Chapter 32

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Riggs

It takes everything in me to not continue squeezing, to not choke the remaining years from my father.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I grit out, forcing my hand to open, to release my hold on him.

My dad—my fucking dad who just barged into my kitchen while I was eating out my woman—shrugs like it's no big deal. "I rang the doorbell."

"And did I fucking answer it?" I snap. "Stay there," I order, turning my back on him and rounding the edge of the wall that leads into the kitchen. Ella's not sitting on the counter any longer, not a woman in the bliss of an orgasm, body equal parts tense and not as she shatters around me.

The space is empty.

A good thing considering that my dad is right behind me, not listening—which isn't a fucking surprise. The man listens about as well as a toddler intent on a different colored plate.

Which is to say, not at all.

I grind my teeth together and turn to face him, arms crossed, mind and heart braced for whatever bullshit he's going to dish out.

"Help yourself," I mutter when he marches by me and opens the fridge, adding when he pulls out a beer, "It's nine in the fucking morning."

He slams the door shut. "It's like a fucking wasteland in there."

"We were planning on going to the grocery store."

His brows flick up, mouth curving into a smirk. "That didn't look like you were making a grocery list, son."

I hear a giggle, turn to see Ella clamp a hand over her mouth. She's put on my old college sweatshirt and a pair of sweats that dwarf her petite frame. "Sorry," she says, the word slightly muffled before she manages to peel her hand free and shakes herself. "Sorry," she says again. "I—" A helpless shrug. "I don't really know what the correct social response is for this situation."

Christ, she's funny.

And beautiful.

I move over to her, wrapping my arm around her waist and drawing her into my side. "I'm sorry, chérie ," I say for her ears only. "I?—"

"I liked your other outfit better."

Ella stiffens in my arms, but I only notice because I lose a bit of her softness, because her hand on my back clenches into a fist. "So did Riggs," she says mildly and I fucking love her for the mild warning that creeps into her next words. " Before you interrupted."

This is the Ella I first fell in love with.

The bright and fiery woman who fights for the people she cares about.

And right now, she's decided that person is me.

Aside from a few of my teammates, it's been years since I've had that. Years certainly since this cranky old fucker in front of me decided to stop acting like a real father. And the women I dated were just as bad, only out for what they wanted, what they needed. Even the coaching and training staff see me more as a commodity to be used to its full potential rather than a real person to be looked after.

And I get it.

That's the job. That's why I get paid the millions.

But still…it unlocks something inside me to have Ella on my side.

My dad just chuckles at her gentle rebuke, taking a long glug from the bottle of beer and leaning back against the counter. "So you're the reason that my son hasn't been taking my calls?"

"No," I say quietly. "I didn't want to talk to you."

She sucks in a breath.

Clink.

The bottle hits the counter, and my dad straightens. "You play better when I give you my pep talks."

"No," I say, not sure why I'm bothering to argue. He won't listen. He won't change. "I don't."

Ella exhales, hand sliding down to the back of my pants, fingers tucking into the waistband. "Why don't we all go get some breakfast and catch?—"

"My son is a stubborn prick," my dad says instead of acknowledging her—or me, for that matter. "I suspect if you haven't learned that already, you'll learn it soon enough."

Ella's fingers tighten around the material. "Your son is an amazing and kind man who deserves the best this world has to offer."

My heart rolls over in my chest.

This woman.

I draw her around to my side, kiss the top of her head, then capture her chin between thumb and forefinger. "I fucking love you."

Her eyes go glassy, body softening against mine.

I see her love in those watery depths, even if she doesn't give voice to it.

I wouldn't want her to, not right now, not here with a grumpy audience.

But I don't stop her when she lifts her hand to my cheek, softly strokes her fingers through my beard, and rises on tiptoe to press her lips to mine.

My dad clears his throat before she pulls away, and I want to plant my fist in his face for interrupting, want to make him hurt like he's hurt me so often, make him feel something that isn't anger or bitterness.

And…I want my old dad back.

The one who's so rarely seen nowadays.

Ella sighs softly, shakes her head slightly.

Then she's dropping back onto her heels, turning to face my dad, her side resting a little more heavily against mine as she asks, "Who's up for apple fritters?"