“My father used to tell me that everything in your life is a reflection of a choice you’ve made. That never held much meaning for me because I worked hard to give my family a good life, and that life had crumbled at my feet. But the other day when you told me you were trying to be better and do better than your mother and I did, that’s when his words hit home. You made a choice to be better, and your life reflects that. I wish I could say I played a part in instilling that in you, but I didn’t.
“My words don’t mean shit, but I’m proud of you, Linc. I want you to know you’ve proved your mother wrong.”
Holy shit. Threading my fingers through my hair, I stand up. When I walked in here, this is not what I was expecting. Hell, I never expected to have this conversation, and now that it’s happening, I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to say.
This is the man who chose alcohol and his abusive wife over his kids. This is the man who beat me more times than I can count—the man who left me to care for my baby sister when I was barely able to care for myself. My head tells me to walk out, that he doesn’t deserve more than that from me. But if I listened to my head, there’s a lot of things I wouldn’t have. One of those things is Adley.
Turning around, I look at my father. He’s aged over the years, and it hasn’t been gracefully. But today he looks more like the man I remember as young boy. The man who would come home and play trucks with me on the floor. The man who bought me my first baseball glove and tucked me in at night. It’s that man who’s sitting before me, searching for some sort of fucked-up olive branch.
It takes a strong man to admit when he’s wrong, and an even stronger man to forgive. I’m not ready to forgive my father for the things he put Chloe and me through, but I am man enough to acknowledge his strength.
“Thank you, Dad. I appreciate that.”
His hopeful eyes watch me, waiting for more, but I don’t know how much more I have to give.
“I, uh… I’ve gotta get to work.”
“Right.” He nods before tossing the picture he was holding in a nearby box. “Sure, I understand. You’ve got shit to do.”
Nodding, I turn to the door. My fingers are wrapped around the knob, but I can’t get myself to open it.
“Dad?” I turn back, and he looks up. “Leave the boxes out. I’d like to look through them some time.”
“I can do that.”
15
Lincoln
“Say something,” I say to Chloe.
She shoves the cardboard box labeled bathroom in the back of my truck. “I don’t know what to say. What do you think he’s hoping to get out of this?”
“I don’t know.”
“Forgiveness?” she asks, shaking her head. “Because I don’t think I can give that to him, Linc.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Mom put us through hell, and he stood back and watched.”
“I know.”
“And then he joined in. That was his choice,” she says, her voice rising with each word.
“I know.”
“Do you?” Hands on her hips, Chloe narrows her eyes. “Because I’m starting to wonder.”
“Fuck. Yes, Chloe, I know. I was there, remember? I have the scars to prove it. But he’s our dad. Never in a million years did I think he would offer up any form of an apology. But he has, and I’m not sure I can live with myself if I ignore it.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you’re stronger than me.” Chloe brushes past and grabs another box, depositing it in my truck alongside the others.
“I’m not stronger than you. This has nothing to do with strength.”
“Then what does it have to do with?”
“I don’t know,” I say, tossing my hands up in the air. “Peace, maybe?”