A part of me wants to move closer and wrap my arms around him, but our relationship has been so strained for so long. Hugging has been missing from it for a long time, and I feel awkward doing it now. So I sit there and watch my father cry, while tears stream down my own cheeks.
“I thought you were dead.” He lifts his head, revealing a ravaged expression. “It was like your mother all over again. When I got the phone call about the accident and had to go identify her body in the morgue.”
A gasp cuts off my airways. This is the first time I’m hearing of this.
I knew my mother died when her car hit a patch of ice and skidded off the road.
I didn’t know my father had to identify her body.
“You know how your aunt Sheryl is always saying you look exactly like your mother? Well, you do. You’re the spitting image of her.” He groans. “And when I found you in the bathroom, you were the spitting image of her corpse.”
I’m so nauseous I’m afraid I might vomit. I can’t even imagine how he must have felt in that moment.
“I couldn’t look at you after because I was scared. I almost lost you, and you’re the only thing I have in the world that I give a damn about.”
“What about hockey?” I joke weakly.
“Hockey is a game. You’re my life.”
Hoo-boy. The waterworks start up again. I have a feeling I’m ugly-crying like crazy, but I can’t keep my eyes from watering or my nose from running. Dad doesn’t pull me in for a hug, either. We’re not there yet. This is brand-new territory for us…or rather, it’s old ground that needs to be replanted.
“I almost lost you, and I didn’t know how to make things better for you,” he admits gruffly. “If your mom had been there, she would’ve known exactly what to do. When you were crying in the hospital, and then all those months that you were at home. I was out of my element. I didn’t know how to deal with it, and every time I looked at you, I pictured you bleeding on the floor.” He shudders. “I’ll never forget that image. I’ll remember it until my dying day.”
“I’m sorry I scared you,” I whisper.
“I’m sorry I made you think I was ashamed.” He lets out a ragged breath. “But I won’t apologize for the shit that happened afterward. Grounding you, enforcing the curfew. You were out of control.”
“I know.” I hang my head in regret. “But I turned everything around. I grew up and went to college. I’m not acting out to get your attention anymore. You were right to be overprotective back then, but I’m a different person now. I wish you could see that.”
His somber gaze sweeps over me. “I think I’m starting to.”
“Good. Because that’s the only way we’ll ever be able to move forward.” I eye him hopefully. “Do you think we can clean-slate this? Forget about the past and get to know each other as adults?”
His head jerks in a quick nod. “I think we could do that.” He nods again, slowly this time, as if his brain is working something over. “In fact…I think that’s an excellent idea.”
37
Brenna
The following evening I go over to Summer’s house, because that’s how desperate I am to not think about Jake. I’m willing to walk into the lion’s den, be around Hollis and Hunter and maybe even Nate, who all think I betrayed them by sleeping with the enemy. I’m willing to deal with whatever angry words they hurl my way, because it beats obsessing and agonizing over the fact that Jake doesn’t want to be with me.
Ironically, I would have been perfectly content hanging out with my dad tonight. After years of avoiding being in the same room as him, I’m finally excited for us to spend time together. But he had a meeting tonight. The dean of Briar is apparently interested in discussing the prospect of extending my father’s contract with the university, which he totally deserves. But that meant if I stayed home, I’d be alone. With my own thoughts.
To my surprise, I’m not tarred and feathered the moment I walk through Summer’s door. In fact, when I poke my head into the living room, Hollis looks up from the couch and offers a preoccupied, “Hey, Jensen.”
“That’s it? I expected a lot more yelling.”
“Why would I yell?”
I’m dumbfounded. “Are you kidding me? The last time we spoke, you called me a traitor.”
“Oh. Right.” I’ve never heard him sound so blasé and uninterested. And it takes a second to realize he’s not even watching TV. He’s staring at a black screen, and his cell phone sits untouched on the coffee table.
“What’s going on?” I demand. “Are you okay? Where are Summer and Fitz? Upstairs?”