I still do.
“She needs to get over it,” he says dismissively.
I find it amusing that the same man who’d have me remain celibate and grieve Cora for the rest of my life isthe same man telling me that my daughter should get over losing her mother.
But Robert’s always been a hypocrite.
“If she feels more comfortable communicating with sign language right now, I’m happy to support it. My priority is talking to my child, not dictating how she does it. To me, that’s the most important thing, regardless of whether she uses her voice or not. She will eventually.”
“Not if you keep giving her a reason not to,” he sneers as he walks off.
I drain the rest of my beer, my chest tight with resentment.
I’ve spent years trying to prove myself to this man. And somehow, he still makes me feel like the teenage boy who wanted nothing more than to date his daughter.
But then I look across the room, my eyes landing on Presley.
She’s smiling. Bright. Warm. Full of life.
Screw what Robert thinks.
Presley’s happy for the first time in a year.
And maybe I finally am, too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
HAYDEN
“I’m glad today’s over,”I mutter as I sink onto the couch, the weight of the day rolling off me, especially now that Jemmy and Presley are both finally asleep.
Rowan offered to help get them ready for bed, but I told her to relax since it’s technically her day off.
“I can imagine,” she says, taking a sip of tea. “Your father-in-law is…”
“An asshole.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” she retorts.
I lift the glass of scotch I poured after dinner, the amber liquid catching the glow from the TV.Schitt’s Creekhums in the background, Moira’s overly dramatic voice filling the space, but I’m barely paying attention.
“Has he always been that way?”
“More or less,” I respond. “He’s always hated me.”
She scrunches her brows. “Why?”
I roll my shoulders, tension cracking through my neck. “Take your pick. First, because my family wasn’t as well off as his. Then because I’m the reason Cora moved to Chicago instead of staying here to work at the family practice.”
“Were you high school sweethearts?” she asks cautiously, seemingly unsure if I’m in the right mental state to talk about her today.
A year ago, I wouldn’t have been. Hell, a few months ago, I wouldn’t have been.
It stings a bit less lately.
“We were. I was a year older, which had its challenges, especially when I went to college in Chicago. Everyone talks about how young couples try to make long-distance work and fail in the first few months. That wasn’t us. All my friends were hooking up with a different girl every night, but the only girl I wanted was Cora.”
Rowan’s full attention is glued to me. She’s always like this. Whenever she’s here, she’s present. Not distracted by her phone or scrolling through social media. In fact, I’ve rarely seen her on her phone.
