I tried to laugh, but it caught in my throat. “I love him,” I admitted. It came out cracked and small but truer than anything I’d ever said. “God, I love him.”
She smiled, warm, proud, and a little teary. “I know,” she whispered. “And he loves you too. You don’t have to chase him, Dare. Just give him time. He knows where home is.”
Her hand covered mine, her reassurance seeping into my skin. I couldn’t look at her. My throat burned, shoulders shaking with repressed emotions.
Is that what you wanted, Tru? The truth? For me to finally say it without fear or hiding or shame?
Fine. Here it is—I’ve always been in love with you. I’m still in love with you. So please… just come home.
It’s strange how quiet the world is when your person isn’t in it. Everything’s a little muffled. A little off. Even joy’s afraid to speak too loud without permission.
Outside, the scent of charcoal and sizzling meat drifted through the air. It was hot out, sticky in the way North Carolina always got in July, but the breeze off the pool made it bearable. My dad stood at the grill in his usual fadedGrill Masterapron, flipping burgers with an ease I didn’t remember him ever having.
He looked… relaxed. Happy.
Charlotte floated on an inflatable lounger, lazily kicking one foot in the water, sunglasses perched low enough on her nose to keep an eye on everything, me included.
I stretched out in a lawn chair, nursing a soda, too restless to eat. My dad laughed at something she said, a full-bodied laugh that creased his eyes and reddened his cheeks. He reached over and tapped her bare foot with the spatula in a playful, teasing way I’d never seen before.
That man? That wasn’t the dad I grew up with.
The dad I remembered was tired all the time, quick to snap, always storming off or slamming cabinet doors. I used to think he was mean just to be mean, but maybe it wasn’t about me at all. Maybe it never was.
Maybe it was the way my mom tore into him, always loud, cutting, and relentless. Maybe he didn’t know how to fight back without losing something of himself in the process. Maybe by the time she left, he was already too defeated and empty to be anything but angry.
But here, now, with Charlotte… he looked like someone who’d gotten a second chance and finally figured out how to be soft.
Charlotte paddled closer, gripping the brick edge, andpushed her sunglasses up into her curls. “You look like you’re thinking too hard,” she said with a smirk. “That’s dangerous.”
I shrugged and tipped my soda toward the grill. “He’s different.”
She followed my gaze. “Yeah. He is.”
“I don’t remember him like that.”
“Maybe you didn’t get to see him like this before,” she said. “Took him a while to become who he is now.” Then, after a beat, she said, “Kind of like someone else I know.”
I huffed out a weak laugh and looked away, but she wasn’t done.
“So,” she said, grinning behind her glass. “You gonna tell him?”
I froze. “Tell who what?”
“Don’t make me say it.”
Later, after everyone had eaten and the sun had started its slow crawl toward the tree line, I found him alone. Dad stood by the shed, wiping grease off the grill tongs. His shoulders were a little rounder than I remembered. There was silver in his beard now, but his posture was looser, like he’d finally laid down something heavy.
I hovered at the edge of the patio before stepping into the grass.
He glanced up when he heard me coming. “Hey, kid.” His voice was easy, not the gruff bark it used to be.
“Need help with that?”
He shook his head. “Nah. Just about done.” He paused. “But I wouldn’t mind the company.”
So, I stayed.
We didn’t say much at first. Crickets buzzed in the hedges. The occasional pop of fireworks went off in the distance. It reminded me of the rare quiet nights when things weren’t awful—when we’d sit in the garage, not talking much, just existing.
