“Fair enough,” he said. “Tell me about school. How’d finals go? Are you excited for your last semester?”
That wasn’t a much better topic.
But I was good at pretending.
Ispent longerthan I’d intended with Dad. By the time I left—with a hug and a promise to be in touch—I felt better.
Not good.
Not happy.
But better.
His genuine remorse gave me hope. We would never be back where we were. The rift could be mended, but it wouldn’t be a smooth, seamless finish. But I could deal with a little bumpy. It was better than nothing.
Walking out of the building, I got into the heavily tinted SUV that was parked at the curb.
“How’d it go?” Tripp asked, studying me carefully.
When I’d told him I would be visiting my father, I’d insisted I go alone.
He’d insisted on driving me.
I’d tried to argue.
He’d reminded me who was in charge.
And he’d been right. Not just that he was in charge—though he was.
But, also, that I might want the company after. If I was spending the long drive back by myself, I would overthink all the calm that I finally felt. I would focus on the irrational guilt that simmered through me, like I was betraying my mom—despite her being heavily in favor of me forgiving my father. I would dwell on how different our family would always be.
And I would likely do it all while oscillating between sobbing and raging over the fact he was going to spend years in jail.
But I wasn’t alone. I had Tripp there.
“It went better than I expected,” I told him.
“I’m glad, siren.” He gently dislodged my hair from my grasp. I hadn’t even realized I was fidgeting with it. Tucking it behind my ear for me, he asked, “What do you need?”
My answer was immediate. “I need to watch a movie and eat brie until I’m more cheese than human.”
Tripp had offered a trip to Gilded as a reward—or distraction or stress reliever—when I’d wanted to bail on the visit. As fun and helpful as our time there was, I didn’t want to use it as a crutch.
Cheese, on the other hand, would always be available.
I worried Tripp would be disappointed, but there was no hint of it in his soft smile. “You got it.”
A few minutes later, another thought hit me. A vital one of the utmost importance. “I have another favor, Sir.”
His hand tightened on my thigh as he drove. “Name it.”
“Can we also get mozzarella sticks?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
FALSE ALARM! OUR BOY IS BACK, AND THE TEA IS HOT
GREER
