Page 28 of The Defender
“I thought that was part of the dress code.”
“It’s not.”
“Every other guy in here is wearing a tie.”
“Youcanwear one if you want, but it’s optional.” I pulled up the restaurant’s website on my phone and showed him the text. “See?”
“Oh, thank God.” The tie was gone in an instant. “I don’t get the whole dress code thing. I know this is supposed to be fancy, but I’ve been to a few restaurants like this. None of their chicken is better than Nando’s.”
“At least it’s quieter. We can actually hear ourselves talk,” I said lightly.
With its linen tablecloths, crystal chandeliers, and embossed leather-bound menus, the restaurant was definitely fancier than what either of us was accustomed to.
Despite his considerable salary as one of the Premier League’s top managers, my dad was extremely lowkey. Maybe I should’ve picked a more casual spot for dinner, but I’d wanted to do something special.
When I packed up everything and left California after finishing grad school and getting accepted into Blackcastle’s internship program, I had no idea how the move would go. I just knew I couldn’t stay in San Diego and watch my mom fuss over her new family anymore.
I also figured it was time to get to know my father better. We hadn’t lived in the same city since I was two, when my parents divorced and my mom moved out of the UK, vowing to never return. I’d spent a handful of summers with my dad as a teen, but he mostly worked, and I mostly ran around London, flirting with boys and eating my weight in scones. We’d never truly bonded, though that hadn’t stopped him from being overly protective whenever he stepped away from the pitch long enough to realize I was of dating age.
Our dynamic hadn’t changed much this time around, but I was determined to make an effort. My mom was a lost cause, but if I could salvage my relationship with one parent, it would be worth it.
My dad cleared his throat. “Sorry, Brooke,” he said, apparently remembering the restaurant was my idea. He was the only person in the world who called me Brooke. “I didn’t mean to complain. I’m sure the food will be great.”
“It’s okay. The reviews are good, so hopefully they weren’t lying.”
I took a sip of water. He laid his napkin across his lap.
I racked my brain for a fun conversation topic, but I couldn’t think of anything except football andThe Great British Bake Off,which my dad most certainly didn’t watch.
Why hadn’t I made a list of things we could talk about beforehand?So stupid.
Our silence stretched into painful territory until a server came to take our orders. After he left, quiet descended again, heavier than ever.
“So—”
“How—”
We spoke at the same time.
“You go first,” I said right as he insisted, “You go first.”
Another beat of silence.
“How did your meeting with Vuk go?” I finally asked. I didn’t know much about the club’s mysterious owner, but he kind of terrified me. He looked like he could snap you in half with his bare hands if you so much as breathed the wrong way.
“Good,” my dad said. “He’s happy with the team’s performance.”
“That’s good.”
“Yep, very good.”
This was almost worse than silence. If we kept this up, and I had a nickel for every time we uttered the word “good” during dinner, I could fund the ISNA award myself.
Our painful small talk continued past our appetizers and into our mains. The weather, the traffic, our plans for the weekend—every topic felt forced and stilted. It was a complete one-eighty from my easy conversations with Vincent.
I wish he were here.The thought came to me with sudden force.
I’d never craved Vincent’s company before. We worked together and had a lot of mutual friends, so he was always just…there. But no matter how much he provoked me or how often weargued, we never had a problem talking to each other. I could say anything or nothing to him and feel comfortable about it.
