Campus Player

Can you imagine the look of horror and disgust that would come over her face?

I shake my head as if the movement alone will banish the ugly thought from my brain.

It doesn’t work.

I fire off a quick text explaining that something came up, and I can’t meet her for lunch after all. It’s not exactly a lie. It’s just not the unvarnished truth. Within moments, a sad face emoji pops up on my screen followed by a bunch of hearts and kisses. It’s almost enough to bring a smile to my face.

I slide my phone into my back pocket and take off for home. An hour later, I’m parked in the gravel lot outside a seedy truck stop along the highway. There’s a peeling sign that advertises massages.

Yeah right...

My guess is that they’re offering a lot more than that—more like a rub and a tug. It shouldn’t come as any surprise that my father is familiar with a place like this. I still can’t believe he’s a free man. In all honesty, after he was incarcerated, I never imagined seeing him again. I had high hopes of him rotting in prison. Do you have any idea how comforting that thought was? And now it’s all been blown to shit. The same sick feeling I used to get when I was a kid settles in the pit of my belly. I hate that he’s still able to tie me up into knots.

My muscles stiffen as I sit in my truck and watch mostly men come and go from the establishment. There’s a ball cap pulled low over my eyes. So far, I haven’t caught sight of my father. Is it too much to ask that he doesn’t show up? Although, deep down, I know he will. The only reason he contacted me is because he wants something. And contrary to the garbage he spewed earlier, it’s not for us to be a happy family. We were a lot of things, but that was never one of them.

I glance impatiently at my sports watch, only wanting to get this over with. Once I shut him down, I won’t have to think about him again. Maybe this is for the best. I can get him out of my life once and for all.

Another ten minutes tick by without any sign of Scott. As I consider starting up the engine and getting the hell out of here, a beat-up Chevy pulls into the lot. I squint, trying to get a good look at the driver. Even though I can’t see the guy’s profile clearly, the fine hair at the back of my neck stands at attention. It’s like déjà vu. That’s exactly what would happen when I was a kid, and he’d come home drunk, spoiling for a fight. It pisses me off that after a decade, I still have a sixth sense where he’s concerned. My gaze stays pinned to the driver’s side door.

The man who unfolds himself from inside the vehicle only vaguely resembles the one who was hauled away by the police in cuffs a decade ago. His blond hair is cropped short. Almost as if he walked into a barbershop and told them to buzz it with a number one. And he’s more jacked than I remember. My gaze drops to his belly. No longer is there a beer gut hanging over his belt. The sleeves of his black T-shirt are wrapped tightly around bulging biceps. Looks like someone made good use of the prison workout room. That was probably more of a survival tactic than anything else. I study his face carefully and notice the roadmap of new lines.

The years have not been kind to my father.

It’s almost like he can sense my scrutiny. He squints, glancing around the half-filled parking lot before taking a drag from his cigarette. The cherry at the end glows bright red as he inhales. My immediate response is to fold in on myself as his gaze coasts over my truck. The moment I realize what I’m doing, I straighten my shoulders.

Fuck that. No matter what he thinks, I’m not the same timid kid he left behind.

As soon as he’s done with the smoke, he flicks it onto the gravel and saunters toward the diner. A chime over the door rings out faintly as he steps over the threshold. I force out the lungful of air that is lodged in my throat.

My fight or flight instincts kick in, screaming at me to start up the truck and get the hell out of here while the getting is still good. It only proves you can never escape from your past. And rewiring your brain—even after a decade—is more difficult than you’d think.

As tempting as it is to cut and run, I know there’s no point. He’ll make damn good on his threat to come looking for me, and I don’t want him anywhere near Western University.