She laughs. “With the exception of falling in love with you.”
My eyes close. “Say it, Kenna.”
Her warm, fruity breath flows over my ear. “I love you.”
Every time she says it, I feel like the luckiest son-of-a-bitch on the planet.
Every time she says it, I see a future full of love, laughter, and happiness.
Every time she says it, I know with complete and utter certainty I’ve found my one true soulmate.
Chapter Forty-three
Kenna
My palms are sweaty as we approach the church. Dad has no idea I’m coming. I didn’t want to give him the chance to say no.
No matter how this day turns out, it has to happen. I have no idea if Cyrus can reach out to him from jail, but Carter was right about one thing—I should be the one to tell him. Telling him myself will accomplish two things: he’ll hear the truth and not some trumped-up revenge story, and he won’t be blindsided.
I’m fully prepared for him to disown me as his daughter. And while that thought frightens me—because despite our differences, I always figured he might come around sooner or later, if not for me, then for Amelia—having Carter here will make it easier to navigate.
Carter lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it. “It’s going to be okay. Whatever happens in there, you’re going to get through this.”
He opens the large, ornate front door, and I step inside a church for the first time since I left home to attend college at age seventeen. Unlike my father, I don’t believe you have to go to an organized establishment to have a relationship with God. It’s just one of the myriad reasons he and I are so different. I’m about to add to those reasons a thousand-fold.
“May I help you?” an elderly woman asks, coming out from a side door.
I didn’t hear a bell chime when we came in. I look up and around, wondering if they have cameras. Is Dad watching me right now? Will he slip out a back door to avoid talking to me?
When I don’t speak, Carter says, “We’re looking for Eric Roberts. Is he here?”
“Pastor Roberts is in his office,” she says kindly. “May I tell him who’s inquiring?”
He clears his throat. “A friend. Please just tell him a friend.”
Her droopy, wrinkle-lined eyes rake over Carter and me. I’m wearing a conservative blouse and jeans. Carter is in khakis and a button-up, looking much different than his usual work uniform or casual after-hours attire. Am I just now noticing how handsome he looks? I’ve been so nervous all morning, so in my head, that nothing else has sunk in.
“Wait here, please,” she says after a long and excruciating moment where I’m sure she’s going to insist we state our names or leave.
I release a long, slow breath as she walks away.
“You okay?” Carter asks.
I nod.
“Because you’re squeezing my hand like a woman in labor.”
I relax my hand in his. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine. But you need to breathe, Kenna. I’m right here. Lean on me if you need to. Squeeze my hand as hard as you want. Nothing he says or does can change who you are. And who you are is a wonderful person.” He leans in. “And the woman I love.”
Hearing him say it helps calm me. But the slowdown of my pulse is only temporary. As soon as I see Dad coming down a hallway, my breath catches in my throat. And when he comes fully into the light, a hand flies over my mouth to cover my gasp.
My father looks completely different than he did the last time I saw him. I know it’s been nearly two years since we’ve met in person, and he’s well into his fifties, butthisman—he’s not the tall, strong, broad man who raised me. He’s shuffling slowly, using a cane to aid him. His hair has gone mostly grey, he’s lost aconsiderable amount of weight, and his face has a hundred more lines than I remember.
“Daddy!” I drop Carter’s hand and close the gap between me and my father. “What happened?”
When he realizes who’s standing in front of him, he nearly topples over. He studies my face as if making sure it’s me. “Kenna?”
