I’m right on the money, I can see it in the shame she’s wearing all over her now.
“Everything before that isnotto be forgotten,” I say, my voice even. “In fact, I want you to replay every second of it in your mind before bed for the rest of your life.Thatpart stays. The rest of it goes.”
She lets out a long breath through her nose, shaking her head between my hands.
“It’s fine. We were drunk and I misunderstood.”
“It’s not fine,” I counter, and she shoots me her token glare. Great, we’re back in business. “Because I was drunk and I ruined the moment. Trust me, if I hadn’t gotten sick, I would have made it abundantly clear that I think we should kiss more often. I think a lot of situations are more dire than we believe them to be. I’m preparing a thesis on it as we speak.”
Her glare gets colder, but those eyes warm.
“Like right now,” I continue, stepping completely into her space. My hands are still cupping her face, but now our bodies are touching. Her hands fall to my hips, slide around my back absentmindedly. I lower my face to hers, until our mouths are a hair’s length apart. “We’re fighting. It’s dire. I say we have to enact our rules. Any objections?”
She breathes a laugh, but shakes her head.
“Good,” I mumble, pressing my lips to hers.
Her hands dig into the back of my shirt, both of us just melting into the simple sweep of our mouths. An easy kiss. A soft one. The bandage being placed over this fight to help it heal. I still have no idea what the fuck I’m doing, and Boston’s words are replaying in the back of my head on a loop, but she’s still here and I’m going to work with that.
I pull away just enough, and my heart stops at the look of her freshly kissed face. Plump, freckled lips fallen open, eyes still closed. Her brows pinched a bit in the middle, like she’s just as confused as I am right now.
Her eyes flutter open and she unwinds her arms from around me.
“What’s truly dire is my appetite right now. Want to stay for some food? I think I’m going to order some pizza.”
I stay. We don’t kiss or touch anymore, but she’s gone backto glaring at me more frequently, so I’m certain we’re on the same path again. I can hear the clock ticking above my head, counting down the days until this isn’t a thing between us anymore. If this week was any indication, I’m not ready to unbind myself from her yet.
Not even close.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
arden
I’m leavingthe hospital when my phone rings. Serena’s name stares up at me and it hits me that it’s been a while since we’ve spoken. I answer it, slowing my walk so I’m spared from the cold November air for a moment or two longer.
“Hello?”
“Hey Biggie,” she greets me, sounding a bit more tired than usual. Definitely less chipper. Not as angry as Anya, but worn down. “How's life as a hockey wife?”
“Not a hockey wife,” I clarify. “But I’ve been busy. Sorry I haven’t called. How are things on the home front?”
There’s a small pause. A pause that feels like a weight on my heart.
“It’s not good,” she says, letting out a long breath. “I know you hate it here, and I know you’re still mad at him, but I think we’re reaching the end of the road. We need our sister. He needs his daughter.”
A weird burst of pain grips my heart. At first, it’s pure rage and resentment. That’s what smacks me in the chest, hard and unrelenting. He’s not allowed to need me now, not when hespent the entirety of my childhood wanting me out of sight. Not when he hasn’t looked me in the eye since Mom closed hers. Another part of that sting is the fact that it probably isn’t true. It’s Serena and Anya inferring that I need to be there. It’sthemdeciding that our father needs me.
But then there is this deep, aching sadness that sweeps in and soothes the burn like a tidal wave. The sand in the hourglass has almost reached the bottom. The time that I had to fix my relationship with my father has run out. He’s been sick for years, and I’ve been angrier at him for longer. I’ve hated him for longer. There’s a piece of me, buried deep inside my heart, that has always dreamed of a life where this wasn’t the outcome. Where I had both parents, or maybe I just had Dad, but this time he held me close instead of pushing me away.
I was a little girl who needed her dad to be her dad. To love her. To help her comprehend the immeasurable loss of her mother. I needed a parent to step in and step up because life got hard the moment she passed. I should have had him to lean on, to get advice from, to take care of me. I should be closer to my sisters. I should be happy.
But I’m not. Because he ruined that. He ruined it all.
Not only do I not have a mom to call when I need her, to answer the phone when someone breaks my heart, or to talk me off a ledge when I am stressed out and wondering if I’m doing this adulthood thing right—I don’t have a dad either. Not only am I never going to have a mother to watch me try on wedding dresses, I don’t have a father to walk me down the aisle, either.
All I needed from him was love, and it’s one of the many things that he refused to give me. He didn’t need me then, but I needed him. Desperately. He may need me now, but I don’t need a single thing from him anymore.
“Do you have his paperwork?” is all I say.
