Page 114 of Rust

“Okay, I will,” I said as I neared. “Here’s something you need to hear, bud: Isabelle isn’t the reason you didn’t make it as a hockey player.”

His eyebrow raised curiously. “No?”

“No. I’ve seen guys withhalfyour skill make it because they busted their asses—yes, even guys with babies at home. That’swhy you didn’t make it, because you weren’t willing to put in the hours at the rink and in the gym. Why do you think I always rode your ass about not working hard enough? Because I wantedyouto want it. But you didn’t want it enough for yourself.” I poked my finger into his sternum to drive the point home. “And youneedto understand that if you ever want to have a healthy relationship with your daughter. Because she blames herself for you not making it. And right now, she’s pretty convinced you regret having her.”

Johnny cast his eyes away in shame. “She shouldn’t think that way,” he muttered. “It’s not her fault.”

“I’m glad to hear you say it. But I’m not the one who needs to hear it.Isabelleneeds to hear it. From you.”

“Fuck,” he hissed, clutching his head.

I sat next to Johnny and let out a sigh. “I should probably tell you something else.”

“Oh, lord. Can’t wait,” he mused sarcastically.

“I wasn’t going to tell you this until later. But we should probably get everything out in the open now.” I paused. “A few days ago, Isabelle told me she’s expecting.”

Johnny froze. “Expecting?”

“She’s six weeks along.”

I braced myself, expecting another big blowup, or for Johnny to rush at me and punch me for real. But what Ihadn’texpected was for Johnny to sit there and giggle like some kind of bad comic book villain.

“Thatexplains it,” he said at last.

“Explains what?”

He told me how Isabelle had confessed to him about our affair at a diner, and how he told her something that made her run out of the restaurant in tears.

“I thought her reaction was a little too emotional, a little too over the top, but now?NowI understand it,” he said.

“What do you mean? What’d you tell her that upset her so much?”

“I told her what you told me when Ele first got pregnant.”

I didn’t know what he was getting at; hell, that was almost two decades ago. “What’d I tell you?”

“You told me we should get an abortion or give the baby up for adoption.”

I smacked my forehead. I didn’t remember it, but I believed him.

No wonder she ignored my texts all day.

“Fuck,” I snarled. I frantically paced the room. I didn’t care about talking with Johnny anymore—I had to talk to Isabelle. “I have to go.”

I made for the door, but Johnny called after me. “Rust?”

I spun around impatiently. “What?”

Something about the way he sat there with a smug grin on his face rubbed me the wrong way. He looked like he had something up his sleeve. “I’m just curious—since you and Izzy know each other so well now—I’m assuming she told you about her first job, right?”

“Yeah, she said she got a hostess job at a restaurant when she was fourteen. Why?”

“Did she ever tell you which restaurant?”

“It was an Italian restaurant, wasn’t it?” I said, unsure what he was getting at. “Why? What the fuck does it matter?”

“Don’t get pissy, I’m just asking questions,” he said, still smirking. “Hey, here’s another question: when you got that video of your wife on a date with another man—just curious, which restaurant were they eating at?”