He studies me, like he’s trying to find some small fragment of the daughter he thought I was.
I press on. “We’re going to make this work, and it’s not just a fling. It’s real.”
I wait for the explosion, but it never comes. Instead, he just sits there, staring at the floor. “Is this a sick joke? A fucking experiment or something? Some new way to stick it to me? I’m not interested in your rebellion, or your need to come here and rub it in my face.”
“No,” I say, and this time the words come easily, the anxiety finally leaving my body. “It’s not a joke. It makes mehappy. Happier than I’ve ever been.”
He shakes his head again, but the anger is gone, replaced by something I can’t really read. “I don’t get it, Georgia. I really don’t. I spent my whole life trying to teach you the right way to do things, to keep you safe, and you… You just walk right into a disaster and call itlove.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be safe,” I snap. “Maybe I just want to be free, even if it means screwing up.”
He rubs his hands over his face, and for the first time, I see a vulnerable side of him. He’s suddenly not the ex-Navy powerhouse who could break boards over his knee, but a guy whose best years are behind him, desperate for a win that won’t come.
And he’s not trying to control me. Hewon’tcontrol me. I won’t let him.
“I’m not asking for your blessing,” I tell him. “I’m telling you how it is.”
He lets out a sound, halfway between a laugh and a groan. “That’s your mother, right there,” he mutters. “You get this from her.”
I almost say thank you, but I don’t. Instead, I stand up, forcing him to meet my eyes. “I love them,” I say, my voice still steady. “All of them. And they love me. You can hate it, or you can get used to it. But I’m leaving them.”
He stands too, and for a second, I think he might hug me, or hit me, or say something that will rip the last thread between us. But he just nods, jaw working, eyes locked on mine.
“I don’t understand it,” he says. “But you’ve always been stubborn as hell.”
I smile slightly. “That hasn’t changed.”
He shakes his head, but there’s something in his eyes—probably a memory of when I was his little girl. There’s sadness in his eyes now but he makes no move to make amends—just stands there with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Goodbye, Dad,” I say, knowing I’ve done what I needed to.
I close the door gently behind me and step out into the evening, the city humming around me, and I realize Ididneed that. Way more than Lily and Daisy even realized.
I don’t need his permission. I don’t even need his love.
I lovemyself and that’s the most important thing.
Chapter 30
Georgia
Brody’s penthouse is nothing like I imagined.
There’s no dark wood, no cigar humidor, no million-dollar art on the walls. Instead, there’s sheets of light pouring in through two-story windows that turn Manhattan’s skyline into a private mural. The space is open and clean, the furniture mostly gray and ivory, punctuated by the occasional pop of color.
It's…perfect.
I stop in the entryway, overnight bag dangling in one hand, the Key West hat in the other. The city glows beneath us, stretching to infinity. For a minute, I’m not even sure I can move past the threshold, not because I’m nervous, but because this—this view, this luxury, this insane upgrade from every walk-up I’ve ever lived in—feels like trespassing.
But then Emmett appears, barefoot in jeans and an old concert tee, grinning like the cat who ate the canary. “Look who finally made it,” he announces, arms out. He sweeps me up in a hug, the kind that lifts me off my feet and mashes my face into his shoulder.
I can’t help laughing.This is what my dad doesn’t understand.
“You smell so good,” I mumble into his collarbone, breathing in the scent of sandalwood.
“You smell like heaven, too,” he insists, placing me back down but not letting go of my waist. “You want a tour?”
I nod, but before we move, Miles emerges from around the corner, a bottle of wine in each hand. “You’re here,” he says, his eyes pouring over my faded jeans and gray T-shirt. “Goddamn, I missed you. You’re beautiful.”
