Reverse (Bittersweet Symphony Duet #2)

FIFTY-SEVEN “Unsteady”

FIFTY-SEVEN

“Unsteady”

X Ambassadors

Natalie

“Y our name is Natalie Crowne . . . or did you fucking forget?” I replay the message Easton left last night, hearing his anger and frustration over the distance I’ve allowed between us. The last six weeks have been hell on earth for me, personally and professionally. On the rare occasions we’ve seen each other since Sedona, I clung to the hope that my father would finally look at me instead of through me, and I am always disappointed. Whenever our paths do cross, it’s primarily thanks to my mother’s attempt to bridge the gap. Even so, he remains unreceptive. Dad still hasn’t called me back to my desk at the paper but instead has kept me scrambling to keep up with his demands. Demands I’ve met to keep him pacified while trying to reestablish some of the lost trust. A confrontation is coming and soon, because after the anniversary party wraps, I’m going to try and mend my rapidly deteriorating relationship with my husband.

Exiting the stretch limousine I commissioned for the night, I stand waiting in my parents’ driveway in a glittering, deep jade gown my mother had her stylist choose for me. The neckline runs snugly against my collarbone, while the back rests at the curve just below the small of it. It had to be taken in a little last week due to the grief-stricken pounds I’ve lost and kept off. It’s both elegant and sexy—her style—and it’s only now, as it glitters in the setting sun, that I start to appreciate it.

After the glam squad left my apartment, I couldn’t muster a single reaction other than feeling like a glossed-up lie—a living, breathing expectation of my father. That seems to be the sum of my value now, at least when it comes to Nate Butler. Though I argued the same point with Easton recently, it isn’t the case. I’ve made the choices I have in recent weeks to be at my father’s side in an effort to fight for my future and his legacy. It feels like the aspect of choice got lost somewhere in my neck-breaking efforts to appease him. I can’t keep allowing him to dangle the paper over my head while keeping me at arm’s length—in exile.

In truth, I’m absolutely devastated and utterly shocked by my father’s behavior.

Dad’s done nothing to guard me from his anger. He’s not only furious about my part in the deception with Easton, but for hurting my mother and indirectly causing a small rift between them that could have cost him dearly. Even though they seemed to have bounced back, he refuses to truly look at me. More deplorably, I’ve allowed it. Allowed him to continue to order me around like I’m a grounded teenager instead of a nearly twenty-three-year-old woman capable of making her own life choices. But the truth is, I knew this is what loving the man I chose—marrying the man I chose—would cost me.

At this point, I feel I’ve paid enough.

Even if I’m justified in a lot of ways for my feelings, I also damned myself because I miss my father. His absence continues to rob me of security and peace of mind. I miss our easy camaraderie and our stress-releasing walks to the bar we used to frequent near Speak after meeting excruciating deadlines. What I miss most are the moments that followed as we shared beers chattering bluntly, more like friends than father and daughter.

All traces of that dynamic are painfully absent, as my need to please him and get back into his good graces overshadows my relationship with Easton. I’ve been put in the impossible position to try and please the two men I love the most—and like I predicted—I feel like I’m losing no matter what steps I take and in what direction. The only assurances that we have a chance at moving past this come from my mother. She has tried her best to play referee between us, despite the utter disruption in our lives that my marriage has caused.

It’s only when I speak to Easton—when I soak in his face on the screen, evident with the love I reflect—that the cost feels like less of a burden. But in the last week, I can feel Easton’s resentment starting to overflow. It’s apparent my neglected marriage needs nurturing, and I know the only way to try to keep it together is to fly to Easton’s side or allow him to come to mine.

As luck would have it, tonight is all about the other man in my life. A celebration of Dad’s contribution to media, his accomplishments, and the empire he built in our corner of the universe. A universe he’s silently and painstakingly pointed out exists without a place for Easton Crowne.

With every day that ticks by, it’s become clear Easton is right. My father is at war with my husband, and it’s tearing us apart.

My bitterness toward Dad continues to build as I continue to wait next to the limo, too timid to walk through the front door of my own family home due to his ill-treatment.

Ironically, Dad insisted we arrive at the gala as a family, which for the moment, also feels like a lie. As I try to temper myself and hold it together, Dad exits the house looking gorgeous in a perfectly fitted tux with my mother in tow. Mom approaches, looking stunning in a glittering black gown that hugs her tiny frame. Her freshly colored, curly, dark hair is pulled up and pinned, her makeup flawless. “ Baby , it’s chilly out here. Why didn’t you come inside?”

Because it’s even colder inside.

“Mom, you look . . . incredible,” I dodge her question. She reciprocates by side-stepping my compliment.

“And you look absolutely gorgeous, my sweetheart. The dress is perfect on you. Do you like it?”

“Love it, thank you,” I reply, grateful she went to the trouble to dress me. Most days, I feel like I’m on autopilot, simply going through the motions. Mom has tried her best to help me through it, taking long rides with me and simply listening. She’s been amazing in the boss department as well. Though my schedule has been grueling, if I wasn’t being constantly tasked, I’m not sure I would know my own direction. Inside I’m still fighting for the woman I dreamt I’d be—the one with her head straight and ever-changing goals within reach. Every day, I’m fighting for the bride I became, blooming rapidly under my husband’s loving gaze.

I glance over to Dad as he locks their front door, and Mom’s gaze trails mine. It’s then I feel the shift in energy. Seeing the light in her eyes start to dim, I muster a smile. “It’s going to be an incredible night.”

“No more bullshit,” she reminds me, warily eyeing Dad as he approaches.

“It will be,” I assure. In reply, she dips her chin noncommittally. Dad reaches us at the end of the walk before wordlessly and gently ushering Mom into the car. Hoping to create a small window of truce for tonight, for both their sakes, I speak up.

“Hey, Daddy?”

Dad tenses before dismissing the driver, who’s patiently holding the open door of the limo. When the driver’s out of earshot and Dad finally lifts his violet-blue eyes to mine, I find myself on the receiving end of a tattered stare. Inside it, it’s all there—the anger, the hurt, the betrayal, and the toll it’s taking.

“I just wanted to say congratulations,” I continue, “in case I didn’t get a chance to later.” He gives me a brief dip of his chin and stands in expectation, refusing to see all I’ve done to resume the role of the responsible adult he raised. Even as he stands impatiently waiting for me to join my mother in the car, I soak in his expression, knowing that no matter how much he’s accomplished or how well pleased he is by the occasion, I might have ruined this milestone for him.

“Daddy, I-I’m sorry I hurt you,” I stutter out sincerely. His expression falters slightly before his eyes glaze over.

Now is not the time, Natalie.

“Okay. That’s all I wanted to say.” Unable to handle any more of his disappointment, I slide into the long leather bench seat opposite Mom. Averting my eyes from hers, I opt to stare out of the window as Dad slides in beside her. Within a minute of the car speeding toward the downtown hotel, a motor whirs, and I glance over to see my mother closing the privacy partition before addressing both of us.

“Okay, enough is fucking enough. I don’t care what occasion this is, Nate. Your daughter is hurting, you’re hurting, and you’re hurting her , and if you continue to ignore her pain, you won’t forgive yourself, and I won’t forgive you either. Look at her, damnit!”

“Mom—” I say, as Dad bites out at the same time.

“Addie, now is not the time.”

Clearing his throat, he unbuttons his jacket as Mom turns to him, digging her heels in.

“It’s the perfect time,” she snaps. “How in the hell are we supposed to celebrate anything as a family when we have this much space between us? A space you continue to add to every time you ignore her pain for yours.”

Dad bites his lower lip as Mom turns and commands my attention.

“Look at me, Natalie.”

Eyes stinging, I look over to my mother. “Your father and I are okay, and we will continue to be okay. We’ve been through a lot. That’s marriage, but this . . .” she gestures between us, “this is unacceptable.”

Dad stares out the window, his frame vibrating with emotion before she speaks again. “Have I ever told you what your father said the minute I placed you in his arms?”

She doesn’t wait for me to answer as Dad rasps out a low, “ Addie .”

“He said, ‘I’ve found the perfect love.’”

A strangled noise escapes Dad as his eyes redden, and I cup a hand over my mouth. She turns back to Dad, addressing him as if they’re alone.

“What in the hell are you doing, Nate?” Her voice shakes with emotion. “I did my part, but you’ve been molding our little girl since the first minute you held her, shaping her into a tiny replica of you. She’s just as willful and intelligent and loves just as fiercely as you do.” Dad grips his knees, his knuckles whitening. “But the more you punish her,” my mother urges, “the harder you make it for her to believe that I come in second .”

Dad whips his head toward her as she grips his hand and runs her finger over his wedding ring, “But only to your daughter. ”

Raw ache seeps through his gaze as he looks over at her, and she speaks up in a plea for both of us. “Look at her, Nate.”

Dad’s watery eyes drift to mine. “That baby needs you right now.” His expression falters as a fast tear forms and falls, trailing slowly down his cheek. My own tears begin to blind me. “She needs you more than ever, and you’re hurting her. So, I’m asking you, again, what the hell are you doing, Nate?”

Dad’s expression crumbles as I bury my head in my hands and let out a guttural cry. In the next second, I’m whisked into his arms as he encases me fully. His love surrounds me as I shake with grief, completely overwhelmed while he holds me to his chest.

“Daddy,” I croak, just as he does.

“I’m sorry, too. I’m so sorry, Natalie,” he rasps out. “You’re my life, and there’s nothing, nothing, on this earth you could do that could erase an ounce of my love for you.”

Doing my best to catch my sobs, I fail when I feel my mother’s palm run down my back as Dad continues to whisper to me. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a bastard. It ends now.” I feel him shift his focus to Mom. “I’m sorry, baby.”

I continue to cry in his arms as he speaks to me in broken whispers. “I just . . . I thought we were closer than that.”

“We were, we are,” I croak.

“Why didn’t you come to me? Why couldn’t you just ask me?”

“I wanted to, so much. I should have. I know that.”

In my father’s arms, and with his words, I feel some semblance of the peace I’ve been so desperate for. When we pull away, I see a reflected glimmer of hope in my dad’s eyes as he gazes back at me with unrestrained love.

“We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

I nod in quick agreement, my heart beating steadily in my chest, an incredible amount of weight starting to lift from my shoulders. It might take some more time, but the knowledge we both want to figure it out is all I need. Our gazes linger with that knowledge as hope starts to bloom in my chest. The idea that the universes I’ve been praying to merge together may become my future reality further stokes that hope.

Inhaling Dad’s scent, wrapped in the warmth of his budding forgiveness, for the first time since we went wheels up in Arizona, I take my first full breath.