She noticed that gray threads of hair were beginning to appear at his temples. She’d seen him six months ago over Christmas, but somehow he seemed older. There were even wrinkles around his mouth that hadn’t been there before. The divorce proceedings were evidently taking a toll on him.
“Sweetheart, I know this might not be the best time to bring this up,” her father began suddenly, averting his eyes. He focused on the spectacle of the game occurring below, as if he could channel the energy of the players and find the nerve to continue. Finally he did. “One of the reasons I asked you to come home…well, see…Diane wants you to give a deposition.”
Her head jerked up. “What? Why?”
“You were one of the witnesses the day Sheila signed the prenuptial agreement.” Her dad’s voice was gentler than she’d heard in years. “Do you remember?”
Uh, did he actually think she’d forget? The day they’d signed the prenup happened to be the first meeting between Hayden and her only-two-years-older stepmother. The shock that her fifty-seven-year-old father was getting remarried after years of being alone hadn’t been as great as learning that he was marrying a woman so many years his junior. Hayden had prided herself on being open-minded, but her mind always seemed to slam shut the second her father was involved. Although Sheila claimed otherwise, Hayden wasn’t convinced that her stepmother hadn’t married Presley for his money, prenup or not.
Her suspicions had been confirmed when three months into the marriage, Sheila convinced her father to buy a multimillion-dollar mansion (because living in a penthouse was so passé), a small yacht (because the sea air would do them good) and a brand-new wardrobe (because the wife of a sports team owner needed to look sharp). Hayden didn’t even want to know how much money her dad had spent on Sheila that first year. Even if she worked until she was ninety, she’d probably never earn that much. Sheila, of course, had quit her waitressing job the day after the wedding, and as far as Hayden knew, her stepmother now spent her days shopping away Presley’s money.
“Do I really have to get involved in this, Dad?” she asked, sighing.
“It’s just one deposition, sweetheart. All you have to do is go on record and state that Sheila was in her right mind when she signed those papers.” Presley made a rude sound. “She’s claiming coercion was involved.”
“Oh, Dad. Why did you marry that woman?”
Her father didn’t answer, and she didn’t blame him. He’d always been a proud man, and admitting his failures came as naturally to him as the ability to give birth.
“This won’t go to court, will it?” Her stomach turned at the thought.
“I doubt it.” He ruffled her hair again. “Diane is confident we’ll be able to reach a settlement. Sheila can’t go on like this forever. Sooner or later she’ll give up.”
Not likely.
She kept her suspicions to herself, not wanting to upset her father any further. She could tell by the frustration in his eyes that the situation was making him feel powerless. And she knew how much he hated feeling powerless.
Hayden gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “Of course she will.” She gestured to the window. “By the way, the team’s looking really great, Dad.”
She had no clue about whether the team looked good or not, but her words brought a smile to her father’s lips and that was all that mattered.
“They are, aren’t they? Wyatt and Becker are really coming together this season. Coach Gray said it was tough going, trying to make them get along.”
“They don’t like each other?” she said, not bothering to ask who Wyatt and Becker were.
Her dad shrugged, then took a swig from the glass of bourbon in his hand. “You know how it is, sweetheart. Alpha males, I’m-the-best, no-I’m-the-best. The league is nothing more than an association of egos.”
“Dad…” She searched for the right words. “That stuff in the paper yesterday, about the illegal betting…it’s not true, is it?”
“Of course not.” He scowled. “It’s lies, Hayden. All a bunch of lies.”
“You sure I shouldn’t be worried?”
He pulled her close, squeezing her shoulder. “There is absolutely nothing for you to worry about. I promise.”
“Good.”
A deafening buzz followed by a cheesy dance beat interrupted their conversation. In a second Presley was on his feet, clapping and giving a thumbs-up to the camera that seemed to float past the window.
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