Law #3: Don't Fall for the Athlete: Sweet Second Chance Romance (Laws of Love) by Agnes Canestri (black books to read txt) 📗

My jaw drops and my tongue goes numb.

Why did Wyatt call Stephanie? He didn’t tell me he would.

My boss studies my face with a severe expression, then tilts her chin forward ever so slightly. “It’d have been nice if you’d consulted me before discharging my client.”

I bite on my lower lip, then meet her gaze. “I’m sorry, Stephanie, but I thought Wyatt was my client. Plus, I didn’t want to disturb you on the last days of your maternity leave. In any case, I copied you on the email with his official closing report.”

“I know. I read your message. So, as Wyatt’s therapist, you felt entitled to decide whether he’s reached his therapy goals?”

“I did,” I admit bravely.

She shakes her head and breaks into a high-pitched giggle. “Ah, finally, Eloise Griffin. That’s the sass I’ve been waiting for.”

My eyes widen. “Sorry?”

My boss bobs her head. “That’s why I’ve been holding out on your promotion. I wanted to see you break through that veil of self-doubt you seemed to carry with you. It seems you not only accomplished a formidable task with Wyatt Harrison, but he also somehow helped you gain the poise you desperately needed.”

My heart accelerates. “Was Wya—Mr. Harrison satisfied with our collaboration, then?”

Stephanie adjusts her diamond earring. “I’d think so since he spoke in the highest praise about your capacity to catalyze beneficial behavioral change.”

OMG. “Did he really say this?”

“Yes. He even said I’d be a fool if I didn’t grant you a promotion, so…”

My intercostal muscles melt into a gooey mess as the meaning of Stephanie’s words settles in.

I only realize that she’s still speaking when she adds, “…once I return to the office, we must put together an anonymized athlete’s case study using your experience with Wyatt.”

“Sure.” I nod, but my mind is stuck on Wyatt’s kind gesture.

He really didn’t have to go through the trouble of calling my boss.

Why did he?

My boss continues, “We need to create a compelling document. We’ll use it for advertising our service to professional sports associations.” She gives me a warm smile. “You’ll be the person in charge of all the cases we receive.”

The room around me begins to turn.

A mere twelve days ago, I’d have sacrificed anything to hear this phrase from my boss. Wyatt knew I wanted my boss to take me more seriously, and he’d granted me my wish. Suddenly I understand why he contacted Stephanie.

It was his parting gift to me.

My heart squeezes. I appreciate his thoughtfulness, I really do. The problem is, right now, I’d rather stay with Stephanie’s “pick up this, bring me that” if it meant that I could be with Wyatt.

But I can’t.

Not the way I’d like to be. I’ll never be his number one priority, so I might as well learn to live with the void in my chest. Forever.

Chapter 34

(Wyatt)

“I don’t even remember this visit to the zoo,” I murmur as I stare at the picture. It shows me as a seven-year-old holding a cone of giant ice cream with a furry monkey peeking out from behind me.

We’re sitting at Mom’s oval kitchen table, thumbing through an old photo album Mom brought down from the attic.

Dad leans forward and taps on the animal’s head. “This little fellow stole your treat in the next minute. You got so upset I had to buy you another one.”

His hairy arm covers the last embroidered word of the “We love because He first loved us” quote on Mom’s damask tablecloth.

I blink up at him. “You were there, too?”

He chuckles. “Of course I was.”

My brows furrow. “How come you were sober that day?”

A gulp and shuffling sound echoes to my right.

Mom, who’s been whisking up a pie at the soapstone counter, turns to me and gives me a ‘you were doing so great, don’t stop now’ look.

Mom claimed she absolutely needed to start on her pastry because the apples she found at the market were beyond mature. I know she was just using her baking as an excuse to force Dad and me to interact.

To be fair, her plan worked.

Our conversation started out rather laboriously, with Dad asking me questions, mostly about my work, which I’d answered monosyllabically, or almost. But somehow, as time passed, we got better at it.

Probably because Dad seemed interested in whatever bone I threw his way. He rounded up my answers, showing me that he knew the scores of all my past games, but more than that, had been following all the articles posted about my team. And, most importantly, every time I made a negative comment about our past, he didn’t jump into defense-mode and try to justify his actions. He reacted in the calm manner of someone who’s done enough soul-searching to know where he stands.

Even now, after my last remark, he only gives me a sad expression. “My addiction didn’t start until you turned nine, son.”

My eyes widen, and I flick my gaze to Mom.

She nods. “It’s true, hon.”

My jaw slacks, and I turn back to Dad. “I’m not sure why, but I could never remember you as anything but a…”

“…a violent, drunk dullard.” He nods.

“Yeah…” It’s incredible to realize that I’d cut out entire years of normal family life from my mind.

Ellie was right. My resentment had blocked part of my brain and deprived me of the knowledge that, for me too, there had been some carefree moments as a young boy.

“What I did to you and your mom,” Dad scratches his chin, and I note the sprouting hair is almost entirely white, “was so terrible, I can’t blame you for forgetting about the good times we used to have before I lost my way.” His tone is sincerely regretful, but not so cheesy as to appear false.

I’m glad he doesn’t argue my right to the fury I used to harbor. And even happier about not being bogged down by the bitterness I used to feel.

There are still wounds in my soul that my dad cut, and they’ll probably always stay there.