Winning With Him by Lauren Blakely

Declan

The text blares at me.

Dad: You’re here!

I cringe.

Dad: I saw some pictures from the event Thursday night! Guess what?

I wince—because I can guess. But I don’t even have to type a response because he’s already writing back.

Dad: I’m in the city too. Are you still here? Have you gone back to NY yet? I’m at the diner we used to go to off Fillmore Street right now. If you’re around, want to join me for a cup of coffee?

I groan, rubbing my hand down my face.

Grant stirs, slowly opening his eyes. My heart stutters as my fantastic reality registers. I’m in bed with Grant, waking up with him the day after. All those times in Arizona, we never woke up together. The view of him next to me in bed with sunlight streaming through the window, this glimpse of his sleepy face, his wild, messy hair, his lazy early-morning smile.

But it disappears when his eyes drift down to my phone in my hands. “What’s up?” he asks, propping up on his elbow.

I brace myself. “My dad is in the city.”

“Oh.” It comes out like it weighs ten tons.

I set a hand on his arm. “I’m not leaving you. I’m not going to go see him.”

“Okay,” he says, but he sounds tentative.

“I promise. I’m just writing back to him. That’s all. I’m here with you,” I reassure him.

Grant rubs his eyes, yawning. “What does he want, though?”

I sit up. “He wants to see me.”

He takes a deep breath. “Do you want to see him?”

“I want to see you,” I say.

Grant arches a brow. “But do you think you should see him? Is that important for your therapy work? Do you think it would help you?”

“Maybe. I guess it’s what I’m trying to figure out,” I admit. I’ve been weighing that since I saw the first note a few minutes ago.

Grant sits up too. “I researched alcoholism.”

I blink, surprised. “You did?”

“When you first told me about your dad. I wanted to understand your situation, and I read how addiction affects family members. And then later on too, after the World Series, I did some more research. I wanted to know how to support you if . . .”

He doesn’t finish the thought.

He doesn’t have to.

If we got back together.

“Thank you.”

“He’s always going to be your dad,” Grant says. “I want to understand what you’re going through so I can help you.”

“But I don’t have to just jump when he says he wants to see me.”

Grant glances at the time. It’s nine. “True. But I’m not actually waking up this early. I’m going back to sleep—it’s a matter of principle in the off-season.” He reaches for my arm, rubs his hand softly down my skin. “If you want to see your dad, go see him right now.”

“I want to be there for him, but I also want to help him in healthy ways. That’s what I’m trying to work on.”

“Then this is your chance. Just go get a cup of coffee. Maybe this is part of what you need. To know you can see him without getting pulled into his stuff.”

“You think so?”

“I do.” Grant’s decisive as he answers, and his certainty seals it for me.

“You want me to come back?”

He rolls his eyes. “You better. I need to get my lips on your dick before you leave for New York.” He sinks down into the pillow. “I’m going back to sleep.”

I reply to my dad, then I swing my legs out of bed and pull on underwear and jeans. I pad into the bathroom and brush my teeth using the extra toothbrush he gave me last night. Then I return to the bed, press a kiss to Grant’s forehead. “I’ll be back in forty-five.”

“Bring me a bagel,” he murmurs. “Sesame, please.”

I laugh. “I will. Do you want coffee too?”

He shakes his head. “No. I’ll make it here. I make awesome coffee. Do you want to take my car? It might be faster than waiting for a Lyft on a Saturday morning.”

“You don’t mind?”

“I left the keys on the table downstairs. Just take it and get back here soon, okay? The garage door opener is in the console and the code to get into the house is 38925, and before you ask, it’s my batting average to the thousandth point.”

“You wish,” I say as I haul him in close for a kiss.

But he protests. “I have morning breath.”

“Don’t care, don’t care, don’t care.” I kiss him, then I promise I’ll return.

I’ve got this.

That’s what I tell myself as I head into the diner and give my dad a quick hug.

He doesn’t stink of tequila. He smells of soap. That’s a good start.

“So good to see you,” he says, his voice all gravelly, like the years have gotten to him. He sends a wink my way. “Glad to see you could fit your old man in.”

Ah, the guilt trip.

“I was really only here for a day.” I stay calm as I sit at a table with him.

“But that was Thursday?” He offers a questioning smile, asking why I didn’t reach out sooner.

I don’t take the bait. I home in on the things Carla and I have talked about. You don’t have to engage. “Yes. And then I had business to take care of. So I stayed an extra day,” I explain.

His eyebrows shoot up. “What sort of business? New sponsorship deal?”

“Something like that,” I say.

“You’re still getting a ton of those?”

“I am.” I rap on the table. “Knock on wood.”

He lifts his coffee cup, like he’s toasting to me. “I’m proud that you’ve been able to strike so many business deals.”

For a brief second, I wonder if there’s subtext there. If he’s waiting for me to offer up money. But that’s not why I’m here today. I didn’t say yes to figure him out. I said yes to figure me out. “What are you doing in the city today?”

His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Seeing a new woman.”

“And she lives nearby?”

He nods. “Not too far. She’s over in the Outer Sunset. I had some business here in the hood, but I’m heading back there after this.”

“Is it going well with her?”

“I met her at AA,” he says, and I don’t even know if he’s sober again, if he’s a newcomer once more to the program, but I’m not going to ask. I don’t know if I’ll hear the truth from him anyway, and I don’t need his sobriety to be happy. I want it for him, but I don’t need it for me. “She just got her two-month chip,” he adds.

That’s a red flag. I’ve done my research too, talked about AA with Carla. Dating a newcomer to the program isn’t advised. Which tells me Dad’s more interested in what he wants than her sobriety. But again, this is not my battle. I can’t micromanage his program or his life. “I hope it works out for you both, Dad,” I say, though I doubt it will.

He spends the next thirty minutes telling me about Tricia. What a wonderful woman she is. How he wants to change for her. How he thinks she’s the one. How grateful he is, too, that I made time for him today.

“Listen, you’re probably sick of hearing this from me,” he says. “But I wanted to say I was sorry for what happened a couple years ago. When I went to Vegas with some friends. Lost all that money. Asked you for help. I need to stop asking you for money.”

That surprises me—his out-of-the-blue apology.

But then, it doesn’t.

Amends is a seesaw for him.

I’ve been up and down on each end of it.

I try to remember what Carla would say. Just because you accept his apology doesn’t mean you have to let him into your life. You can love him without enabling him.

“Thanks for saying that. I appreciate it,” I say, and then it’s time to go.

I say goodbye on the street as I head to Grant’s car, parked a few feet away. My dad whistles at the Tesla. “Nice wheels. Bet that wouldn’t take long to get to the Outer Sunset.”

I toss the keys up in my hand. “Probably not. Bye, Dad,” I say, then wave goodbye. He blinks, then waves too, and I get in the car.

I don’t offer him a ride.

Maybe that makes me a dick. Or maybe it means I’m finally learning some boundaries.

On the way to Grant’s house, I stop at Fog City Bakery and grab a sesame bagel.