“You are all that I have left in this world, baby,” he said. “I don’t give a fuck about my club. I just want you. Please, please come home…”
More sobbing came. I felt like I was about to cry. This was a side of my father I’d not only never seen, I never figured it existed.
I looked over to the bar. Phoenix and the bartender were engaged in deep conversation. It was for the best, as I did not want anyone to look at me.
“We can talk about whatever, I just... I lost your mother. Baby, I can’t lose you too. Please call me back. Please, come home.”
And that was the end of the voicemail.
I put my head in my hands, doing my best not to cry, but also knowing I could not keep myself from doing so if I didn’t hide my face. It was easy to hate my father when he was on some sort of a power trip or when he was being controlling of me. But now? He was…
He was my daddy. He was Pops. He was the man I most admired in the world when he acted like this.
He needed to let me grow up, but maybe he recognized that was necessary now. Maybe he’d finally get it. Maybe…
I stared down at the phone. I needed to only press a single button to call him. I could ask him what he was doing. It was all I needed—not to hike all the way back to Springsville and to our house, but to just press one button.
I bit my lip. Emotions were not just getting the best of me; they were controlling me with such ease that I didn’t know how I’d be able to stop myself.
So, I didn’t.
I called my father.
I held up the phone to my ear, my stomach dropping deeper and deeper into a pit with every passing second. What would I say? What would I confess? I probably didn’t need to say anything here. I probably needed him to pick me up outside of the bar. Maybe in a public place. Maybe—
“Where the hell are you?”
What?It was my father who had answered, but…
“Lilly, I asked you a question; where the fuck are you?”
I was so confused. That was my father, right? My father had been the one to leave a voicemail and now suddenly answer like a prison guard asking where the inmate had gone?
I should have known. My father…
Generously stated, he had mental problems that caused mood swings.
More accurately stated, he was a manipulative asshole who put his foot on people’s throats after he’d extended a hand to make it look like he was helping them up.
Fuck me. I was so fucking stupid.
“Lilly, damnit, I am your fucking father, and if you do not—”
I hung up.
I felt such disgust with myself.
I felt so ashamed that I’d fallen for my father’s old tricks. That I’d let myself believe he could change.That I still believe he might be able to, under the right circumstances…
I put my head in my hands again, but I wasn’t on the verge of crying this time. I was seconds away from smashing my phone against the wall, from destroying anything on me that reminded me of my father. I wished he was dead, and if there was any question about me returning home now, that was gone.
I was so fucking, savagely angry.
And sad. But mostly just fucking angry enough to slap the shit out of him until he apologizes.
The front door to the bar opened. I let my hands drop beneath my eyes so I could see who it was.
And as if the day couldn’t get any worse, it was fucking Cole.
