Yeah, fat chance.
Turning the ignition, I grabbed my bag and hopped out of the truck. It was quiet, which wasn’t too unusual for a Sunday morning, seeing as most of the cowboys spent their Saturday nights in town at the Lone Star. I braced myself for an attack the moment I opened the door, but was met with the eerie silence of an empty room. Mom was usually at the table with her coffee, reading a book while Dad made breakfast. There wasn’t even the lingering scent of coffee to comfort me.
As I crept to the back door and peeked outside, I was surprised to see Mom tending to her garden. For a moment, I wondered why she hadn’t heard my truck and come running, but then it hit me. She wouldn’t have batted an eye at the sound of a diesel engine. It was a necessity out here. Most, if not all, of our cowboys drove loud vehicles. She likely thought one of them was headed up to the barn and didn’t realize I’d come home.
Maybe I could pull this off after all.
Heading back to my room, I was startled when I saw a figure sitting on the ottoman at the end of my bed. “Jesus, Dad! You scared me.”
He turned over his shoulder, giving me a warm smile. “Last time I checked, I live here too, ya know.”
“To be honest, I didn’t realize anyone was in the house. It’s too quiet,” I said, setting my bag down.
“Different, huh?” he joked. “I’m not used to it myself, but I think I’ll be able to get used to it eventually.”
I padded across the floor to my bed, climbing on top and hugging one of the pillows to my chest. I didn’t know how long he’d been here or why. Something about it was both comforting and made me uneasy at the same time.
“What’re you doing in here?” I asked, drumming my fingers against my pillowcase.
He looked back toward the bookshelf that had pictures dating back to high school, and old academic trophies that probably should’ve been thrown out by now. “Don’t mind me. I was just feeling a little nostalgic. It’s been quite some time since your mother and I have been alone. Seems like it’s gotten quiet overnight, especially with your sisters gone. They could fill a whole house with their noise, but sometimes you’re so quiet I forget you’re here.”
“Well, I’ll try to be as loud as possible from now on,” I joked, still confused as to this sudden sense of sentimentality. “You’re almost empty nesters.”
That made his smile a little bit brighter. “Only took damn near forty years?—”
“Hey! I’m not forty yet,” I said, squeezing the pillow. “I still have four years to go before I get the distinction.”
Dad shook his head. “Stop trying to age me, dammit. I already feel old as hell. I don’t need the reminder that my baby girl is all grown up.”
“Ah, Lennox has been grown, Daddy. For quite some time now.”
His large, bushy eyebrows drew together. “She may be the baby of the family, but I’m not talkin’ about your sister, Cleo. I’m talking about you. You’re my baby girl. My firstborn.”
I wasn’t sure why his words had emotions clogging up my throat, but I couldn’t speak. I’d just assumed he was talking about Lennox because, while he’s always had a soft spot for all his daughters, I felt the bond between them had always been the strongest. She had him wrapped around her finger in a way neither Josie nor I ever had.
“Well, don’t remind me of my age then,” I muttered, not knowing what to say. “Seems rude to remind a woman of that kind of thing, you know?”
Dad looked around the room, and I wondered if he was judging the way I never redecorated when I came home. How my childhood bedroom and the one he was sitting in now would be nearly indistinguishable if you examined them side by side. “Your mom and I gave your sisters their own plots when they turned twenty-one. We offered the same to you once upon a time, and the offer still stands if you’re looking to plant your roots. You know we’d love to have you nearby.”
Once upon a time, I’d been happy for their offer. I’d been over the damn moon at the prospect of creating my own little haven right here where I grew up. But then Grady and I broke up, and it never felt right to live here with Thomas. I couldn’texplain it, but I think some part of me subconsciously knew he would destroy any happy memories this land once held.
“I appreciate the offer, Dad. Really, I do, but?—”
“But I think we both know your roots weren’t meant to be planted here.” I blinked back my shock, forcing my face to stay as neutral as possible. There was the smallest hint of sadness in his voice, but I couldn’t focus on that. If I did, I’d have accepted the offer here and now, regardless of what I really wanted. But how could he know that? I hadn’t even begun feeling that way until recently, until Grady. “I get it, and I want you to find the place that feels like home. After what you went through…” he trailed off, clearing his throat before continuing. “Well, you deserve to do whatever makes you happy. Just know your mom and I will support you no matter what.”
Oh, my heart. My stupid, badly beaten, scared and cautious heart finally felt like it was breaking in two at the thought of upsetting my dad, even for a second. Before I could get up, he crossed the room and met me for a hug. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around me, squeezing tightly. The faint scent of his cologne still clung to his clothes from the morning, and I inhaled deeply, trying to keep the tears at bay.
“I love you, honey,” he mumbled against my hair. “And I’m just so sorry.”
Even if he didn’t say it, I knew what his apology was for.
None of us had talked about Thomas since the night I told my family the truth about our relationship. It wasn’t that anyone was purposely avoiding the topic, but we’d all been so busy I let it get swept under the rug. Part of me hoped that was where it would stay, but I think another part of me wanted to talk about it to someone other than Laura or Rachel. I wanted comfort from my sisters and safety from my parents. I wish I’d felt like I could turn to them sooner, that I could’ve confided in them the moment that first alarm bell rang. The first-time verbal spars turned black and blue.
But I’d been too stubborn, too afraid of being anything less than the perfect, dutiful daughter I tried to morph myself into. I worried I would be seen as too weak, too fragile, too damn pathetic. I heard the whispers of strangers when they gossiped, asking why victims of domestic violence didn’t leave earlier. Their ignorance doused my fear and shame in gasoline while I lit the match and watched my life go up in flames.
“I am too, Daddy,” I whispered. My words were muffled against his old cotton T-shirt, but I couldn’t bring myself to move. It felt safe. It felt like home to be here with my father, letting him see a part of me I didn’t let anyone else ever see.
“Oh, Cleo… You have nothing to be sorry about, honey. I should’ve known, I should’ve seen the signs. You’ve always been quiet. Much more reserved than your sisters,” he said, rubbing small circles on my back. “But I should’ve known something was wrong.”
