𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔
I still couldn't believe it. I'd touched Milia in a way I promised I never would, not after all she'd been through, not after everything my mama had been through. My sweet, gentle Milia. The guilt crawled at me, and no matter how many times I replayed it in my head, I couldn't undo it.
I was flying down the highway, my foot heavy on the gas, trying her number again and again. Each ring without an answer felt like a punch to the gut. "Shit!" I yelled, slamming my phone onto the dashboard. It bounced off and landed in the passenger seat.
"Fuck it," I muttered, yanking the wheel and taking the next exit. I needed to see her. I needed to make this right, somehow. The hospital was the only place I could think to go. I knew she'd be at work.
When I pulled into the hospital parking lot, I grabbed my phone again, dialing her number with shaking fingers.
Still no answer. "Fuck!" I growled, rubbing my forehead.
My heart pounded against my ribs as I punched the steering wheel, my anger at myself boiling over.
"Milia, please, just talk to me," I whispered, my voice cracking under the weight of my regret.
I shoved the door open, stepping out and slamming it shut behind me.
As I typed out a desperate text, not looking where I was going, I bumped into someone.
I glanced up, ready to apologize, but the words died in my throat.
There, standing right in front of me, was the man I wished I'd never see again. My father.
"Wyatt..." he said, his voice softer than I remembered.
I shook my head, taking a step back. "Nope, I'm not doin' this shit," I said, my voice cold. I turned to leave, but he reached out, his hand landing on my shoulder.
"Wyatt, come on," he pleaded.
The touch sent a wave of anger crashing through me. I spun around, cocking my fist back before I swung it, connecting with his face. He stumbled, clutching his nose, blood dripping through his fingers.
"I told you not to touch me, Beau! You just don't fuckin' listen, do you?" I shouted, my fists clenched at my sides.
He raised his hands, stepping back. "I don't want to fight, son."
"You don't get to call me that!" I snapped, my voice trembling with rage and hurt.
"Wyatt, please, I just wanna talk."
Tears burned my eyes, and I felt them slip down my cheeks. "What could you possibly have to say to me, huh?" I asked, my voice breaking.
"I'm sorry, Wyatt. I'm genuinely sorry," he said, his voice low, almost defeated.
I laughed bitterly. "Is that supposed to mean somethin' to me?"
"No, but... can we please not act like this? I'm your father."
"You are not my father!" I yelled, my voice rising. "Wiley is the only father figure I have!"
He stood there, silent for a moment, before asking softly, "How's your grandmother?"
I started pacing, disbelief washing over me. "Oh, I don't know. She's still pretty sad that you murdered her fuckin' daughter!" I spat, my voice thick with venom.
He sighed, shaking his head. "If I could take it all back, I would. In a heartbeat."
"Which part would you take back, huh?" I asked, stepping closer. "The part where you beat the livin' shit outta my mama every time you came home drunk? Or the part where you looked her in the eyes while you were chokin' the life outta her with a big fat smile on your face?"
Tears streamed down my face, and he stood there, speechless. "That's what the fuck I thought!" I sobbed, my body shaking. I gripped my chest, the pain almost too much to bear.
"I never wanna see you in Texas again, you hear me?" I said, my voice low, deadly serious. "You better go somewhere far away, 'cause if I ever see you again, I swear I'll kill you myself."
I shoved him back, not waiting for a response, and walked away, the tears blurring my vision as they fell down my face.
??°
When I finally made it to the locker room, I opened my locker and grabbed my things. My phone buzzed to life the moment I unlocked it, and I saw the flood of notifications. Twenty missed calls and nearly thirty texts from Wyatt.
My heart sank as I started reading through them.
"Milia, I'm so sorry."
I paused at that last message, my mind spinning. I couldn't even imagine how that conversation had gone between Wyatt and his father. I sighed, slipping my phone into my back pocket before heading out of the hospital, the weight of the day pressing down on me.
When I got home, all I could think about was a warm shower and a good meal. As I walked in, I spotted Akhilles and Sienna sitting at the kitchen island.
"Hey," I greeted, setting my bag down.
Sienna looked up at me, her face full of worry. "Is everything okay?" I asked, noticing her glance toward the stairs.
Sienna hesitated before saying, "Wyatt came over hours ago. He's been in your room ever since."
"What?"
"He looked like he'd been bawling his eyes out. He wouldn't talk to us about anything," Ahkilles chimed in.
"It's his father," I explained softly. "He's out of prison."
Akhilles' eyes grew wide, confusion growing on his face. "What? Beau is out?"
I nodded, brushing past them. "I'm going to check on him."
I walked up the stairs before I pushed open my bedroom door to find Wyatt standing there, staring at the new painting I'd been working on. He looked lost, his broad shoulders slumped forward.
"Wyatt?" I whispered, stepping inside. "Is everything okay?" I placed my hand gently on his back, and he turned to me, his eyes bloodshot, his nose red. He'd been crying for a long time.
He looked up at me, his voice breaking. "I-I just don't know what to do, Milia."
"Oh, baby, come here," I said, pulling him into my arms. He collapsed against me, his sobs shaking both of us. I held him tight, feeling his pain as if it were my own.
"Come sit down," I urged gently, guiding him to the bed. He sat heavily, his head in his hands. I crouched down in front of him, cupping his cheek softly. "Tell me what happened."
He hesitated before speaking, his voice trembling. "I- I was coming to see you so we could talk in person, a-and I bumped into him."
He broke down again, his hands covering his face. "He tried to talk to me, but I couldn't... I punched him, Milia. I told him I never wanted to see him again."
My heart ached for him, and I pulled him into another embrace, whispering soothing words. I ran my fingers through his hair, trying to ease his pain. I pulled back slightly and kissed him, hoping to remind him he wasn't alone.
"Milia... I'm so sorry for hurting you," he said, his voice full of regret.
"I know, Wyatt. I know you are," I whispered.
He looked away, shame written all over his face. "Maybe I am just like my father."
My heart broke hearing him say that. "You know," I started softly, "it's funny you say that because I told your father the complete opposite."
His head snapped up, his eyes searching mine. "What?"
"I told your father that you were nothing like him, and I was thankful for that."
He stared at me, a small smile slowly breaking through his sorrow. I smiled back, my hands still gently resting on his face. "Wyatt, no one is perfect. You made a mistake, but it doesn't make you a bad person. I still like you the same."
A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he leaned in, cupping my face, and kissed me again. I rested my forehead against his, taking a moment to breathe with him.
He pulled back slightly, a sheepish grin on his face. "Uh, I kind of went snooping around and saw a few of your paintings."
I laughed softly. "Really?"
"Yeah, really. Milia, you're such an amazing painter. Why don't you show your talent to the world?"
I shook my head, standing up. "Nah, I don't think so, Wyatt."
He followed, wrapping his arms around my waist. "Milia, come on. You're good. How about this? How about you paint something for me, and I'll hang it up in my grandma's shop?"
I blinked, taken aback. No one had ever thought my paintings were that good. "I don't know, Wyatt."
"Come on, Milia, please?" He gave me puppy dog eyes, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes, sighing deeply.
"Fine," I gave in, a small smile tugging at my lips.
"Good!" he said, grinning wide.
I laughed softly, leaning into him, forever feeling grateful for him and his kindness.