“Still, Thunder sounded a groaning opinion. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she said to the noisy chair, scooping up her handbag and turning off the desk lamp to bathe the room in complete darkness. “So he’s famous and I never heard of him. So a Google search turned up seventeen billion hits. So he’s in a thousand pictures carrying around various versions of blond arm candy. Now we know the enemy, Dad.” And the enemy was not exactly on top of his game. The Striker, it seemed, hadn’t scored a goal in his las...t ten games. In fact, this year he hadn’t renewed his contract and had taken a “hiatus.” At least that’s what his agent called it. In her sport they called it nonrenewal. The chair was silent, and Shelby stood very slowly, listening to the quiet of the shop this late at night. What she wanted to hear was the one voice she’d never hear again. The real voice, and not just one she imagined. It was one thing to pretend Daddy really did squawk his opinions to her from this chair, one thing to refuse to oil him into submission.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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