Page 64 of Late to Love

She’s saved from my affections by all of us being called to start the next set. We’re in the first heat of nine teams and our lane is dead center.

Anthony sucks his teeth. “Not great positioning, but that’s okay.” He takes off at a business-like stride, and the four of us look at each other, shrug, and follow.

After a game in which I was almost certain we were on fire we were playing so well, we break for the next set of nine. Nearly an hour later, we learn that we’ve made it into the next bracket of twelve.

Which is unbelievable.

But what’s even more wild is that we get to the top six.

At this point, I’m in full-body chills. No way is this even happening. Like, we’re four random ladies—three of whom I essentially bullied into doing this—and yet, we’ve held our own in our very first tournament!

“Huddle up,” Anthony says. We gather around, and he lays out the strategy. Which isn’t ground-breaking: the strategy is to play our hearts out.

That’s it.

Play.

Seems easy enough. Or hard enough, depending on how you look at it. But no matter, because we head out and take our place at the third lane from center, which Anthony had been angling for us to have the entire time. Something about the oil sheen looking the best out of all the lanes.

And so, with my dad, Devon’s husband Aaron, and Agatha’s daughter Betty cheering us on from the side, we do exactly what Anthony asked us to do: we play our hearts out.

It’s not enough to take first, second, or even third. But our fourth-place statue is the greatest thing I think I’ve ever achieved in my adult life, and we take way too many pictures with it. I’m pretty sure we were more excited about our fourth-place finish than the winners were with their giant trophy. After packing up our shoes and balls, I hear my name.

“Darcy.” Dad’s face is drawn and pensive.

I frown. “Dad?”

“A word? Outside?”

“I—sure?” I look at the group, and everyone is still celebrating, laughing and smiling and carrying on. Even Anthony is almost smiling, off to the side and talking to Aaron.

I follow Dad outside, and we’re barely out of the door before he whirls on me. “What is that in there?”

I draw up short. “Excuse me?”

“You and Anthony. Did you think I didn’t see the way you two hugged and kissed?” He says the last word as though it pains him.

And for the first time in my life, I’m actually speechless.

Dad does not have that problem, however, because he keeps going. “Do you have any idea how old he is? How old he was when you wereborn? What in the world do you think you’re doing? You’re a?—”

“I’m a what, Dad?” I finally say, my voice having come roaring back alongside my temper. “Because I’ll tell you exactly what I am: a grown woman who can do what she wants, when she wants, andwhoshe wants.”

He winces, but it doesn’t stop him. “It’s disgusting, Darcy.”

My head whips back so quickly that it feels like I give myself whiplash. “Disgusting?” My voice cracks. “You know absolutely nothing about it.”

He crosses his arms. “Well, maybe disgusting is a strong word?—”

“It’s a terrible word, Dad,” I interrupt.

“He’s too old for you, Darcy.”

“I’m a grown woman, Dad,” I shoot back. “I don’t know what it’ll take to get you to see that, but I am. And this isn’t the nineteen-fifties—you don’t have any say in this.”

My words don’t seem to faze him. “Do you love him? Because no way does he love you.” His tone is gentle, soft even, as though he’s delivering a killing blow but still feels bad about it.

And it hurts. God, does it hurt. All of it. His unkind words, the seeds of doubt he’s planted…all of it. Crossing a hand over my stomach in a bid to keep myself from doubling over, I swallow the lump in my throat. “Thanks for your concern.”

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