Page 23 of Thunderstruck
“No, I think Gramps is right,” Dad says.
Maybe it’s because something in my gut is agreeing with them, or maybe it’s because I’m starving. Or maybe I’m desperate to change the subject. But I do the only thing I can think of and shove an entire rib in my mouth, bone and all.
Dad chuckles. “That’s one way to avoid a conversation.”
And maybe a good way to choke. There’s no dignified way to get out of my self-imposed predicament, so I spend the next several seconds with my fingers in my mouth, prying the bone loose while tearing the meat free and chewing.
Gramps clucks his tongue as he watches me with furrowed brow. “And you wonder why you’re single.”
That blow hits harder than his fist in my gut. I don’t think he meant his comment as an attack, but I feel it deep in my chest, sharp and burning.
Free of my makeshift gag, I wipe my hands and face clean with a napkin, taking my time before I speak. “You know why I’m single.” The words are small but so, so heavy.
“You were too good for her anyway,” Gramps says, waving away the gloom that has settled back over me.
Dad, on the other hand, reaches across the table and puts his hand over my fist. We’re not an especially affectionate family, the three of us, but when Dad does something like this, it feels like he can see straight into my soul. He knows the things I refuse to acknowledge, even to myself.
I need a change of subject, and I need it fast.
“Freya was in town,” I say, stabbing my fork into a potato.
Dad still looks like he wants to chat about my breakup with Sage, but Gramps gets a twinkle in his eyes at the mention of my royal friend. “Ah, Her Highness. Did she ask about me?”
I chuckle. “Of course she did. She would have stopped by if she’d had the time.”
While all of my friends here in Los Angeles have met my dad and grandpa, only Freya regularly visits. She says that because she never got to know her own grandparents, who all passed when she was little, she wants to borrow mine. No one else has living grandparents, so I’m happy to let her borrow Gramps whenever she wants.
Especially because Gramps fancies himself in love with her.
“I still don’t understand why you haven’t married that angel of a woman,” Gramps says.
I don’t know whether to laugh or roll my eyes. “And become king of a small country? That’s a disaster waiting to happen.” For more reasonsthan one. “Besides, Freya is like a sister to me.” We get along great, but there has never been any attraction between us.
She acts like my big sister too, which brings me full circle to today’s annoyance. Ireallydon’t want to make friends with my teammates right now. But I want to go to Sage’s wedding even less.
As always, Dad seems to read my thoughts, though he’s focused on his food as he talks. “I came across an article the other day. About Sage and Javi.”
I groan. “Are you reading tabloids now?”
“When they have your name in them, yes.”
“You know those are total bull.”
“Are they?” He looks up, meeting my eyes with that look he gets when he thinks I’m doing something wrong. I got that look a lot as a kid, but lately it feels like I’ve been getting it more and more as an adult. I may be twenty-eight, but he’s still my father. “Because every time your name comes up,” he continues, “there is always a nugget of truth.”
I hate that I can’t argue. I’ve been lucky when it comes toHollywood Hot Scoop, the most prolific tabloid site in the area, in that my name is usually only mentioned in passing connected to one of my friends. Liam got himself into a decent amount of trouble last fall, and Bonnie’s relationship with Hank was all over that thing. Derek is pretty much constantly on their radar, no matter what he does.
But with Sage and Javi getting married, I have a feeling I’ll be brought back to the forefront.
“I’m lying low,” I say, even if that’s not exactly a response to Dad’s comment. “Once the wedding happens, there won’t be any reason for me to be in any stories.”
“Except you’ve met someone,” Gramps says.
I drop my fork. It clatters on the patio floor, the sound condemning the trajectory of this conversation. I’ll never be able to deny it now, but how in the world does he know?
I clear my throat, my skin turning itchy under their stares. “Not like that,” I say in defense. “We have a new rehab specialist.”
“A woman,” Dad guesses.
