“That’s not—” Easton starts but turns to me instead. “I never threatened you.”
“Listen, darling, I know we haven’t seen eye to eye much since your mom died, but I love you, and I care about your safety.”
“You mean since I found out you were cheating while my mother fought for her life. Oh wait, I forgot, I never heard your side of the story,” I snip, my tone laced in sarcasm.
“You didn’t. You were angry, you still are, and I know this incident makes it worse, but, baby, I need you to trust me.”
I stand there for a moment, none of us saying anything, them visibly on edge by what I’ll say next. I think about the way I felt in that hotel room and remind myself that I only have one parent left. Everything in me wants to send him away because no matter what transpired before this day, he is the reason I was taken. But there is that part of me, the little girl who loves her father so much, and she’s calling out.
“I need a moment with my dad.”
Easton hesitates like I expect him to, then he glances between the two of us and slowly makes his way to my bedroom. I don’t move on until I hear the door close behind him. When it does, it’s almost as if my father is relieved. He releases a breath and awkwardly walks over to my couch, rubbing his hands on the front of his pants as he sits.
“Things didn’t go the way you think they did with your mom. She was sick a long time, years before we finally told you.” He drops his head while fiddling with his fingernails. “You know we met in college?” He smiles at the memory. “You remind me so much of her. The first time I saw her she was reading Jane Austen.”
“Pride and Prejudice,” I add in a near whisper.
He snaps his eyes to me, a soft grin forming on his lips. “Yeah. That was her favorite, I swear she probably read that book one hundred times.” He huffs around his smile. “I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going and tripped over her foot. She was so pissed because I’d made her spill her coffee all over the page she was reading, and boy did she lay into me.”
Warmth fills me listening to him talk about her. She was the best and made everything better no matter how bad it was.
“I was mesmerized. From that moment, I told myself that she was going to be my wife. I tried for weeks to get her to talk to me after that, but she wasn’t having it. Then I got the bright idea to get her a new copy, a collectibles edition that took a lot to acquire. I also got her a regular copy because somehow I knew you never crack the spine on a collectible.”
He pauses for a beat.
“She accepted the gifts but still wouldn’t give me the time of day.”
We laugh.
“She was stubborn.” I nod.
“Yeah, she was,” he agrees. “I got the girl in the end, though, and she was the best thing that ever happened to me. Then we had you, and life was perfect, until we got a diagnosis. It was slow to bloom, and she didn’t want to worry you until we absolutely had to. About four years before she died, we made an agreement. She knew she didn’t have long, and her sickness was hard on our marriage. All she ever wanted was for her family to be happy. She didn’t want to leave this world with me sulking. The woman I was seeing, she wasn’t just a mistress. Not in the sense that you’re thinking. Your mom and I agreed, and though it took some convincing for me to go along with it, I was allowed.”
“What does that mean?”
“Your mother wanted me to have someone when she finally passed on. She didn’t want me—us—to live through her death alone. So she encouraged me to date, to find someone to love so that when her time came, I wouldn’t be alone. And I know it’s weird and probably hard for you to hear or understand. But I didn’t cheat on her and still think about her today. All this time later, I still visit her grave on her birthday and our anniversary.”
“I didn’t know.” I drop my chin to my chest.
“How could you?” He scoots closer to me. “You were so young and in so much pain. I knew that hating me for what you thought I did somehow help ease the pain of losing her. It gave you something else to think about other than what was actually hurting you. In hindsight, it was probably a bad parenting decision. I should have consoled you, helped you through that grief, but I was dealing with my own and didn’t know how to manage it all. So I let you think the worst of me because it helped you move on.”
“You should have told me. We could have helped each other, Dad.”
He smiles and tears well in his eyes. I haven’t called him that since the day I caught him with that woman. And at this moment, hearing everything he’s just shared with me, I see how much it’s hurt him.
“I’m sorry,” I admit and touch his arm.
“Don’t be. I’m the one who needs to make things right here.” He stills, and a few moments pass before he speaks again. “I don’t know how to fix what happened today. I hate myself for what those men did to you. I let my pride and anger get me into something I know nothing about.”
A shudder rolls through me, but I shake it off. “They didn’t hurt me.”
He frowns and looks at my wrist. “Then who did this?”
I shy away, but that seems to be enough of an answer for him.
“Arloe, does he hit you?” He tips his head toward the back in reference to Easton. “I don’t want you seeing him.”
I touch his arm again. “He doesn’t hurt me either.”
