46. Greedy
Chapter 46
Greedy
I can’t stop smiling. My face hurts, and it may be frozen like this forever, but I don’t fucking care.
The expression slips, though, when I get a text from my dad, asking me to come down to his office at the first opportunity.
Only half a day has passed since our last face-off. Despite that—or maybe in spite of it—plus everything that’s happened since, I’m a changed man.
What Spence did for Hunter stirred up a lot of questions inside me. Like: Where’s the moral line? More importantly: Where am I not willing to compromise?
The lengths I’ll go to protect Hunter and our family have no discernible bounds. My dedication is limitless, our love an infinite loop.
By the time I reach my dad’s office, I’ve settled on what I’m not willing to accept any longer. If he can’t prioritize Hunter or me and do right by his kids, then I’m no longer interested in salvaging my relationship with him.
As I approach his desk, he looks up to acknowledge me, but quickly lowers his attention to the piece of paper in his hand.
“Have a seat,” he says softly.
I do, dropping to the edge of one of his visitor chairs, anxiously waiting for him to take the lead and give me a hint about which direction this is going.
Clearing his throat, he sits up and passes over the paper he was looking at. Though it’s not a paper. It’s a picture.
It’s in rough shape, aged and slightly yellow around the edges, with a few distinct bends and creases across the face of the baby who’s offering a gummy smile to the camera.
“The paramedics handed it to me before they left the house. That’s you, kid. That’s you.”
I study the old photo. It doesn’t take long to realize that I recognize it. It used to sit on my mother’s vanity in the primary bathroom. Gingerly, I lift it and flip it over. In the lower right-hand corner, in her recognizable loopy scrawl, reads: Garrett Reed, 8 months old.
Emotion clogs my throat. God, I miss her so much. She would have loved Hunter. She would have loved Levi, too. What I wouldn’t give to have one more day with her. To listen to her sing. To introduce her to the loves of my life. To tell her the best news ever: that she’s going to be a grandma.
My father clears his throat once more, the sound jerking me out of my pensive thoughts. “I loved this boy so much. I loved being a dad.” His words are sincere, and from my own experience, I know it to be true. So how the hell did we end up here?
“I loved going to your games, spending time with you here, at the hospital. Listening to your mother sing to you for hours on end. I’d come home from second shift and find you curled up under her piano, fast asleep, with the sweetest, most content smile on your face.”
I smile now, and warmth spreads through me. I remember those nights, too. The cool parquet flooring, the pillow forts I’d create. The way the music vibrated through my body as she practiced for hours on end. I didn’t mind that she was lost in the music; I just wanted to be near her.
“I don’t know what happened.” He sobs, his chest heaving with sorrow.
I swallow hard, then peel the picture off the desk once more. Warmth and happiness thread through me as I look at the downy-haired baby, with his toothless grin and bright green eyes. An extra pang strikes my heart as I picture another downy-haired baby. The one Hunter once carried and lost. Quickly, though, my thoughts turn to the one she’s carrying now.
There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for that baby. Regardless of paternity or timing, the child is mine, just like I am theirs. I haven’t even met them, yet I know without a shadow of a doubt there’s nothing I wouldn’t give them.
I’m still studying the photo when my dad continues.
“After your mother died, we were okay, you and me. Surviving her loss…” He trails off.
The death of a beloved partner or a parent isn’t something anyone just gets over. Grief lingers, and it grows. Sometimes it attacks out of nowhere.
“You and I were closer than ever after your mom died. I made sure of it, because I promised her I’d be there for you. But then… you kept growing. You got busier. You had school. Sports. Friends and football. I wanted you to have those things,” he quickly adds. “I encouraged you to be involved, to always try your hardest. I put in more hours at the hospital and chased every promotion to fill my time. I thought we were both happy.
“You may not believe me, but I didn’t want to date,” he states. “But I felt like I needed to. Especially as you got older, and you started looking at colleges.”
Oh, the irony. I stayed close to home, attending South Chapel University, but not just because of him. Also because of her.
“I felt like I needed to put myself out there and show you I would be okay once you moved out. I wasn’t any good at it, though. Most women I took out didn’t like that I worked so much. That if I wasn’t working, I was with you. There wasn’t much of me left for anyone else. Magnolia…” He heaves out a breath. “Magnolia was a breath of fresh air.”
I shudder internally at the mention of her but remain stoic on the exterior.
“She didn’t care that I worked too much, that I didn’t have a lot of time or attention to give her. Hell, sometimes I think she preferred it that way.
“Our relationship was convenient. The timing is what sealed the deal for me. I was just grateful to have someone, knowing life would only get busier for you once you went to college. Garrett…”
He’s quiet for a long time. So long that I’m certain he’ll leave it at that.
Instead, his breathing stutters, and he roughs a hand down his face. “I messed up. I never imagined…”
This time, he does leave me hanging.
How much does he know? Does he believe that Magnolia has been gunning for Hunter since she came back to town?
Hope flares inside me.
“I don’t even know where to start, but I know I owe you an apology. You, and your—Hunter.”
Blowing out a breath, I set the baby picture on the desk between us. “You’re really going to need to stop almost calling her my sister.”
He lets out a dry chuckle. “You’re telling me, buddy.”
Face falling, he sits up straight and rolls his chair all the way forward. I instinctively sit up straighter in my own seat, matching his posture and waiting with bated breath for what he’ll say next.
Somberly, he tells me, “What happened at the house last night was an accident.”
All the hope I’d just let fill up inside me bursts like a balloon meeting a popcorn ceiling.
“Dad, I know you don’t want to hear this, but you need to understand—”
He holds up both hands, and out of habit and respect, despite my desperation to reason with him, I fall silent once more.
“It was an accident,” he continues, each word spoken with care, “because anything besides an accident would require a police report. Which would then lead to the question of where Magnolia is, which could, in turn, lead to a missing person’s investigation.”
Understanding dawns, and all the air escapes from my lungs. Is he saying what I think he’s saying?
“We can go a different route, of course. If Hunter feels it’s necessary to press charges, or if she wants to file a missing person’s report. But if we all agree that what happened yesterday was an accident …”
Tears well in my eyes. He’s not being dismissive. He listened. He’s accepting my plea, aligning himself with us. He’s truly letting her go.
I can’t sit in my seat for another second. I’m on the other side of the desk with my arms around him in the space of three heartbeats. “Thank you, Dad. I love you.”
He sinks a little deeper into my hold. It really hits me then. He’s my dad, but he’s a person, too. A hopeless romantic at heart, who does his best to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, to see the very best in others.
He was a victim of Magnolia’s manipulations just like we were.
He was betrayed and lied to, and he deserves answers for all the bullshit she pulled. Answers he’ll never get, I realize. I squeeze him a little tighter. It isn’t until he releases me and pulls back that I break away.
“I’m so sorry for what happened,” I tell him. It’s the truth. I feel for him, and he needs to know he’s still worthy of love. That he has a family who loves him.
He rises to his feet, dusts off the front of his pants, his chin lifted, and my worries ease.
“It’s okay,” he says. “Magnolia left. She has a history of running. This time, though, I won’t be chasing her.”