I can’t move. Every muscle in me feels locked in place, as if my entire body is capturing this moment.
Dad stays where he is, watching the taillights fade. His hands are still shaking when he finally looks at me.
“I should’ve said something a long time ago,” he says, voice thick. “I let him talk to you the way he talked to me, and I’m sorry for that. I’m proud of you, son.” A sob bubbles in his throat. “And I love you.”
It’s not eloquent. It’s not even steady. But it’s the bravest thing I’ve ever seen him do.
I close the distance between us and pull him into a hug. He grips me tight, and for the first time in I don’t know how long, I feel like I have a real father. Someone who cares enough to go to bat for me.
I was finally ready to stand up for myself—to be the lone wolf I pretend to be—but it turns out, I didn’t have to.
And I’ve never been so glad not to be alone.
My fingers itch with a desire to call Poppy …
The swelling in my chest deflates.
Poppy.
Grace.
I let her slip between my fingers—bothhers. I froze Grace out. I pushed Poppy away.
I blew it.
“I’m so proud of you both,” Mom says, joining us, throwing her arms around us with sniffs.
We stay there for a long beat, finally free.
When Mom releases us, she wipes her eyes with a smile. “Should we go? Your brother will be wondering what’s taking us so long,” she says.
I nod, but my relief is already fading, replaced by an empty ache. I just got my family back, but I’ve still lost Poppy.
I hand her the truck keys, and we all climb into the truck, Dad in the driver’s seat, still shaking a little, and me in the back, trying to process everything that just happened.
My phone is in my pocket, a dead weight. Grace deleted her profile. Poppy thinks I don’t want her.
And I just let her believe it.
Before Dad can start the engine, there’s a tap on my window.
Darren.
I roll it down. “Hey.”
“Sorry,” he says, breath fogging in the cold. “I just ... I heard the yelling and wanted to make sure you were okay. Sounded intense.”
“I’m okay,” I say, and I mean it. “Thanks to my dad.” I reach a hand up and clutch my dad’s shoulder. He pats my hand.
Darren nods, then glances at Mom and Dad. “For what it’s worth, Mr. Fletcher, what you did back there—standing up to your father—it took guts. Real guts.”
Dad’s voice is rough when he speaks. “Thank you, Darren.”
An awkward beat passes. Darren shifts his weight, clearly wanting to leave but not sure how.
“I thought you’d be at the reception, already. What kept you so long?” Mom asks.
“Oh, a friend is having an event in the basement. Sort of a … memorial party.”
