Page 71 of The Off-Limits Play

I’m kind of bummed out that I didn’t get that goodbye kiss I was hoping for, and I’m not surprised in the least when he pulls away from the curb without anything else passing between us.

Yeah, he really is shit at goodbyes.

I softly laugh to myself as I spin and walk to the dorm.

My leg is feeling pretty good tonight, and I manage to make it all the way to my room without one single limp.

PT for the win.

Carson for the win.

I pull out my phone, checking the screen and knowing I’ll be taking it off Do Not Disturb tonight. Yes, I have a roommate I have to consider, but I’ll just keep the volume low and tuck my phone under my pillow. There’s no way I’m missing a text from Carson or not responding immediately.

Call me pathetic, but that boy is doing something to me, and I’m more than happy to let him.

I like the way this feels.

And even if we’re walking on very thin ice and the whole thing could blow up in our faces… I don’t care.

I’m not giving up on Carson McAvoy because my dad’s being unreasonable. And I won’t let Carson give up on me, because no matter how much he fights it, that boy wants me—and I’m gonna make him all mine.

CHAPTER26

CARSON

It takes me an hour and a half to get there, but the third Saturday of every month, I make the trip down to Dunhill Penitentiary to see Dad.

Thanks to an away game last month, I missed my visit, and like hell I’m skipping out today.

Ever since I moved to Nolan, I’ve been faithfully showing up on visitors day. Johnson and Mom hate that I go. They don’t want me anywhere nearthe murderer, but that’s a bit of bullshit right there. He’s my father and the only one I’ve got. It was bad enough that I couldn’t see him at all for four whole years. I’ve been trying to make it up ever since.

I was originally going to attend the University of Denver, so I could be closer to him, but then I got into Nolan U, and they have a great football program, so I went with that. Mom hates that I didn’t stay in California. She was pushing hard for me to find a school close by in San Francisco, but like hell I was gonna do that.

I wanted to get as far away from Johnson as I possibly could. Mom’s the idiot who married the guy, so I can’t stay nearby. I’m not sure she gets where I’m coming from, and it’s definitely caused a rift between us, but she’ll no doubt call me in about two hours to check on how the visit went. She always does, and as long as Johnson’s not within earshot, the call tends to go relatively smoothly.

It still riles me that she filed for divorce as soon as Dad was put away.

How could she go from love to hate so easily?

Yes, he was convicted of manslaughter, but it was in self-defense, and the trial was completely bogus. We didn’t have a lot of money, so we couldn’t hire some fancy-ass attorney, and the judge was an old-school asshole who Mom is convinced swayed the jury with his attitude toward Dad. That’s how bullshit the justice system is.

Mom wouldn’t let me go to court, so I didn’t actually see how any of it unfolded, but I heard her crying on the phone each night, blubbering to her best friend that Dad’s lawyer was useless and things weren’t going well. The judge seemed to already hate Dad, and members of the jury were shooting Dad the evil eye whenever evidence was given. The fact that he used to be a gang member definitely worked against him. Mom was worried they wouldn’t remain impartial. I had no idea what that meant when I was younger, but I knew it was bad.

So it was no big surprise on the day of sentencing that the jury found Dad guilty, and the judge gave him the harshest penalty he was able to. Mom came home completely wrecked.

Then a month later, after her first visit to the prison, she returned in a fury and started packing. We moved to California two weeks later, and Mom signed the divorce papers the day we left.

I hated her in that moment.

But not as much as I hated the day she brought Johnson home.

What a fucking douche.

He’s been the worst thing to happen to us, and I can’t believe Mom didn’t fucking wait for Dad!

He’ll be up for parole in seven years. It was supposed to be five, but some shit went down in prison and Dad’s sentence got extended. Mom was in tears the day she called to tell me. I couldn’t fucking believe it. Johnson went on about how my father was a reckless hothead, but once again, I’m leaning toward the fact that Dad was probably defending himself.

Easing around the bend in the road, I ride the familiar route to Dad and try to keep everything locked down, in check. But it’s hard sometimes. I both love and hate seeing my father.

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