Wow. I guess she wasn’t kidding when she told me they were talking about getting engaged.

“Oh boy,” Dad says. “Sheryl is going to shit a brick.”

I snort with laughter, and he responds with a loud chortle. It’s only been a few days, and our relationship is already different. It’s easier, almost entirely free of tension. Sure, we’re not going around hugging each other every other minute, but our conversations flow so much smoother, and we’re cracking more jokes. Real ones and not the sarcastic kind veiled with venom.

We’re truly starting over.

“Hold on. Let me text her back.”

ME: Hey!!! Can’t talk right now b/c I’m having breakfast with my dad but OMG!! Congratulations! This is amazing news and I’m so happy for you. You’re going to be the most beautiful bride, T!! <3 <3

Am I more or less bullshitting? I’ll be honest—yes. I still don’t believe a relationship with their track record is going to last. Lamar proposed at a club, for Pete’s sake. But Tansy is my cousin and I’ll support her no matter what, so while I’m not jumping-up-and-down ecstatic about this engagement, I am happy that she’s happy. And if by chance I’m wrong and they do end up making it down the aisle, I do believe she’ll make a beautiful bride.

She texts back immediately.

TANSY: Thanks, B!! CALL ME THE SECOND YOU’RE FREE!!

I smile at the phone and put it aside as Dad carries two plates to the table. Scrambled eggs, bacon, and cucumber slices. I thank him for breakfast and immediately dig in, talking with my mouth full.

“I can’t believe she’s engaged. This is going to be such a disaster. She’s way too young. Or rather, way too immature. I mean, jeez, I’m more equipped to get married right now.”

His expression turns wry. “Does that mean I should be expecting you and Connelly to announce your engagement any day now?”

I freeze. Then I pick up my fork and spear it into some eggs. “No. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Why’s that?”

I chew extra slowly to delay my response. “Because we broke up.”

“Why’s that?” he says again.

“Because we did.” I roll my eyes. “You and I might be semi-cool now, but that doesn’t mean we’re best friends. I’m not going to reveal all my deep, dark secrets.”

“First of all, we’re not semi-cool. We’re cool. Period. And given that you promised not to scare the shit out of me again, I don’t much like hearing this breakup might’ve been deep and dark.” There’s genuine concern in his tone.

“It’s not,” I assure him. “If you must know, Jake dumped me because he wanted to focus on hockey.”

Dad frowns.

“It’s totally fine. It wasn’t going anywhere, anyway. He’s moving to Edmonton, remember? Long-distance relationships never work.”

“Your mother and I made it work,” he says gruffly.

I glance up in surprise. “When were you and Mom in a long-distance relationship?”

“She was a year younger than me,” he reminds me. “After I graduated, she still had one more year left at Yale. That was the year that fuckhead made his move and—”

“Wait a sec. Back it up like a Tonka truck. What fuckhead?” I suddenly gasp. “Are you talking about Daryl Pedersen?”

“Yes. He was a senior like your mother. Same major, too. Broadcasting.” Dad smiles. “Like you, as well. Anyway, he waited until I graduated before making his move on Marie.”

I’m horrified. “Did Mom…?”

“Jesus. Of course not. Your mother was a sweet and proper Georgian peach. Loyal to a fault.”

“So Coach Pedersen tried to steal Mom away and she shot him down.” I’m utterly captivated by this. It’s always so jarring to remember your parents lived full, well-rounded lives long before you ever came into the world.

“Daryl played the ‘I’m going to take care of your girl when you’re gone’ card,” Dad says with a snort. “We weren’t close friends. I didn’t like him, but I tolerated him. Had to, because we were teammates. Your mother, well, she had a different opinion. She thought he was sweet, and she accused me of being paranoid for distrusting him. But I played with the fucker for three years, so I knew what kind of man he was. An arrogant prick, not above playing dirty, and damn sneaky—he was a ladies’ man, but around your mother he acted like a choirboy.”

Dad shoves a forkful of eggs in his mouth, chews, swallows, and then reaches for his coffee. “You know, it’s not even that he made a play for your mother that bothers me. He could’ve been upfront about his intentions. Could’ve said, ‘Hey, I’m attracted to Marie and I’m going to tell her.’ Admittedly, I would’ve laughed in his face, but then I would’ve said, ‘Sure, go ahead.’” My father smirks. “I never had any doubt about your mother’s feelings for me.”

Must be nice, I want to say. I hadn’t doubted Jake’s feelings, either, and he turned around and dumped me.

“But he went about it in an underhanded way. You don’t have to love all your teammates, but at least respect them. He cozied up to your mother, planned study sessions, platonic outings. And one night they went out with a group of friends, and he walked her home. Escorted her all the way upstairs and then tried to paw her outside her apartment door.”

“Please tell me he stopped when she said no.”

Dad nods. “He stopped. But not before accusing her of leading him on, using him to help her study, taking his time and affection but then denying him what I guess he believed was his right. Finished off the speech by telling her she needed a real man to satisfy her.”

“Gross.”

“When I found out, I drove all the way to New Haven from Burlington—I was a skating coach at the University of Vermont at that point. Took me four hours to get there, but it was worth it to hear the sound of bone crunching when I slammed my fist into Pedersen’s jaw.”

“Go Dad.”

“She was my girl. You don’t disrespect a man’s girl.” Dad shrugs. “He didn’t go near her again after that.”

“And that was like twenty years ago and you still hate him.”

“So?” He pops up a cucumber slice into his mouth.

“So don’t you think maybe it’s time to bury the hatchet?”

“Can I bury it in his skull?”

I snort. “I was thinking the metaphorical hatchet. Letting bygones be bygones and all that. You got Mom, had a beautiful daughter—” I wink at him. “You’re a three-time championship-winning coach. And he’s a bitter prick. Why not let it go?”

“Because I don’t like the man and that’s never gonna change. Sometimes people don’t like each other, Peaches. Get used to that, because it’s a fact of life. People are going to hate you because you hurt them, either intentionally or inadvertently. People will hate you because they don’t like your personality, or the way you talk, or whatever superficial bullshit some idiot can’t get past. There’ll be people who just hate you on sight for no good reason—those ones are strange.” He sips his coffee. “But at the end of the day, that’s the way it is. Not everyone is going to like you, and you’re not going to like everybody. I don’t like that man. I don’t need to change that.”

“Fair enough.” I gaze down at my plate as the thought of Jake once again creeps into my brain.

“I’m sorry about you and Connelly.” I guess my sad expression and the reason for it weren’t hard to decode.

“Since when? You told me to stay away from him, remember? Compared him to Eric.”

“That comparison might have been made in anger,” Dad grumbles. “Connelly has a good head on his shoulders from what I’ve heard.”

“I told you so. He’s the one who helped me rescue Eric.”

“Speaking of that, have you heard from Eric since then?”

“No, and I have a feeling I won’t.”

“Good. Is there a way to forward all his calls to you to my phone? So I can give him a piece of my mind?”

“Dad.” The murderous glint in his eyes is a tad worrisome. “You’re not allowed to give him the Liam Neeson speech. Let’s just hope his mom convinced him to go to rehab. Maybe winding up in someone’s bushes was the wakeup call he needed.”

“Maybe.” He doesn’t sound convinced.

I’m not, either. It’s been five years since high school and Eric still hasn’t even acknowledged that he has a problem.

“But I am sorry about Connelly,” Dad says, steering the subject back to Jake.

“Me too.”

He lifts a brow. “Thought you said it wouldn’t go anywhere.”

“I did. That’s what I told him, anyway. He dumped me and I pretended not to care,” I confess. “I didn’t want him to see how upset I was. But I was upset. He’s the first guy I’ve met in a long time who I could see myself being in a relationship with. He was good for me, and he was good to me. Like, when I was nervous about coming home to talk to you, he lent me his—oh my fucking God!”