and looked down at my feet. He was right. “Wow, Daddy. That was almost deep,” I joked, trying to lighten the mood.
When the uncomfortable mood didn’t lift, I started shuffling through the papers on his desk, distracting myself with organizing the mess he’d made. We worked in silence for a few moments, him shifting through the chaotic stacks of papers, and me cleaning everything back up. If that wasn’t a metaphor for our family dynamic, I didn’t know what was. I had been cleaning for a good half hour when I came across a document with Mr. Taylor’s letterhead on it. It was a list of his clients. I scanned the list then gasped when I saw Johnny Jack’s name. He was one of the most notorious criminals in Georgia.
Turning to Daddy with the paper, I asked, “Shouldn’t you shred this? It has a list of Mr. Taylor’s personal clients.”
Daddy reached over his desk and snatched it from my fingers. “That’s exactly what I was looking for.”
I watched as he scanned the document with his finger, pausing on a name before glancing up at me with a grin. Then, for the first time since I’d gotten home, he looked me up and down and really looked at me. It was his assessing look that he reserved for the courtroom and his conquests. I wondered if he could see my red eyes and tight lips. “You’re okay, right Scar?” He looked guilty, almost. Like he’d forgotten he had a daughter that might still need her daddy.
I decided to go with half-honesty. It was the most we could hope for in our family. “I miss the gym. I miss you, even though you make that hard to do sometimes.”
“I miss you too, kid.”
Well, then stop thinking with your dick and come home.
“I better get going,” he said, breaking my heart just a little. “Next week?”
I nodded with a sigh. “Yeah. See you next week.”
Chapter Twenty
I went to school early to work my sore muscles. Coach Michaels pretended not to watch me, but I could feel his eyes on my back as I stretched and then did some work on the trampoline. I was a little rusty, but by the end of the hour I was completing each twist with ease. I did straddle pike jumps and tucks, spinning and turning my body in the air until I felt weightless. I went until my legs were shaking, and I could barely stand to jump anymore. The juice cleanse Mama had me on was making me weak. If I weren’t malnourished, I could have easily gone for another couple of hours, maybe even transitioned to the mat and done a few more double back tucks to really stretch my back out.
“You’ve lost too much weight, Livingston,” Coach Michaels said before heading over to hand me a towel. I tried to think of the last time I had an actual meal and frowned when I couldn’t remember. “You need protein to fuel your body and build back up those muscles. Some carbs, too. Hell, you should go out for ice cream.”
I was rubbing the back of my neck with the towel as he stood over me, likely waiting for me to explain why I was skinnier than usual. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to eat. I always felt my most confident when I had a few extra pounds on my bones. I worked hard for these muscles, and I wasn’t afraid to be stronger than the boys. It’s one of the things they like about me.
Liked. It’s what they liked about me. Past tense.
My memory flashed to Rogue’s hungry eyes in his bathroom and in the town car. No, he still liked my body. Even if that was the only thing about me that he did like. “You better not be starving yourself,” Coach Michaels added. “You know, I’ve got a few college scouts sniffing around. Some sponsors looking for the next big thing in gymnastics. I’m talking the Olympics, Scarlett. You realize you could go that far? You realize you’re that good if you kept at it?”
I stood up, my legs shaking from exhaustion. “I could choreograph your routine, Livingston,” he added while following after me. I needed to hit the showers, since classes started in a half hour.
“I don’t know coach.”
“What about the University of Denver? They send more gymnasts to the Olympics than anyone, and I have a letter of recommendation just waiting to be stamped and sent.”
My stomach dropped. I knew Coach was trying to be helpful, but it was like tempting me with chocolate when I was on a diet. Mama would never let me give up Harvard. Every Livingston worth mentioning attended there.
“You know I’ve got a seat at Harvard. My mama would die on the spot if I told her I wasn’t going.”
“That wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing,” Coach Michaels grumbled under his breath. It was no secret that he wasn’t a fan of Principal Livingston.