And I want more despite wanting to do the right thing.

She confuses me. I thought by pushing her away, it would solve all my problems. Instead, I feel like I have a whole bunch more.

Moving away from where Ivy and Bryn are still talking, I head toward my car and take off, going to my last quick appointment for the day, a meeting at my local bank with a possible investor.

My cell rings not two minutes after I pull out of the winery’s parking lot and I check the screen to see it’s my father. Speak of the devil. It’s like the old man could sense someone was talking about him, thinking about him. Against my better judgment, I answer it—best to face him now than prolong it and have him harassing me tomorrow.

“Son.” Vinnie’s voice booms through the speakers of my car since I have my phone on Bluetooth. “It’s been a long time.”

He always acts like there’s no reason we haven’t spoken for months. “What’s going on?” I ask, cutting right to the point.

“Ah, you’re always full of the kindness for your old man, aren’t you?” Vinnie chuckles, and I grit my teeth, wanting to hang up on him so bad it’s killing me. “So I hear your fancy winery is having its reopening tomorrow.”

“It sure is.” He’s never shown one iota of interest in the winery other than when I told him I bought it, and he said “that’s nice” in his usual distracted, completely self-absorbed voice.

We never discussed it again.

“I was hoping I could get an invite.”

Unease slips down my spine, and I clear my throat. “I thought you were more of a hard liquor fan,” I say, trying to sound like I’m joking.

“Well, I’m not a big drinker of wine, I agree, but I want to be there when my only son shows off his new winery. It’s going to be a proud moment, I’m sure.”

A proud moment I absolutely one hundred percent don’t want him to be a part of. “Are you sure you want to come? It’ll be boring. Hardly anyone there that you know besides my friends.”

“Anyone from baseball?” he asks.

Yeah. A few people, and I definitely don’t want him around them. He tends to get in heated arguments whenever they discuss baseball and specifically his past in both the game and the league.

But shit, how can I refuse him? He’s my father.

“A small handful but not a lot,” I tell him, keeping my gaze focused on the road ahead of me. I hadn’t even bothered sending him an invitation for tomorrow. I wonder if he’s pissed. I wonder if this is some strange way for him to get revenge on me for ignoring him.

I wouldn’t put it past my father. He’s just that type of guy.

“I saw a write up in the paper,” he explains. He still lives in the Bay Area, having been born and raised there. We were both lucky to be included in professional teams close to where we grew up. My dad always attributed it to the DeLuca curse—an apt word considering how crappy both of our pro careers became. “And realized this was going down tomorrow. I won’t be able to attend the day events—I saw you’re doing a tour and a wine tasting and all that good stuff—but I’d love to show up at the party tomorrow night if you’ll have me.”

“That can be arranged,” I say, regret filling me in an instant. I hope this isn’t a mistake.

“Great, good! I can’t wait to see you. It’s been far too long, son. I miss you.”

Yeah, right. “It’ll be good to see you too, but you do understand I’m going to be busy the entire night and won’t have much time for miscellaneous chitchat.” I won’t have much time for his calculated reminiscing over our sometimes troubled past either. He loves to do that too and push me into a guilt spiral.

Our relationship is twenty levels of f**ked up, I swear.

“I understand completely,” he assures me. “I’ll just be there basking in your glory, always the proud father. I won’t disrupt your little party tomorrow night, I promise. Don’t worry about me.”

That he’s describing tomorrow’s event as “my little party” already sets me on edge, the ass**le. I swear he says those sorts of things on purpose. I don’t believe a word he says.

And I hate that I feel this way.

After he hangs up, I ponder over how I can handle the problem that is my father. I wonder if Bryn would help me. But if I set Bryn in my dad’s sights, he’ll probably try and make a pass and she’ll end up beyond insulted.

Yeah. That’s a risk I really don’t want to take. Do I have a choice though? It’s like my dad needs a babysitter and only a specialized few will do.

Still, I definitely don’t want to subject Bryn to my rude bastard of a father.

Chapter Six

Matt

“THE PLACE LOOKS fabulous, man.” Archer slaps me on the back so hard, I take a step forward, wincing when pain shoots through my knee. It still hurts. It’ll always hurt. “You pulled it off. I bet everybody will have DeLuca Winery falling from their lips come tomorrow.”

“Thanks, but the party only just started,” I say, ever the grim reaper as I worry about anything and everything. The grounds are crowded with people, the lot filled with cars, including the dirt field we opened up specifically for the event.

My father still hasn’t arrived which worries the shit out of me, but I can’t sweat it. Maybe he’ll never come at all. I figure I won’t be that lucky. He knows how to put a damper on any party, big or small.