Page 141 of The Risk Taker

He lets out a slow breath and sits back a little in his chair. “When you were little, you used to get nightmares.”

My brows knit together, wondering where this is going.

“You used to wake up crying every night,” he continues. “So I’d check on you. Every single night. It became a habit, even when your sister was born, even through your teenage years and you no longer had nightmares. I still had to come check on you guys in the middle of the night.”

I blink because I genuinely did not know that.

“And,” he says, clearing his throat, “apparently it lasted longer than I realized. Because during Christmas break, I checked on you one night.”

My stomach drops.

Oh no.

Oh, fuck no.

He meets my eyes. “And I’m not going to lie. I was a little surprised to see Logan in your bed. His head was on your chest. Your arms around him. You both looked… I don’t know. Comfortable.”

My entire body goes hot.

Like someone poured boiling water straight down my spine.

He knew.

He knew.

This whole time, he?—

“And then,” he adds, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I realized you were both naked, and I begged your mother to pour bleach in my eyes.”

“Oh my god,” I choke out, burying my face in my hands. In all the scenarios I pictured, not once did I think my dad would walk in on me in bed with a guy.

I groan, wanting the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

“You knew,” I manage, peeking between my fingers, “and you didn’t say anything?”

He shrugs. “You weren’t ready. I wasn’t going to force you into a conversation before you decided you wanted to have one.”

My eyes burn a little, and I blink hard, hoping the pressure behind my eyes eases. “So… mom knows?”

“You know I can’t keep a secret from her, kid,” he admits, which makes me breathe out a laugh.

Dad’s expression shifts, his brows knitting in this soft, pained way that makes my stomach twist. “Have I ever given you a reason to think I wouldn’t be okay with you wanting to love whoever you want?”

“Of course not. I just… I didn’t know how you’d take it. Logan’s dad—” I swallow, shaking my head. “It went really bad for him.”

Something sad flickers in his expression. “I wish every parent could be the person their kid comes to first,” he says. “I wish that more than you know. But you don’t need to be afraid with me, Nathan. Ever. You could tell me you wanted to join the circus and I’d be there, front row, with a bucket of popcorn in hand.”

A shaky laugh breaks out of me before I can stop it. I swallow, lifting my head to look at him and inhale sharply. Fuck it. If I’m opening up to him, then I’m telling himeverything.

My throat tightens again, nerves crawling up the back of my neck. “And if I told you I didn’t want to play hockey anymore?”

Dad’s expression shifts, his brows lifting. “Is that hypothetical or…?”

I reach for my backpack, pulling out my sketchpad and setting it on his desk.

He looks at it for a moment before opening it. I watch as he flips through the pages, scanning the pages. Every dialogue bubble, every sketch, every line I must have erased and redone a dozen times.

He’s not saying anything, and the longer he’s silent, the hotter my face feels, like the heat’s creeping up my neck and into my ears.