Page 56 of Peaks and Promises

At the sight of that house, I slowed almost to a stop.

The log home stood in a clearing, with a big front porch and a chimney toward the back. The side yard had a neatly trimmed lawn with a picnic table and a swing set. The driveway curved in front and wound around to my dad’s shop behind the house.

Movement on the porch caught my eye, and it felt like my heart stopped dead in my chest.

He was there. My dad. Paul Haven.

There was more gray than brown in his thick beard and his face had lines I didn’t recall. But other than that, he’d hardly changed. Still had that barrel chest, wide shoulders, and thick arms. He even dressed the same, in worn jeans, sturdy boots, and a plaid flannel with the sleeves cuffed to his elbows.

He descended the porch steps while I pulled my SUV closer and parked in front of the house. I couldn’t read his face, but I knew what was about to happen. I debated whether I should even bother getting out. He was about to tell me to get the fuck off his property.

When he didn’t start bellowing at me, I opened the door and stepped out, my shoes crunching on the gravel. He strode toward me, and for a second, I thought he was going to skip the tongue-lashing and just hit me.

That was exactly what I wanted him to do. I braced myself to take his fist. I wouldn’t put up any defense. I deserved it.

I swallowed hard as he stopped in front of me and looked me up and down. Why didn’t he just hit me and get it over with?

I opened my mouth, unsure of what, if anything, I could say, when he stepped in and wrapped his arms around me.

He crushed me against him, holding me in a tight embrace. I froze in shock, my eyes wide. What was he doing?

I tried to step away. To get out of his inexplicable bear hug. But he refused to let go, his arms tightening.

And in that moment, my dad broke me.

Shuddering with a quiet sob, I put my arms around him and hugged him back.

His arms loosened slightly, and I curled into him, resting my forehead on his shoulder. He patted my back as if I were a child.

As if I were still his son.

I don’t know how long we stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms. I’m not ashamed to admit I wept. How could I not? There was the man who was supposed to hate me. Who’d told me to never come home. And he’d had every right to exile me. I’d deserved worse after the things I’d said to him.

How could he embrace me?

Finally, he let go. The tears in his eyes almost broke me all over again. I’d never seen Paul Haven cry. Not once. And certainly not over me.

“Son…”

I shook my head, still unable to fathom what was happening. Or maybe just unable to accept it.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Reese.” He paused, gazing at me like he couldn’t believe I was there. “Son, I’m so sorry.”

A lump rose in my throat, making it hard to speak. “You’re sorry? For what? I’m the one who left.”

“That’s my fault as much as yours. I shouldn’t have told you to go.”

“Yes, you should have. I deserved it. I—”

I stopped. I didn’t want to repeat what I’d said all those years ago. That I hated him. That he wasn’t my father. That I never wanted to see him again.

“You were a hotheaded kid who had plenty of reasons to be angry. You lashed out at me. You should have, because I should have been the one who could take it. Who could stand up to you without fucking it all up. But I didn’t. I lost my damn temper. And I’ve regretted it every day since.”

I stared at him in disbelief. In all the times I’d imagined this moment, wondering what would happen if we ever came face-to-face, not once had it occurred to me that he had regrets. His apology left me reeling.

“If you can’t forgive me, at least stay long enough to see your mom,” he said. “She’ll murder me if I chase you off.”