He leans back in his chair, raising an arm to drape it along the back of Matilda's seat. “I just don’t think that’s the best path for you.”
“And what would you know about what’s best for me? We barely know each other.” I shove my chair back with a loud scrape, gathering the hem of my dress so I don’t trip, but my dad’s cold voice stops me.
“Annaliese Elizabeth Keeton. Sit down right this second.”
My spine straightens, eyes darting to the table next to us who have now abandoned their caprese salad and are watching the drama unfold.
I spin on my heel to face my dad, and lean my hands forward to rest my palms on the table in front of me. “I’m not a child, Richard. I’m not another pawn in your game, and I’m not your fucking Princess. At this point, I’m only your daughter by name. If you want to go back on your word, go ahead. In all honesty, I should have known better than to trust a word that comes out of your mouth.” I pull back, standing to my full height to tower over them. “Enjoy your dinner. Enjoy your wedding. Enjoy a pitifully unfulfilling life where you use people to your advantage.”
Before I leave, I take one long look at my father, knowing that this might be the last time we are in the same room together. “It’s no wonder you and Dr. Andrews are friends–you use people, even those you claim to love. But that love only lasts until it no longer benefits you.”
I only make it a step away from the table when my dad scoffs loudly. “Don’t offend me, Annaliese. Colt has shown me that the years I invested in him were simply a waste of time.”
My dad’s words cause me to pause, and I twist slightly so I can face him, brows pulled together. “Excuse me?”
My dad leans back in his chair, the power of having the upper hand bringing color to his aging face. He grabs his glass of wine from the table, leisurely bringing it to his lips for a sip. He then props his elbow on the back of his chair, slowly swirling the liquid in the goblet as if he has all the time in the world.
“I thought Andrews would have made an excellent Chief some day. I trained him to be ruthless, callous when needed, but it turns out he was weak all along. He was willing to sacrifice our future for…” he trails off, his eyes moving up and down my body as if he’s disgusted with the fact that someone could fall for me. “It doesn’t matter anymore. He’ll never have what it takes to be Chief of Surgery. He barely has what it takes to be a man.”
“You’re taking that from him?” The words are forced out, fighting against my beating heart. “You led him along all these years just to betray him in the end?”
“I’m the one who should be whining about betrayal," he barks, slamming his wine glass down on the table so forcefully, liquid sloshes up the side. “I’m always the one who has to deal with the aftermath when others can’t meet my expectations. I’m the one that has to be the bad guy. I’m the one tha—”
“What if I stay?”
Both my dad and Matilda gasp at my interruption, eyes bulging with surprise.
“What if I stay?” I ask again, clearing my throat roughly. “If I stay at Grace General, if I don’t mention Africa ever again, will you make him Chief?”
Sometimes love is easy. Sometimes it’s sneaking kisses and “I miss you” messages and late-night talks about your dreams. It can also be hard. It can mean tears and heartache and sacrificing what you want in the moment so the other person can live. I can’t be with Colt, and he may have decided he doesn’t want to be with me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love him.
Colt has lost so much in his life. He’s been beaten and bruised, angry and alone, and somehow still became the man I was lucky enough to know. He lives with so many regrets, with guilt for all the years he spent giving into his depression and notliving. Giving this up would be worth it if it meant he’d get to fulfill his dream, if he could feel the happiness that he's spent his entire life chasing.
My dad raises a grayed brow, pausing to take another slow sip of his wine. He sets the glass back on the table and dabs the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “What else?”
What else?What else is there? I rack my brain to think of anything else I could possibly offer up, but then I take a pause.
That's just it. A reminder that my father will always want to know what else he can gain, what else he can earn, who else he can hurt in the process. So many nasty thoughts race through my mind. They trickle down my throat into my mouth and I’m ready to spew them back at my dad. But I pause again, realizing after all these years that it doesn’t matter what I would say. What anyone would say for that matter. Colt and I could rip ourselves apart, give up our world to try to make my dad happy and he'd still ask, “what else?” He doesn’t want friends or family, he wants puppets he can control.
Any other words would be a waste of breath on someone like him, and I’ve already wasted enough time trying to make this relationship something more than it’s meant to be.
“Goodbye, Richard,” I mumble, spinning on my heel to storm out of the dining room.
I faintly hear him call my name but I keep my face to the exit. The snow has started to fall, winds scooping up fluffy piles and swirling them in the air. The restaurant host barely has time to reach for the door to open it for me when I rush past him, finally exhaling a shaking breath when the sharp, cold air hits my face.
Chapter Thirty
Annaliese
Thesleetfallsinthick, angry blobs, stinging my skin as they land. It isn’t enough to stop me, though. I force my feet to pound further down the sidewalk, heels sliding along the slick pavement. I don’t stop when my hands are burning from the cold or when the circulation in my face is nonexistent and I’m numb.
It feels good to finally have my body match how my heart has felt.
I manage to hold it together on the street, through the apartment lobby, and past my neighbors. I punch the elevator button repeatedly, pursing my lips together and forcing the tears to halt until I’m alone. Once the elevator doors close behind me and the heavy chains tug the steel trap upwards toward my floor, I let myself collapse.
I fall to my knees, holding my head in my hands and sob.
I sob because I should have known better. I should have trusted my gut and known my dad would find a way to ruin this for me. I cry for the little girl who still foolishly wants to win the approval of her dad, who so desperately wants to make him happy that she believes the lies he spews.
