“You lied to her coach, kept me in the dark, and spent money we needed.”
Cecilia got into my car. Dawson remained at the academy as we drove away.
At a red light, she asked, “Am I in trouble?”
“He only started paying attention when we went to Ridgeway.”
“No.”
“Please don’t make Dad stop coming.”
I glanced at her. “Why would he?”
“He only started paying attention when we went to Ridgeway.”
“Dad showed me pictures from when he skated. Grandpa wouldn’t pay for more training.”
I pulled into a quiet parking lot.
“Dad showed me pictures from when he skated,” she said. “Grandpa wouldn’t pay for more training. He said he could’ve competed nationally.”
I knew Dawson had skated as a teenager. He rarely mentioned it.
“I liked the coaches. But I didn’t want to move away.”
I’d heard a few stories about Dawson’s childhood, always told as jokes about old equipment and long drives. I’d never realized how much bitterness he’d kept.
