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We go to the kitchen and he sits on the stool as I busy myself behind the counter, putting the cupcakes on a plate.
“I’m telling you, Dad. These cupcakes became a hit at W&S. I’ve been getting clingy texts the past couple of days because I was with you and didn’t bring any.”
“Who are the assholes who dare be clingy to my angel?” Dad takes a bite of a cupcake and a small smile twitches his lips. “Chocolate. I thought any flavor other than vanilla is blasphemy.”
“It is, but apparently, chocolate is popular.”
“Apparently. Presumptuous chocolate.”
“I know, right?” I lean over on the counter to watch him closely.
I’ve been doing that a lot lately, watching him, making sure he’s actually awake and right in front of me.
The thought of losing him again keeps me up at night.
After he finishes the cupcake, he sniffs the air, or more like, me. “That smell again.”
“W-what smell?” Shit. Damn it.
Dad’s eyes narrow on me the second I stammer. My heart thunders and the ball in my throat grows bigger until it’s blocking my breathing.
Oh, God.
Oh, God.
He knows. No clue what exactly he’s aware of, but it’s there in the dip in his forehead and how he’s flexing his fingers on the table as if stopping them from balling into a fist.
“Is there something you want to tell me, Gwen?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
Oh, God. There’s a full frown in his forehead now and he looks to be on the verge of breaking all hell loose.
When I first married Nate, I wasn’t scared of Dad’s reaction, because I was doing it for him, to protect this house and his assets. However, that was before I gave Nate my virginity and my stupid heart that’s hardly beating right now.
That was before I really wanted the marriage.
So I don’t know how to bring it up. Nate told me not to say anything and that he would take care of it. And that was on the few occasions we talked after Dad woke up.
He went back to his workaholic life and I took care of Dad. He brings me whatever I need, leaves me milkshakes in the morning, stocks the fridge with ice cream, and asks me if I need anything.
But that’s all.
He’s never tried to touch me, not even by accident, and he’s kept his distance, even during the time he spent here before Dad came home.
And it hits me then. He seems content with the way I cut off our physical relationship.
He seems content with being Uncle Nate again.
Those thoughts have kept me awake at night—aside from my concerns about Dad—and no amount of lying upside down has helped me sleep.
Because even now, as I get swallowed in Dad’s severe gaze, I can feel the pieces of my broken heart digging into my ribcage as I choke out, “Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Why are you clinking your nails then?”
I flatten my sweaty palms on the counter, but that gets me more narrowed eyes from him.
