Like he couldn’t believe she’d ever given him a chance.
Life was beautiful back then. Happy. I was a kid who got to be a kid. I had a real, functional family. One who knew love. I wish I had known that that version of my life would only last so long. I would have held my mom’s hand more often, and spent time tracing her fingers, memorizing every divet and scar from when her cooking knife slipped.
I would have hugged my dad tighter, wrapped my little arms around his neck, and looked at him with my mother’s eyes—imprinting to memory the way he’d look at mewith the same kind of adoration, because there was nothing he loved more than seeing her in me.
I wish I had time to put the world on pause before my life was destroyed. To take one big and clean breath before I spent the rest of my life fighting for another.
I yank my car door closed and press my head against the steering wheel. As much as I don’t want to cry, a tear slips through, and I let it.
He’s dying.
It’ll be soon now.
And I don’t feelanythingtoward that man besides anger, resentment, and a burning pain of disappointment.
He might be my father, but he isn’t my dad. As far as I’m concerned, my dad died the very moment that truck smashed into my mother’s minivan.
If what Serena says is true, and he’s been asking for me, then why hasn’t he picked up the phone? After all these years, knowing that I’m working my ass off to ensure he’s cared for, why haven’t I heard a word from him?
He’s the parent.
He is the parent!
I know I made my boundaries clear, but for once, I’d like to feel that he actually worries about me. That he thinksabout me at all. It feels like he believes he only has two daughters and he’s happier that way. They both look like him. Their dark hair and blue eyes are easier to stomach. Who cares about the firstborn who looks like his dead wife? She’s the spare.
I wipe at my face and take a deep, painful breath in.
Head up, back against the wall, one foot in front of the other.
Survive.
It’s the only move I’ve got.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
carter
“Am I a groomsman yet?”
“Nope.”
I groan, throwing my head back.
We’re sitting outside on Lowesy’s balcony, the fireplace table roaring between us. It’s a chilly night, but this place is well insulated, and with a few beers down the hatch and the fire going, the surrounding cold is barely noticeable.
Declan has not budged on the groomsman thing. I ask him five times a day and he rejects me every single time.
“Good luck. Dec is a stubborn bastard when he wants to be,” Wyatt says, a crooked smile on his mouth as he grins at our mutual friend.
He’sa fucking groomsman. Lucky shit.
Declan shrugs a shoulder, those dimples popping out, and drapes his arm along the back of the couch. I give him my best pleading look, but he doesn't spare me a second glance; he just brings his beer to his lips and takes a swig.
“Make him a ring bearer,” Boss grumbles from the chair across the table.
My head snaps in his direction, horror rushing over me.
No. Absolutely not. I’m not getting demoted to a fucking child’s job.
