Damn her.
I groan, stretching my body again before sitting upright with an oof.
On the one hand, I think she’s doing all of this on purpose. I think she’s fucking with me, needling me, pushing my buttons just to drive me crazy. But, on the other … I’m not so sure. If that’s the case—what does that mean?
My temples throb as the conversation Dara and I had earlier rolls through my memories.
So many things about what she had to say bother me. How could her father walk away? What was it like growing up with a single mother who, by all accounts, struggled? How can she be so kind about the situation because, if it were me, I’d be fucking pissed to get a note that my dad said a proverbial fuck you specifically to me when he died.
I’m curious why she has a relationship with her paternal grandfather. Why is he building her a house now?
I have so many questions … and I’m pissed that I have them.
A groan slips through my lips. This is why I don’t get involved with people.
But I’m not involved with her. I’m not involved with her any more than I’m involved with any of the men and women who I work with on a daily basis.
So why does this sit differently in my gut?
Why am I still thinking about her?
And why in the hell did I tell her anything about my life? I don’t do that. I know better.
My stomach tightens because I know why. I know all the reasons, but I’m not ready to deal with that.
Dad walks out of the suite, bringing me out of my thoughts.
“I didn’t know you were out here,” he says.
“Been out here for a long time.”
“Have you seen Kel yet?”
“Kel?” I laugh. “He has a nickname already?”
“I didn’t want Coy’s middle name to be Kelvin. Your mother was adamant thanks to some character on a soap opera or something.” Dad shrugs and stands straight again. “So, Kel. Works for me.”
“Makes sense.”
“He’s a cute kid. Looks just like Coy but with Bellamy’s eyes.”
I nod. I don’t know what to say to that.
Dad shifts his weight from one foot to the other as he mulls something over.
“You all right?” I ask him.
He clears his throat. “Wade, I wanted to talk to you.”
Fuck. “Okay. What’s going on?”
“Nothing, exactly. I just … We haven’t connected in a while, and I wanted to check in, make sure things were good.”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “Things are good. Things good with you?”
It pains me to ask that. Whomever decided that asking how someone is doing as a pleasantry was a fool. Why use an emotional prompt as a societal norm when no one usually cares?
Not that I don’t mean it with my dad. I do. I hope he’s good. I want him to be good. I just don’t want to get into it right now if he’s not.
I can’t take much more peopling today.
“Things are getting better every day,” Dad says. “And you are the only one of my boys I haven’t apologized to.”
“You don’t have to apologize to me, Dad.”
“No, I do. I put you all through a lot of bullshit that none of you should’ve had to go through. And, for that, I’m sorry.”
I wave a hand through the air. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine.” He blows out a breath. “I know you don’t want to hear that you’re a lot like your old man, but you are.”
My gaze snaps to his.
“You’re strong and smart, and you do your own thing—to hell with what anyone says,” Dad points out. “And that’s all great … until it’s not. Just remember that, okay?”
“Fine.”
“I mean it.” He looks over his shoulder at the closed door before turning back to me again. His face is ruddy. “It’s okay to ask for help when you need it. It’s better than digging yourself a deeper hole because you think you can climb out yourself.”
Why is he doing this right now?
“I’ll remember that,” I say.
He pats me on the shoulder and then disappears down the hallway.
I glance at my watch. Tension pulls across the back of my neck. I wish he hadn’t brought it up here. At least he did apologize, even though I didn’t feel like I needed one.
My stomach screams for food since I skipped lunch. I look at the suite door and contemplate going in, but the idea of dealing with everyone nixes that idea quickly.
Just as I start to stand, Larissa and Hollis walk in. Riss pulls me into a big hug and kisses my cheek.
“Have you seen the baby?” she asks.
“No. I’m just about to leave,” I say.
Hollis nods a greeting.
“How are you, Hollis?” I ask.
“Good, man. Good. How about you?”
Larissa pushes the suite door open tentatively and bounds through once her gaze settles on the baby. Hollis stays behind, shaking his head.