Chapter Nine
Chloe
Idrag my feet about calling my dad all day. It's a coward's choice…but it's the one I make anyway. I'm a little afraid of what he might say about Donny. About Trystan. About everything, honestly.
But when Trystan steps out to handle a work call—something with a supplier that has Riley stressing out—I finally pick up my phone and dial my dad's number.
He answers on the second ring, well before I've figured out what to say.
"Hey, baby girl," he says, his voice full of worry. "Are you okay?"
"Yes." I curl up on the sofa beside Thanos, biting my bottom lip. "Are you…how mad are you right now?"
"You think I'm mad at you, Clo?" Dad asks, genuine surprise in his voice.
"Yes. No." I huff a breath, my fingers drifting through Thanos's rough fur. "Maybe?"
"I'm not mad, sweetheart. Not at you," Dad clarifies. "I'm mad as hell at that shady bastard, and I'm worried about you. So is your mama."
"I didn't mean to worry you guys. I guess I just…worried maybe you'd blame me?"
"What the fuck?" Dad growls.
"I know," I whisper, squeezing my eyes closed. "It sounds stupid when I say it out loud."
"It isn't stupid," he says with a sigh. "I'm sure whatever he said to you probably played a hand in making you feel like you couldn't come to us with it. But he won't ever be a problem for you again, I promise you that."
Worry shoots through me. "What did you do?"
"Nothing you need to worry about, baby girl."
"Is it something you could go to prison for doing?" I press, suspicious.
His rough chuckle crackles down the line.
"You know damn well that I'm not leaving my girls behind like that, Chloe.
There are too goddamn many men in this world who like to look at your mother like they think they can have her.
I'm not nearly stupid enough to give one of them an opportunity to steal her away. "
His response sends a bolt of relief through me—the first I've felt in days, I think. I actually smile. And then laugh. "As if she'd let herself be stolen away from you, Dad."
"Not risking it, sweetheart. Especially not for a miserable prick like Donny.
Let's just say that he won't have a company before the month is out.
And I referred his wife to the best goddamn divorce lawyer in the state.
" He sounds pleased with himself. "He'll be lucky if she leaves him a pot to piss in when she's done. "
"She deserves all his stuff," I mutter. After thirty years at his side, she deserves sainthood.
"He and I had a civil discussion. He knows the consequences of coming anywhere near you now."
For some reason, I do not think his idea of a civil discussion and mine are the same. I'm guessing his probably involved flying fists and a lot of threats. But he isn't in jail, and Donny would have to be an idiot to risk bothering me again now, so I'm taking the win for what it is.
"Thank you," I whisper to him, a lump in my throat.
"You don't ever have to thank me for taking care of you and your sisters, sweetheart. It's my job as your dad. And frankly, it's the best goddamn job I've ever had."
"I love you."
"I love you, too. You going to come home soon?"
"Maybe when Wyatt gets back."
"Figured as much." Dad hesitates for a long moment and then sighs. "The worst part of parenthood is realizing your babies are all grown up and need someone else more than they need you."
"I'll always need you," I protest softly.
"I know, but I also know you need Trystan more, baby girl. You always have."
"I…" I don't know what to say to that because he's right.
But is this the right time to tell him that I've been in love with Trystan for most of my life?
Is there a right time to tell him that the little boy he watched grow into a man stole my heart long before I even knew what that meant? I don't know, so I don't say it.
He sighs into the phone, exactly like he knows what I'm not saying. But he doesn't push. He never does.
"Your mama wants to talk to you, sweetheart."
"Okay," I whisper. "Love you."
"Love you, too."
Shuffling sounds down the line, and then I hear my mom's voice in my ear.
"Hey, baby girl!"
"Hey." I swallow hard. "I'm sorry I worried you when I ran off."
"Hey," she practically croons to me, as gentle and forgiving as ever. "It's okay, Clo-bug. Sometimes, we need space to figure things out ourselves without everyone else chiming in."
I'm not entirely sure if she's talking about the Donny situation…or Trystan. "Yeah," I whisper anyway. "I guess we do."
"You're doing okay now? Trystan is taking care of you?"
"Yeah, I'm okay. And he's been fine. Good."
"Then I'm happy for you," she says without pushing me to give more than I'm ready to give. And maybe that's what has me so ready to tell her everything.
"Mama, I…" I expel a sharp breath. "You know, don't you? The way I feel about him, I mean."
"Yeah, Clo. I know. It's been written all over your face for a long time."
"Does Dad know?"
"I think he's figuring it out."
"Is he mad?"
"Of course not," she says, like she's surprised. "Why would you even think that?"
"I don't know. I guess I'm just worried that everyone will think we're tearing the family apart or something.
I don't know." That's not entirely it, though.
It's more…Trystan has been my deepest, darkest secret for most of my life.
Telling everyone feels a little like letting them into a place that's always been reserved only for him.
I'm selfish and I don't want to share, especially when I finally know what it's like to be an us instead of just a wish.
I want to hang onto that feeling for as long as possible instead of letting anyone else inside.
I don't want them to rock the boat. I don't want anyone to have a say.
I just want…him. The same way and with the same desperation I've always felt.
"Love could never do that, baby girl," my mom says gently. "He's been part of our family for a long time. That won't change just because the parameters of your relationship do. We'll simply get to love him in a new way, as a son."
"Mom," I whisper, tears springing to my eyes.
"There's no rush, sweet girl," she says. "You two take all the time you want. Just know that we're all cheering for you. We're all right here waiting for you. And no one is going to be mad at either of you."
"Wyatt might."
"He'll get over it. He always does when it comes to you girls."
I smile because she's right. Wyatt has never been able to hold a grudge for long. My sisters and I wear him down every time. Probably because he lets us. He hates being mad at us as much as we hate it when he's mad at us.
The reminder gives me a little of the courage I've been lacking for the last couple of days. The ground feels like it's solidifying beneath my feet again. And I let myself hope, perhaps for the first time, that Trystan and I can have a future without it changing everything.
That's what I want, more than anything.
Alittle after six, I'm in the passenger seat of his truck with his hand laced with mine. I have no idea where we're going. He won't tell me, but he's grinning like he doesn't have a care in the world.
"Not even a tiny hint?" I plead.
"Nope." He grins over at me, his eyes light. "You'll just have to see when we get there."
"You're no fun."
"And you're terrible with surprises," he retorts softly.
I turn my face to the window to hide a smile. He's right. I am terrible with surprises. Who has the patience for all of that? Definitely not me. I want to know everything immediately. How else are you supposed to plan?
"You remember spending your ninth birthday hiding in the treehouse?" he asks after a moment, peeking over at me again.
"Revisionist history," I object. "I wasn't hiding in the treehouse.
I was protesting the whole surprise part of the day.
" Having thirty people jump up from behind furniture and shout 'Happy Birthday' at me freaked me out.
I ran out and hid in the treehouse to cry.
It wasn't my finest moment. But no one has ever made the mistake of throwing me a surprise party again.
Thank God.
"Uh-huh." He chuckles. "I brought you cake because you wouldn't come back in. You didn't want anyone to know we made you cry."
"I felt bad about it," I mumble.
"I know you did." His thumb drifts across my knuckles. "That's the thing about you, Coco. No matter how upset you are, you're always thinking about everyone else. You're a savage little firecracker most of the time, but no matter how many times you ignite, you always think about everyone else."
I peek over at him to see him watching me.
"I want you to learn to think about yourself now," he murmurs, rolling to a stop at a light. He reaches over, the back of his hand sliding down the side of my face. "Don't worry about what anyone else thinks or wants. Leave that part to me. All that matters is what you want."
"I…" I lick my suddenly dry lips and then nod. "I can do that."
"Good." He grins like he's proud of me. "I know you're worried about how shit is going to go with your family, but I want you to leave that to me. I'll talk to Wyatt. I'll handle your dad. All you need to do is worry about you."
I stare at him for a moment and then smile slightly. "You know what I missed most when we weren't talking?"
"What?"
"This. You." I lean my head against the window, watching him.
The way he's so relaxed in the seat beside me.
The way his eyes flicker from the road to my face again and again.
The softness in his eyes every time they catch mine.
"I missed just sitting beside you, talking to you.
You always knew me better than I knew myself.
You knew what I was thinking and feeling, sometimes before I did. "