He shook his head. "You're smarter than that."
I swallowed the anger tightening my throat. Dad didn't need to lecture me on tennis jocks. He'd been one of them and while he'd been continent hopping, I'd been home with a nanny, watching my dad on TV and pining for him.
As for his social life, I had to give him credit. He'd never brought any of his girlfriends home when I was young and I’d known there'd been plenty. I'd seen the photos online when I was eight. There were thousands of pictures and in the ones of him in a tux, he had a different beautiful woman on his arm.
I'd been jealous, that he would spend time with them and not me. Wasn't until I'd hit my teens and he retired did some of my resentment fade as I wondered why he'd never remarried. We'd spent a lot of time together when the academy became his permanent home and he wasn't flying off to tournaments all the time. I treasured those times.
Like how I treasured my time with Kye, no matter how limited I knew it to be.
"I am smart, Dad, which is why you should trust me."
Some of his anger faded as he swiped a hand over his face. "I do, baby, but I just don't want to see you get hurt."
"I won't." My gaze drifted to Kye, smashing those damn balls like his life depended on it. "Kye's determined to take his tennis to the next level and believes he can do that while training here. Your support would mean a lot."
If Dad perceived I was talking about more than tennis, he didn't let on.
"Just be careful," he said, slinging an arm over my shoulder as we both watched Kye.
As I leaned into Dad and rested my head on his chest, I wondered if I'd achieved my goal of easing him into the idea of Kye and me being together, or if I'd screwed up majorly and ended Kye's career for good.
Chapter 15
KYE
I had a bad feeling about this.
My gut twisted with anxiety as Mia and Dirk watched me. What was she saying to him? If she mentioned our relationship, I was a dead man.
Not that we had a relationship, per se, but the fact I hadn't slept all night after deliberately blowing her off by revealing some of my innermost fears pretty much meant I wished we were involved.
But it was impossible. I had to stay focused. And every time I smashed a strong forehand or killer backhand down the line, albeit against a serving machine, took me one step closer to repaying my debt to Dad and getting what I'd craved since we'd first met: his approval.
My dad had said all the right things and done all the right things since he'd discovered I'd existed, but I suspected it was out of obligation rather than any great pride in having a son.
I often wondered if I'd deliberately fucked up by smashing that jerk's nose in Sydney to test Dad's commitment to me. Bizarre? Hell yeah, but the anger that bubbled up at times was fuelled by resentment: at losing Mum, at losing the only home I'd ever known, at losing my innocence way too young.
When most kids around me were heading to the skateboard ramp to swap footy cards, I was dodging syringes in back alleys and running errands for Mum's girls. Not that Mum knew. She would've killed me if she'd known the strippers were paying me pocket money to do odd jobs for them. Nothing illegal, thank God, but I'd seen enough of the seedy underworld as a kid to last a lifetime.
And that shit made me angry and resentful. Why did some kids get to have cushy lives and others didn't? Why did they have fathers who attended rugby games and school presentations, while I’d had to use my fists to fend off the insults aimed at Mum?
That despite doing her best to give us a good life, Mum had died anyway. Did I blame her for not telling Dad I'd been born? Shit yeah. But even if she had, would Australia's mega TV personality have wanted to know me?
Doubtful. Highly doubtful. Which made me question his motives at wanting to know me now even more. I couldn't fault him so far: he'd been supportive and understanding and had come through for me, even after I'd stuffed up and been kicked out of the academy.
But the disappointment I'd glimpsed when he'd looked at me that day? Like I'd told Mia, it's what drove me. Every single day.
I had to be a gun tennis player, the best Australia had seen, because I owed my dad. I had to repay his faith in me, even if I didn't deserve it.
When the machine shut off, I propped my racket against the net and collected all the balls, feeding them back into the machine. I'd have to go another round because no way in hell was I heading off this court while Mia still stood next to Dirk.
I couldn't look at her without remembering how she felt in my arms, the soft panting sounds she made when I was inside her, the feel of her tongue against mine.
Fuck. Not helping. I turned away and envisioned icebergs.
By the time I was ready to go again, Mia had left and Dirk was striding across the court toward me.