I whipped my head toward him. “Why is it so wrong of me to want to do something because you did it?”
“Because you need a reason foryou.” He pressed his lips together. “You can want to go to Mullhound because I went there, but you also have to go there becauseyouwant to. You have to want it foryourself, not to impress anyone else.”
“If Destelle had wanted to go there, you would’ve beenhappy for her,” I grumbled, now turning to face out the window, because I couldn’t stand looking at him or his framed degree any longer. “You wouldn’t have questioned it.”
My words were the grumble of a child’s, pouting, embarrassing, and I was grateful my face was turned away.
“When I look at Destelle, I see all the things I forced her to do against her will,” Dad told me quietly. “I see the scholarships, the fundraisers, the clubs. We forced her into AP classes in high school, ten hours of volunteering every week, keeping her so busy she had no life outside of what we wanted. I see all the things she wanted to do that I forbade her from doing. Sleepovers, birthday parties, dating.” Regret clogged his voice. “I look at her and see a spirit I’d unknowingly crushed.”
My gaze unfocused a little. I didn’t remember my parents having such total control over her. I remembered her being out of the house a lot, and I remembered her studying all the time, but I never thought about thewhy.
“Around here, Nellie, that’s what people do. They see their children as a car they can steer. That’s what theyencourage. And your mother and I held onto Destelle’s steering wheel until she threatened to crash the car herself. I don’t love Destelle more than I love you.” The undercurrent in Dad’s voice caused the pressure in my eyes to increase. “I love all three of you all the same, but I also love you differently. I love Destelle for her adventurous spirit, and I love Jamie for his unshakable strength, and I love you for your steadfast determination. I don’t want your mother and I to steer your car,Nellie. I don’t want you to let us. I want you to steer it yourself.”
I tried to discreetly reach up and swipe at my cheek, but another tear fell down the other. “Even if I steer it to Mullhound?”
“You don’t have to go to Mullhound for me to be proud of you.” There was a soft sound, like Dad standing from his chair. “I’m proud of you, regardless.”
I let out a sharp breath, as if he’d knocked the wind out of me.I’m proud of you, regardless. It sounded so simple, but just in the same way the sun shining through the window warmed me, those words melted me on the inside. I kept my face turned away from Dad as I cried, but I couldn’t quite keep silent.
And then his arms came around me, and he bent down so that he could envelop me in the slightly awkward hug. “I didn’t realize how important it was for you to hear that from me,” he murmured as I cried harder, because I couldn’t remember the last time he’d hugged me like this. “I’m sorry it took me so long to say it, but know that I’ve always felt it.”
I tried to swallow a sob. “Even if I have a big ego?”
“You get that from me.” His hand smoothed down my back. My heart cracked apart, but this time, warmth chased away the sadness, both bitter and sweet. “I’m sorry, Eleanor. I’m sorry.”
Dad held onto me as I cried from all the pent-up feelings I’d been carrying these past weeks. Heck, these past months. Tears of disappointment and worry and pressure,Dad’s presence was a reassurance through it now. It felt like a dream, something I’d hoped for but never thought I’d get. I wondered what kind of talk Mom ended up having with Dad. It must’ve been a good one.
“I’m not saying don’t pursue law,” he murmured, wiping away my tears as I pulled back. “I’m saying go to college and study whatyouwant. I’m saying don’t lock it down in your mind. Don’t be like a dog with a bone and miss the juicy steak sitting behind you.”
I choked on a laugh.
“I know,” he said, chuckling to himself. “Leave the metaphors to Jamie.”
Dad passed me a tissue from the box he had on his desk, and I watched him discreetly rub at the corner of his eyes. “When did you talk to Beck all those years ago?” I asked Dad, afraid to look at his expression in case it hurt him. “I… never realized you had.”
Dad’s face did change, guilt now touching it. “His father told me he’d been having issues with Beck. Back then, since I’d mostly been on the juvenile circuit, he asked me to give Beck a little talk. It was before the fire—rightbefore.”
Right before. That same night.
“I thought Beck was like the other teenagers I’d come across. Troubled. Filled with emotions they couldn’t handle and let out their anger in ways they shouldn’t. It wasn’t until later that I realized it was never Beck’s fault, but his parents’.”
My heart started beating faster. “What did you say?”
“I told him that reputation sticks. That people will only give you so many chances before they stop trying, and once people decide you’re trouble, they wash their hands of you.’”
The other kids don’t like me, Beck had said the night of the fire.Your dad doesn’t like me. My parents only pretend they like me when other people are around.
And then, more recently—You threw me away.
“I thought he was giving his parents grief.” Dad moved and leaned against the edge of his desk. “It didn’t occur to me that it could’ve been the other way around. It’s… another big regret of mine.”
“He said he hasn’t talked to his mom in four years.”
“Some people shouldn’t be parents. The Jennings’s are an example. As a parent, you’re promising to be there for your child when they need you.” His eyes turned sad. “I don’t think anyone’s ever chosen Beckham in his life.”
It broke my heart to think of how similar Beck and I could be—wanting the love of our parents, wanting their pride. I’d been upset when Dad stopped supporting me for a couple of months, but Beck hadn’t had the support of his parents foryears.
I dropped my gaze to my lap. “Destelle chose the bad boy.”
