I drop my gaze to the couch and rock back onto my feet to stand, pushing the feelings she ignites deep into a box and closing the lid.
My family always comes first.
When I'm back up on my feet, I curl my fingers into my palms and give her a small, strained smile. "Well, try not to make it a habit, I’ve got a lot of work to do."
Turning around, I come face to face with eyes on us and I walk through everyone quickly to get out of the room. Maybe getting further away from her will get rid of the sinking fucking feeling in my stomach.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ELLY
"I'VE GOTa lot of work to do."
Air is pushed from my lungs as the fist of disappointment squeezes my chest and the feeling of not being able to breathe is back as I watch him turn and walk out of the room. One minute, he's soft and warm, and I don't want to be away from the delicious bubble of his embrace.
The next minute, the mask slams down and I feel the damn wall between us again. I watched it happen. The soft lines of his face pulled tight, and the mask was there just like the other night. Part of me wanted to reach out and beg him to come back and show me the side that only those closest to him get to see.
Why would he do that for me? I’m just the person here to take his home.
I selfishly took the comfort he offered as he held me andhelped to keep me grounded, like he knew exactly what I needed. That level of empathy and caring is something I've never felt from another person.
Except for Thalea, but she's been my best friend since we had lockers next to each other in ninth grade. She's like my sister, she doesn’t wake up every part of me, he makes me feel emotions I’ve never felt before. Being pressed to his big, hard chest does things to me that no other man has done with just a touch.
And he had an EpiPen in his first aid kit on standby, just in case his daughter needs it. And he knew how to use it from memory. A mom or a grandmother didn't take that precaution, it was made by a father who always ensures his daughter’s safety. A father who truly loves his daughter.
A man who knows how to love and protect.
A man who always puts family first.
I remember seeing other girls with their fathers during school functions and dances and being so jealous of the obvious bond between them. There were so many things that bothered me growing up, like seeing the other girls get hugs from their fathers when they drop them off at school, or the stories they would tell about vacations and dinners. No girl should have to feel so starved for love from her father.
One thing that bothered me most is seeing other fathers hold their daughters' hands. I once tried to hold my father's hand when I was about nine, the horrible memory has lived rent free in my head since that day. We were walking into a restaurant to have dinner with his work associates. The dinner felt special; I got a new dress for the occasion and my mother abstained from drinking that afternoon and curled my hair into large ringlets down my back.
She always tried to make me look like a doll, but I didn't care about frilly dresses and pretty hair when I was little. Even the young me sensed my father wanted a boy, so I triedto be that for him.
As we were walking into the restaurant, I was next to my dad and slipped my hand into his, thinking he would naturally tighten his fingers around mine. I was wrong. He flexed his fingers and pulled his hand away like I burned him and slid it into his pants pocket. The rejection stung so bad it brought tears to my eyes and I walked the rest of the way to our table with my head down.
Not Gray. He quickly grabbed my hand when I reached for him. There was no hesitation. While I was wondering if I was going to die, he was holding my hand, and it felt genuine, I could see the compassion in his eyes. To anyone else, it might have been a small gesture, buy to me it was huge. I wouldn't have to die without knowing what it felt like to have my hand held.
Try not to make it a habit?
The comment stung. He can't be serious. It felt like a slap to the face, like he was accusing me of creating issues to pull him away from work. The familiar ache of rejection I’ve shoved deep down all these years is making my eyes sting. Again.
Why wouldn’t he reject you? You’re the threat to his family.
Try not to make it a habit.
The echo of the statement in my head has my stomach in knots. Knowing how little he thinks of me stirs up all the feelings of disappointment I've felt because of my father for years. Even though I've resigned myself to the fact I'll never have his affection, I've fought like hell to at least get approval.
This has to stop. I think back to the conversation I was just having with Sloane and Hallie before I ate the bread, and anger sweeps over me.
Acceptance of the realization slams into me like a brick wall. I'll never have my father's approval, it doesn’t matter what I do. I'll always be a tool for him to use, and I'm lettinghim. For what? A fucking nod in my direction once in a while? Even going as far as playing a stupid game with Harris to win. Win what?
I don't need him.
The thought floats on a breath of fresh air.
A weight lifts off my chest I've been carrying for as long as I can remember. Part of it may be the shot making it easier to breathe, but I know for sure I feel like a door has opened. My therapist has been telling me for years that I need to see my worth, and I never truly understood how to do that until just this minute.
