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My bre
ath escapes in a rush at the deep baritone of his voice. “Hey, Dad,” I manage to choke out, shuffling my feet on the ground.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he replies, stepping toward me and causing my stomach to drop. I knew he wouldn’t be happy I was home, but I didn’t think it would affect me as much as it is.
A lump grows in my throat and I can’t seem to form words as he closes his eyes. I watch as he shakes his head and when he opens his eyes back up, they’re glazed over.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He steps toward me, opening up his arms.
I don’t hesitate, walking toward him at a fast pace.
He wraps me up in a giant bear hug—a hug I’ve missed so much over the last six years—and my head lands on his chest. He always makes me feel like a small child, especially with him being six foot two. The smell of musk and chewing tobacco surrounds me and only one word comes to mind—home.
He rocks us side to side and I make a noise in the back of my throat as I try to keep my emotions at bay.
Pulling back, he frames my face with his large hands and kisses me on the forehead. “You look tired,” he comments.
I nod slowly, my bottom lip wobbling. I’ve kept it together these last few months, but being back home and in my dad’s arms has it all flooding to the forefront.
“Hey, hey,” he murmurs. “What’s the matter?”
“I—”
Footsteps sound near us and I cut myself off. The wooden stairs creak and I prepare myself to see my mother. She was always the one person who I could talk to—always there no matter what. But after that day, something between us changed. I don’t know whether it was me or her, or maybe a combination of both.
When her light-blue eyes connect with mine, all I see is relief and love staring back at me and not the pain that used to be reflected in them.
“Oh my God,” she whispers, cupping her hands over her mouth and staggering down the last couple of steps toward me.
“Hey, Mom,” I finally manage to say when she stands next to Dad.
“I can’t believe you’re here.”
I smile tightly, not really knowing how to feel as she pulls me away from Dad and wraps her thin arms around me, her blond hair moving and wafting us with the smell of the same shampoo I used to use—watermelon.
Closing my eyes, I feel like the same eighteen-year-old girl who didn’t know what to do or how to cope. Not even my mother's hugs could make me feel safe back then.
It was part of the plan for me to have minimal contact, at least until I was settled. But a year after I had lived with Tris, I couldn’t bring myself to talk to my mom and dad properly. It’s not their fault that we lost touch. For years they tried to contact me, but other than very brief phone calls, I haven’t talked to them much which I now regret.
It’s funny how I ran away from here but when I’m feeling at my most insecure, not knowing which way to turn or what road will lead me to the best place, I come back home.
Home will always be home, and my mom and dad will always make me feel safe. There’s only one other person that makes me feel like that... Nate.
I bat away the image of his grinning face and sparkling green eyes as soon as it comes into my mind. I can’t think about him now. I made the choice to pull away so I need to stick to it—for his protection.
Mom pulls away and leads me into the house, Dad bringing up the rear as we walk up the stairs. My gaze flicks around the small hallway that leads into the home I grew up in, not a thing changed.
The walls are still a beige color with family photographs and artwork adorning them, and the dark wood floor is still covered with the same rug that I used to sit on and build all my Lego.
“I’m so sorry, sweetie, but I have a long shift and your dad was just about to go to work, too.”
“That’s okay,” I tell Mom. “I’ll chill out here today and then maybe I could cook something for dinner?”
Mom tilts her head to the side, her eyes narrowing as Dad pushes his thumbs into the belt he wears around his waist containing his cuffs and other sheriff… things.
“Something’s wrong.” She doesn’t wait for me to answer before she turns to Dad. “Something’s wrong, Carl.”
He stares at me, his eyes narrowing as he steps forward. “Sweetheart, if you need—” The sound of his cell blasting through the hallway has him cursing under his breath and when he pulls it out, his eyes flutter closed. “I’ve got to get to the station.”
