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57
Willow
Camdyn made my body palpable beneath his sadistic fingers. My soul melted, and my body sagged. But in one last-ditch effort to save me from him, I denied him. The rejection was raw, livid, and unlike any of my other endeavors. Camdyn flew off me, falling to the floor on his ass like I was the toxic thing between the two of us. Before I told him no, his barely leashed violence rolled off of me in waves. I fought past sensual feelings to collect my voice. But as he sat there, I could see the broken boy, the nine-year-old.
At that moment, I tried to imagine maybe Jamie had gotten ahold of his parents’ keys for a joyride. The incident caused Camdyn’s arm to become pinned in the door during a valiant effort to save the kid. However, that picture didn’t fit his rollercoaster emotions.
“For what it’s worth, Lo. I’m so fucking sorry.” From the look in his eye to the heaving of his shoulders, his apology felt real. It was as soothing as a summer rain to my soul. However, after all I’d learned, how could I not believe the art of his manipulative ways was in full effect.
When Camdyn promised to get rid of everyone so we could talk, I nodded my head. He left the room, and somehow, I convinced Jamie to go outside with him. The second they were gone, I ran.
I sprintedfive miles. I’d called Tatum to ask if I could leave with her and her pops come morning. They were packing up. One of the MMA fighters on Li’s young adult team had his own hotel party against policy. So, after running like crazy, I spent the night on a bus as Li lectured everyone.
At five a.m., I curled into a ball in my bed at the apartment I’d lived with my parents for years. Because when Li let me off the bus, he, of course, had to say fatherly bullshit, which made me yearn for home. I’ve stolen into the bathroom connected to the living room at least fifty times to dislodge the nausea from my gut.
At a soft knock, I cling to a huge pink carnival bear on my bed. “Yes?”
In a royal blue suit, Dad stalls at the open door. “You’re crying.”
“I’m done.” For now.
“Because of what I told you when you left Orange Blossom?” He heaves a sigh. “I pray every morning you’ll forgive me for saying—”
“No, Dad. I’m not mad at you.” My gander drops.
“Have anything to do with that boy?”
Everything. “No, Dad.”
“You look like your momma.” Pain flits across his face.
I gulp the lump in my throat down. All the more reason that it hurt him to visit her at the nursing home. A reminder of her broken vows. “Dad, who did Momma cheat with? How’d you find out?”
“You’re a little woman now.” He sits at the edge of the bed, clasping the bear I offer him. “We were at the New Year’s Eve party of a fellow professor—”
“Dr. Brookdale?” I murmur. Handsome, younger, ambitious, successful Dr. Brookdale was half the female student body’s wet dream. Hillary and my mom are cut from the same cloth, while Dad and I are diehard loyalists.
“I wasn’t drinking at first. I saw him get a bit flirty with your ma. When they disappeared, I found my first drink.”
Sitting up in bed, I lace my fingers through his hardworking, worn ones.
“But as I was taking a sip of that second drink, I thought about you girls. I thought about all my years of sobriety. I put it down, got some coffee, and waited.” He sighs, shaking his head. “When I decided to leave, that’s when your mom appeared. She wanted to stay to countdown the New Year, but I was done.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy.”
“I told her to stay with Brookdale. She apologized every step of the way to the car. To this day, I regret letting her ride with me. I was so angry, distracted. When I saw the headlights of that car in our lane, I yanked the wheel too hard and too late.” Dad drops his head into his free hand, squeezing mine tighter.
“Oh, Daddy, I didn’t realize. No one . . .” No one told me, but I hadn’t been listening, hadn’t wanted to listen. I’m so ashamed of myself. I shouldn’t have judged. I should have listened. “I’m sorry” won’t cut it. But I have an idea.
I pop up from the bed. “Dad, we haven’t gone for a run in a long, long time. Do we have time for a sprinter?” I’m reminded of the day’s events, and I desperately need an outlet before we pull the plug.
He kicks one Stacy Adams’ shoe off.
“You kicking out of the Stacys?” I fold my arms, smiling at him. “You’ve worn those since I was two. Put some respect on those shoes.”
He laughs. “I haven’t been my daughter’s coach since she started high school. Sure about the run?”
Though I ran like mad last night, I place on a plastic grin.
