Page 112 of Run to Me

“Have you ever seen me?” I shove the crumpled photo at his chest.

Clearly confused about why I’m not overjoyed to see him, my father frowns as he looks from me to the image. “What is this?”

Jabbing the photo with a finger, I say, “This is a forgotten daughter.”

While he examines the picture in his hand, I study him, unblinking, as I watch for any sign of guilt. I catch the slight wince when his eyes land on the girl sleeping in the background. That wince tells me it wasn’t the first or last time my family came close to leaving me behind at a game.

Richard squeezes the back of his neck and glances around the neighborhood to see if we have an audience. “Maisy, please. Come inside.”

“I’m not going inside. I came here looking for confirmation, and you’ve already given it to me.”

“Confirmation of what?” he asks, his incredulous gaze flicking back and forth between me and Jensen. Why he keeps eyeing Jensen for help, I don’t know. Richard won’t find rescue from the man thrumming with displeasure at my back.

Since my father can’t seem to draw the right conclusion based on what I’ve presented so far, I help him along by saying, “That you and Vera never gave a shit about me. ”

He gasps and has the nerve to gesture at the photo to support his argument. “That’s not true at all. You were there with us. At practices and games⁠—”

“All you cared about was Logan and football. No one asked me what I wanted. Or what I enjoyed doing. Even after he died, neither of you showed any interest in me.”

Richard flinches at the word “died,” but I’m here to be honest and lay out the facts. I’m not here to sugarcoat history.

“I’m sorry if it seemed like we forgot about you,” he says. “Things were hard for all of us after your brother passed. Your mom and I talked about how you were dealing with everything, but you seemed to be okay. Then we drifted apart, and I guess neither of us checked in with you. We should have.”

After their divorce, my parents remained civil. Some people referred to them as friends, saying they were better suited as an unmarried couple. They received praise for their ability to co-parent without contention. The truth is they weren’t co-parenting. They could merely set aside their differences and focus on the common ground they shared in the glory of their superstar son. Another fact I bestow upon Richard.

“You drifted apart because Logan wasn’t there to tie you together anymore. Because I wasn’t worth fighting for enough that you’d both stick around for me.”

His expression is both pleading and exasperated, and the wrinkles around his eyes deepen. “That’s not true. Maisy, we lost our son⁠—”

“But you had a daughter who was still alive. One who needed her parents before Logan died and after. Do you know…not once did either of you ask how I was doing when he died? Not once did you realize I was holding the two of you up like an invisible pillar. I didn’t expect a thanks, but I thought you’d at least see me there. The living, breathing daughter holding your hand through the grief. But you didn’t. When the town gathered around you, you let go of my hand and left me outside the circle. You both just left me there. Alone. Like you always did.” My voice cracks, and I struggle to keep the years of heartbreak from swallowing me whole. I won’t let the heartbreak win.

Jensen’s reassuring hand on my lower back flexes, reminding me of his presence and sending me strength. I sweep aside my self-pity and ask my last question, the one screaming the loudest in my mind.

“Did you try to find me after I left Walford?”

The creases in Richard’s face deepen even more. “How? You were all over the world, and I had no way to reach you.”

Hello, anger. Welcome back.

I take a step away from him, preparing to retreat because I’ve learned everything I needed to know, and then some. “There’s always a way if you want something badly enough.”

Sensing I’m about to flee, my father reaches for me. “Maisy⁠—”

“No!” I put up a hand to halt him when he steps forward. “Just…no.”

Turning on my heel, I rush to Jensen’s car, aware of him and Richard having a quick exchange of words. I tune them out. The only things I have room for in my head right now are unbridled fury and the overwhelming need to run far away from here.

39

JENSEN

Maisy’s seconds away from exploding, unable to sit still in the passenger seat as her hands fidget in her lap. Small sounds catch in her throat, years of pent-up emotions boiling at the surface. She’s fighting like hell to keep her shit together, a beautiful bomb on the verge of detonating.

When she stormed off after Richard dealt the final blows to her fragile heart, I moved to follow her, but he called my name.

“I don’t understand what just happened,” he says. His eyes implore me to give him clarity, but I have none to give.

“No disrespect, sir, but that’s exactly the problem. Something for you to think on.”