"I was wrong, Lacey."
The words hit me like a physical blow.
"The pole classes. Judging you without understanding." He swallowed hard. "That was wrong."
I couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe.
"You built yourself something real here. Going back to school. Making it work." His voice cracked. "I'm proud of you. Want to be part of your life again, if you'll let me."
Seventeen months. Seventeen months of silence, and now—
My vision blurred. I tried to answer but nothing came out.
"I know I don't deserve it," Dad said quietly, twisting the magazine in his hands. "Said terrible things. Pushed you away when you needed support. But I'm asking anyway."
The tears came then—hot and fast, seventeen months of hurt and anger and longing spilling over.
"Dad—" My voice broke.
Gage's hand tightened on mine. Silent support.
Dad's eyes went wet. "I missed you, Lacey girl."
"I missed you too." The words tore out of me.
"Sit down, Mr. Bennett," Gage said quietly, sliding over to make room.
Dad hesitated, then settled onto the bench across from us. Faye materialized with coffee and a menu, reading the situation with her usual intuition, giving us space.
For a moment, none of us spoke. The silence stretched—awkward, heavy with everything unsaid.
Then Dad cleared his throat. "So. Main Street, huh? That's a good spot."
"Yeah." I wiped my eyes. "Opened in June. Got two instructors helping me now."
"Bobby Garrett's daughter takes classes there. Says you're a good teacher."
Relief flooded through me. "Jenna comes twice a week. She's getting really strong."
"Always were good at helping people." Dad wrapped both hands around his coffee cup. "Even as a kid, bringing home every stray animal that needed fixing."
"Still doing that. Just with people now too."
He almost smiled. "And I hear you're going back to school."
"Community college. Dr. Bev's holding a technician position for me once I'm licensed."
"That's real good, Lacey. You always were smart. Wanted better for you than..." He trailed off, looking down at his hands. "Guess I had the wrong idea about what 'better' meant."
Gage spoke up then, his tone easy. "She's worked hard for it, sir. Built the business from nothing."
Dad looked at him—really looked at him—for the first time. "You been good to her, Sheriff?"
"He's good to me," I said.
Dad's face softened. "Good man."
We talked. Forty minutes, maybe more. Still awkward in places—years of hurt didn't heal in an hour—but honest. Dad told me about the garage, about the new guy he'd hired who was a good kid at eighteen. I told him about my anatomy course starting next week, how much I felt I could learn from the professor.
