“Come in,” is bellowed loudly enough to make me jump. I guess he’s here.
I push through the door and force a smile on my face because it’s a Monday morning, and nobody, not even me, is happy to be at work on a Monday morning. But it’s a smile nonetheless.
My father is dressed to the nines in a three-piece suit instead of the polo and khakis he’s been rocking lately. Well... trying to rock. It hasn’t been a great look for him, but today, his hair is styled, and his face is freshly shaven.
I’m hoping this is a good sign. Maybe he’s finally getting himself out of the funk he’s been in the past few months. I’m not sure what’s caused it, but he hasn’t been himself since the beginning of the year, and he’s absolutely refused to talk about it whenever I’ve brought it up. Hopefully, he just needed time to work through it. “Mornin’, Dad. Here’s your coffee. I checked your schedule, and it looks like the only meeting you have today is at nine. You’ve got about thirty minutes before it starts. The event was locked on your calendar, so I couldn’t actually see what it was. Do you need me to get you anything for it?”
Dad raises his bloodshot brown eyes to meet mine and frowns. “Sit down, Daph. We need to talk.”
Oh, this can’t be good.
I’ve only been here a few weeks. I haven’t even had to make travel arrangements for the team yet, so I can’t imagine what I could possibly have done for him to look so disappointed in me.
I guess I’m about to find out.
My palms start to sweat as I gingerly take the seat across from my father.
He’s lowered his eyes to the whiskey in the heavy crystal glass fisted in one of his hands. I hadn’t noticed that when I walked in, but now that I’ve seen it at eight-thirty in the morning, it’s hard to not stare as panic begins to edge in. “Dad...”
His broad shoulders rise and fall with his deep inhale and exhale before he closes his eyes and raises his face to the ceiling. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you this, Daphne, but we’re out of time. I’m selling the Revolution,” he glances down at his wrist out of habit, but his Rolex isn’t there, “in about thirty minutes. That’s my nine o’clock. The Kingstons are buying the organization. I didn’t want you to know until I was sure the deal was going to go through.”
“What are you talking about?” My world tilts on its axis as my head spins. “You can’t do that.” The words are bitter as they cross my lips. “This was Grandpa’s team. Mom’s team. How could you do this?” A sob catches in my throat that I refuse to set free.
The Kingstons are Philadelphia royalty. They own this city and the professional football team whose stadium is across the street from the hockey arena. They’ll come in and change everything.
It won’t be the team Grandpa loved.
This team was his pride and joy. My mom was supposed to run it after he died, but I guess you never really plan for what happens if you outlive your child. Mom died when I was eight. I barely remember her. But when this office was Grandpa’s, the shelves were covered in pictures of her growing up here.
Dad changed very little once he took over two years ago.
It’s almost like a shrine to happier times.
Now that I take a moment to look around the room, I see nothing but boxes.
Holy shit. He’s really doing this. The office is empty. Ready for its next occupant.
The pictures that lined the shelves are gone, leaving nothing but dust in their place.
The trophies have all been packed up.
Any traces that this is his office have been removed.
Dad started working with Grandpa after Mom’s death. It made sense. He might not have loved the team the same way as Grandpa, but I never would have expected this. Nothing about this makes any sense, and I fight back the hot tears burning behind my eyes.
He’s selling our family’s history.
My future.
“Why? Why do this? Is it because I don’t want to run the Revolution? I’ll do it if I have to. I’ll do it if it means you don’t give up the team.”
“No, Daph. I got myself into some trouble, and selling the Revolution is the only answer.” He runs a shaky hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, and my anger mixes with hurt, creating a toxic combination. He’s really doing this, and he didn’t even talk to me about it first.
I play his words over in my head and get stuck on one word. Trouble. “What kind of trouble did you get in, Dad?”
He raises his glass to his lips and finishes the contents with a flourish before slamming his glass against the ornately carved desk. “The kind where this was the only answer. Now listen to me. I’ve negotiated for your job. You and most of the management are guaranteed your positions for the next twelve months. Use the time to get the experience you need so you can get whatever job you want when you’re done here.”
When I sit there, staring out the window instead of at my father, he slams his open palm against the desk. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
My head snaps back to him as a trickle of fear skates down my spine. “I don’t understand any of this.”
“You don’t need to understand. You just need to do as you’re told. Now, go set up the conference room. The Kingstons will be here soon.”
I stumble out of his office, my mind racing and my pulse pounding.
I love my father as only a daughter can.
He may not have been the greatest dad, but he did his best, and that was enough.
I never knew he’d be the man who breaks my heart.