Page 17 of Wicked Knight
“Call me if you need me.”
“I will. Luv ya.”
“Love you too.”
We hang up, and I get off the bed. “Come in, Dad.”Please, God, don’t let us argue. My heart can’t take it. Last time was so bad I would have headed back to Raventhorn if I didn’t have the show.
The door swings open with a slight creek, and in comes my father, dressed in a business suit like he’s heading out to work or going to some social event.
Dad is as tall as giant and as lean as a sprinter. When he’s in his casual clothes, he looks younger than his fifty-five years. In his suits, he looks more distinguished and like the manTime Magazinemade him appear to be when they added him to their list of renowned entrepreneurs.
That’s how he looks now, except it’s five o’clock in the afternoon and today is supposed to be his day off. Usually, he’d be getting ready for dinner or watching TV with Mom.
“Hi.” A small smile breaks the sternness on his face as he ambles toward me, stopping a few paces away.
“Hi. Dad, are you going out?” I look him over again, clearly confused.
“I’m flying to L.A. for a few days. I came to wish you good luck for Thursday.”
My eyes widen, and something inside me stills. My father may have royally pissed me off for the majority of this year and we’ve been at each other’s throats, but he’s never missed the opening nor closing week ofanyof my shows. Ever.
I remember him when I was eight years old with his video camera trying to capture every step I made during my very first show.
“You’re not going to attend my final show?” The disappointment in my voice is like a lost little girl who needs her father’s presence at every important milestone in her life. I won’t deny that little girl is me.
“I’m sorry. Something came up I have to attend to.”
“What came up?” He’s always arranged his schedule to ensure he could be wherever I needed him to be.
“It’s just work that I personally have to take care of. But your mother will be there.”
“I know. I just… wantedyouthere.”
He tilts his head, and a hint of sadness and regret fills his eyes. I’ve only ever seen that look a few times in my life. Those weren’t good days.
“I’ve never missed a performance that was important to you. I didn’t plan on doing it now, but this is…”
“Important?” I fill in.
“Yes. It requires my immediate attention.”
“This isn’t because we’ve been arguing, is it?”
“Never.” He gives me a quick shake of his head then reaches out and brushes his knuckles over my cheek. “I would never do that to you. Love me or hate me, I’ll always watch you dance.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too, baby girl.” He straightens, and the sternness makes its way back to his eyes. “I’ll catch up with you at Raventhorn. Have fun on Thursday.”
“I will.”
He turns, and I watch him walk away, feeling that hollowness creeping back into my chest. It compels me to get answers to that pressing thing on my mind.
“Dad.”
He stops at the door and turns back to face me. “Yeah.”
“Are we in some kind of trouble?” The question feels like I’ve said something inappropriate or crossed a line I know I can’t back away from, but I’m glad I finally built up the courage to ask. What I’m not happy about is his silence.