Her eyes widened with surprise. “Dad …”
“I’m not trying to guilt you, kid. I just … I think I’ve allowed you to believe I’m some kind of robot who doesn’t have feelings. And that’s my fault. I wanted you to always feel safe and secure with me because there were times I didn’t feel that way when I was a kid. However, by doing that, I’ve let you think I’m impervious. But when you take your hits, it hurts.”
Heather’s chin wobbled, her eyes brightening. “Dad, I’m sorry. I didn’t … I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
Everything in me rebelled at having blurted that out, seeing her upset at my reaction, because that’s what I’d tried to protect her from over the years. I didn’t know if I’d done the right thing or not. “Have I hurtyourfeelings, flower? Is that why you don’t want to be here? Because I want to know if I’ve done something.”
She quickly brushed away a tear, and I had to hold myself back from getting up off the bed. “I … I’m not mad at you. I mean … I think you and Mum have, like, lied about why you split up and that’s kind of fuc—messed with me. But I’m not mad at you, Dad.” Her tears started to fall fast and hard now as she nervously twisted her fingers together.
My worry began to mount.
“I’m … scared that if I tell you the truth, you’ll feel weird toward me. Or different about me.”
Pulse racing, I got up and lowered myself to my knees in front of her, taking her hands gently in mine. “I could never feel weird or different toward you, kid. You are”—I swallowed because Cammie was right … voicing myownemotions did not come easily to me—“you are my world. You have been since themoment the midwife placed you in my arms. You’ll never lose me.”
Heather cried harder. “I just … you’re just … like I know Glenvulin isn’t backward or anything, but you just come from such a traditional background, and I’ve heard Grandpa Donnelly make offhand comments about Harry and Bryan …”
My mind raced as my pulse increased with mounting concern. “Heather, what are you trying to tell me?”
She pulled one hand out of mine but only to wipe it beneath her runny nose. Finally, she sucked in a breath and met my gaze head on. “Dad … I’m not mad because I didn’t get to go to Paris. I’m mad because my girlfriend, Hazel, is in Paris alone with our friend, Olivia, and Olivia told Hazel she has feelings for her. And Olivia and Hazel are going to Edinburgh uni together … and I’m in love with Hazel and I’m scared I’ll lose her.”
My grip on her tightened even as my jaw slackened without my permission.
That was not at all what I’d been expecting.
Heather was gay.
She was telling me she was gay.
Wait.
She was afraid to tell me she was gay?
“Flower … I don’t care who you love. I just care that you’re happy. That’s all that will ever matter to me.”
A sob tore from her throat, like a wounded animal, and then suddenly I was almost knocked on my arse as she threw her arms around me. I embraced her, tight, as she cried into my throat, and years of hugs and skinned knees and making her feel safe and protected when she was hurt flooded through my mind.
These moments with my daughter were rare now. Gone in a flash. I stroked her hair, murmuring soothing words, until she calmed down. Finally, she pulled away, sitting back on her heels as she wiped at her eyes and cheeks.
“Ugh.” She grimaced and gave me a wobbly smile. “I didn’t mean to lose it like that.”
“How long have you known you liked girls?” I asked quietly, trying to piece together her behavior over the last couple of years.
“I think really since I was fourteen, but I definitely knew when we moved to Oban and I met Hazel.” Heather pulled her knees to her chin. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I just wish you’d felt like you could tell me. I’m not Grandpa Donnelly.” Kiera’s father was a prick who spouted casually racist and homophobic remarks all the time, which was why Kiera spent as little time as possible with him. “Did you tell your mum?”
She shook her head. “Hazel’s parents won’t be happy. She already knows they won’t be. So we kept it quiet.”
I asked her how long they’d been dating, and she said it had been a year.
“Did you think I would be against it?” That really worried me because I’d never had a homophobic thought in my life, so why would my own daughter be concerned about my reaction?
“I … I honestly didn’t know, Dad. When I try to ask you how you’re feeling about anything, you just give me vague answers and pat me on the head like a wee girl, and it makes me mad because then you turn around and tell me I need to start thinking like an adult. It felt like you didn’t trust me. So … I didn’t feel like I could trust you in return. You telling me I hurt you”—her chin wobbled again—“is like the first time I’ve ever heard you admit anything like that.”
Shit.
Fuck, shit, fuck, fuck.
