Page 70 of A Little Bit More

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“America!”Flynn railed at the ducks. “The next time I see that David Beckham, I’m punching his too-pretty face. Nobody even knew they played soccer in the States until he went there. Now it’s thetrendything to do.”

The ducks quacked at him, but Flynn suspected it had little to do with what he was saying.

“Dad?” Katy’s hesitant voice came through the door before it opened a crack and a hand appeared—bearing snacks.

“I can’t be bribed,” Flynn declared. “This is too serious for that.”

“Oh. Okay.” The hand disappeared. “Maybe we can talk later.”

On second thoughts.“Leave the crisps.” Bacon flavor was his favorite. “And the chocolate.” He could never say no to a KitKat.

“No talking, no snacks,” came the reply.

For a second, Flynn had forgotten who he was dealing with. Bloody blackmailing, conniving terrorist. And why, oh why, did that make his heart swell with pride? “Fine. Give me my food, and you can talk. But I make no promises to listen.”

“That’s fair.” She entered the motor home, tossing the food to the sofa beside him.

Flynn shouldn’t have looked up at her face because the evidence she’d been crying made the bottom fall out of his anger.

“I’m still mad at you,” he told her to make up for feeling less so. “You’ve betrayed this family by turning your back on tradition.”

“Really? Tradition?” She plopped down beside him and reached for the bag of potato-y goodness.

He snatched it away. “Mine,” he snapped. “You don’t deserve any.”

“Whatever.” She folded her arms and stared at the ducks. “Are you going to be mad at me forever?”

If he hadn’t heard the crack in her voice, he would have said something sarcastic. Instead, his heart broke wide open.

“No,” he conceded, and her shoulders relaxed some.

They sat in silence for a few minutes while Flynn crunched crisps and the ducks demanded he share. He didn’t, but they were getting to him.

“There’s some cooked rice in the fridge. Throw it outside for them, will you?” he grumbled.

Without her usual teasing of him for being a soft touch, Katy just did as he asked. The motor home seemed weirdly quiet once the ducks were outside eating instead of inside complaining. Katy sat back down beside him, and Flynn couldn’t stop himself from holding out the bag of crisps. She helped herself to a handful, and they ate in silence.

“Do you know what the Arsenal scout said to me after he watched me play?” Katy said when she’d finished her crisps.

“Why don’t you go to America; you’re too good for us?” Flynn cocked an eyebrow at her.

“No. He said they’d be watching me closely because I had big shoes to fill.Yourshoes.”

“He was just being nice.”

“No, he wasn’t. He said that I’d like being there because so many of your old team and crew would look out for me. And that everyone was curious to see how Flynn Boyle’s daughter could play.”

When she put it like that, the advantage of having friends on the team who could keep an eye on her didn’t sound so great.

“Everybody will compare me to you if I play for Arsenal,” Katy said softly. “And the ones who aren’t comparing will wonder if I got onto the team based on my own merits or because my dad was their star player.”

“That’s crap.” He broke the KitKat in two and handed half to her.

“The scout said I’d picked up one or two of your tricks.” She bit in to the chocolate.

“Well, of course you have. I’ve been training you for years.”