Page 22 of Undeniable
“I didn’t give him any,” Mom said to me.
I would’ve gone ballistic if she had.
“I would never ask your mother for money. I worked while I was inside.” Kurtis edged closer to the fence, seemingly more courageous. “I don’t expect you to believe anything I say. I know actions speak louder than words, and I need to prove to you that I’ve changed.”
“And how do you plan on doing that?” This, I had to hear. Before he’d been arrested, he wasn’t the father who doted on his son or showed up for football practices or games. He was sitting at a gambling table, throwing away hard-earned money that my mom had contributed to the family.
“I wasn’t there for you when you were a kid, and for that, I’m sorry. But I thought I would start by coming to one of your games.” If he was sorry, he sure as hell didn’t show it either in body language or tone. I didn't hear an ounce of remorse from him.
Maybe that fear still oozing off him was masking his apology. Yet I didn’t care for any apology.
“It’s not me you need to grovel to. It’s your wife who suffered greatly. Besides, you can never make up for the years lost.”
“Lucas.” Her tone carried that motherly snap as her hazel eyes glinted in the daylight. “Can you give him a chance? Maybe the three of us can have dinner.”
“Dinner isn’t going to heal the wounds,” I spat venom more at Kurtis than my mom. He needed to know building a relationship wasn’t that easy.
“Lucas Allen,” Mom warned, “have you thought that it’s as hard for Kurtis as it is for you?”
I clamped down on my tongue. She was forgetting the depression she’d been in, the financial predicament, the years of struggle. Sure, he might be nervous, and I shouldn’t automatically think he would return to his old ways. Maybe he was a changed man as he stated. Only time would tell.
“I don’t have time for dinner.” That was the honest truth. “I have to study and prepare for the game on Saturday.”
I couldn’t turn my emotions on and off at the flip of a switch. Ten years was a long time to be estranged. More importantly, what he’d done couldn’t be forgiven in an instant. If he showed he was a different man and could be the father I never had, then maybe he and I could talk. But right now, I didn’t have it in me to open the door for him.
I leaned over the fence and kissed Mom on the cheek. “I have to go. Are you going to be okay?”
She broke out with a genuine smile as if she’d reconciled the demons that had plagued her since Kurtis’s arrest. “I can handle myself.”
I glared at Kurtis. “Ruin our lives or bring us into a situation like before, and you’ll never become part of this family again. Are we clear?”
He held up his hands as though I were arresting him. “Message received.”
I pivoted on my heel and kicked my legs into gear.
“Lucas,” Kurtis called at my back.
“Let him go,” my mom said. “He needs time.”
But time wasn’t what I needed. I needed proof.
Ryker was waiting for me outside the athletic building adjacent to the outdoor practice field. “Are you cool?”
I lifted a shoulder. “For now. The ball is in his court. Surprisingly, my mom is handling his release well.”
He slapped me on the back. “Your mom isn’t the type to make the same mistake twice. Plus, you don’t give her enough credit. She’s stronger than you think.”
I felt less tense now that this initial meeting was over. The anticipation and trepidation of when my father would show, what he would do, and how my mom and I would react had taken up too much of my psyche. Yet I still had a knot in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t help but think that once a gambler, always a gambler.
As we headed into the locker room, my brain slowly began to switch gears. I was hungry, needed a shower, and I wanted to call Mazzie. I needed to know how she was doing after her mother’s car accident.
8
Mazzie
The Silver Spur Casino in Cedar Ridge, Louisiana, a cattle ranching town over the Texas border, was crazy busy for a Saturday night. I wasn’t complaining. I was happy I was working. Greta had given me a few shifts during the week as well. Actually, I had pleaded with her to put me on the schedule.
I carried a tray of drinks to the craps table and handed an elderly man a Manhattan he’d been waiting for. He in turn gave me a twenty-dollar bill. Since the drinks were free, that twenty was a nice tip.
