Chapter 29
Georgia
“So,” Lily stands in the doorway of my room, scanning the boxes. “You’re really going to do this?”
“Yep.” I kneel in the middle of my bedroom, surrounded by a mountain of cardboard.
Lily takes a sip of her iced coffee, already having heard the entire story three times. “And you don’t think it’s too fast? Not even a little?” My new—well, now old—roommate is only slightly skeptical of the whole thing.
I shake my head. “I’m tired of trying to put a timeline on things, and I’m tired of trying to make everyone else happy with my decisions.”
“I’m in total support.” She pauses. “This is just a lot. I’m happy for you, though. Really.”
“Thanks.” I work my way through the dresser drawers, wondering how I ended up with so many clothes—many of them things I don’t even like. Should I spend the time to purge some of them while I’m doing this? I decide I really don’t have the time or energy.
“Just know you can always come back.” She plops onto the edge of my bed, the ice rattling in her cup. When I don’t say anything, she keeps pressing. “You haven’t really said much about how you’re actually feeling… are you excited? Or just, like, freaked the fuck out?”
I toss a pile of clothes into a cardboard box, and then meet her eyes. “I think I’m just ready for something new. I didn’t think it would ever be this easy, but it is. I stopped caring what everyone else wanted and put myself first.”
Lily nods, like she understands, but then blows out a puff of air. “Does your dad know about the move? Or is he going to see it on Instagram and send a drone strike?”
I laugh, but it’s a little hollow. “I haven’t told him anything. I don’t think I’ll worry about posting it to Instagram either. I don’t think anyone actually cares. The people who matter will know.”
“Okay, but you know… maybe you should tell him.” She picks up the floppy hat from Key West sitting on my bed and puts it on her head. She gives me a funny look from beneath the brim. “For, you know, closure, or whatever.”
I shake my head and dump the contents of my sock drawer in a box. “Closure is overrated. Sometimes people just suck, and you move on.”
Lily purses her lips. “Maybe. But you might regret not saying the things you needed to.” She lets the hat slide off, then huffs, “Daisy agrees with me, by the way.”
I groan, my shoulders slumping. “Are you in some group chat about my emotional health?”
Lily beams. “Obviously. Want to call her?”
Before I can protest, she calls Daisy on speaker. It rings once before Daisy answers, voice bright and cheery. “Hey, Georgie. You surviving the packpocalypse?”
“Define surviving.” I glance around the room, picking at a thread on my jeans. “Did Lily tell you she’s staging an intervention?”
Daisy giggles. “Of course. Look, you know I don’t want to tell you what to do, but you need to deal with your dad, Georgia.
You can’t just move out and start a whole new life without exorcising that demon first. It’ll chase you.
Trust me. I have a master’s in running from my parents, and I still regret not saying a bunch of shit.
I think you should at least give yourself some closure. ”
There’s a long, uncomfortable silence as I think about this. I finally glance at Lily, who’s giving me that look, the one that’s equal parts empathy and an elbow to the ribs.
Damnit. Maybe they’re right.
I sigh, dropping my hands to my lap. “What would I even say?”
“Try ‘I’m happy, I’m safe, and I’m not apologizing for my life choices,’” Daisy offers, her voice jumping with excitement. “Or just go full scorched earth and tell him to fuck off. I fully support either.”
Lily nods. “I like option two, personally. I like the idea of going out with a real bang.”
Well, I don’t. I hate it, actually. I hate the idea of another scene, another drawn-out drama that ends with me either screaming or crying or both.
But as I look around at the sum total of my possessions, the ghosts of my old selves warring for prime real estate in a new apartment with Brody, I realize I can’t leave this place—this life—without at least trying to end it on my own terms.
I steel myself, nodding my head slowly. “Okay. You know what? I’ll do it. I think maybe it is better to close the door fully.”
“Fuck yes,” Daisy cheers. “We’ll be here for moral support afterward, Georgia. Promise.”
Lily reaches for my hand, squeezing it. “You’re a badass, Georgia Blake. Now go prove it, because I’ll never stop being infinitely jealous of the fact that you have three boyfriends.”
“Same,” Daisy echoes.
I spend the next few hours finishing up packing.
“Don’t forget your hat,” Lily says. “Let it be the reminder that keeps you strong when you have to face your asshole dad.”
I laugh. “Okay, well, I doubt that’s how it works, but it’s worth a shot.” I tuck the hat under my arm, grab my keys, and step out into the hallway with the kind of resolve that makes the next step feel a little bit easier.
I’m not just moving out. I’m moving on.
Time to do this the right way, for once in my life.
Time to face my dad.
I happen to know my dad is in New York right now rather than Charleston. The walk to his condo is only about fifteen minutes away, but it feels like marching to my own execution. It’s late afternoon, the sun already ducking behind the buildings, as I force myself onward.
I feel the nervous sweat pooling at the small of my back. If I turn around now, I could be at Brody’s in under fifteen minutes, curled up with him and a glass of wine and a thousand excuses for why I didn’t confront my dad.
But that would make me feel even more like I’m just trying to evade him, and I know it.
So, I keep walking. Past the stoop where he taught me to tie my shoes, past the deli with the best pickles in the city, past the park where we used to sit after Mom passed away and pretend that things were going to be okay.
When I reach his place, I press the buzzer, and there’s a long, metallic ring before his voice grinds through the speaker. “Yeah?”
“It’s me,” I say, and then add, “Georgia.”
A pause, then the door clicks open.
Please don’t let him kill me.
As soon as I step inside, he’s waiting on the landing, just inside, arms crossed tight against his chest. He wears the same Navy T-shirt he’s had for as long as I can remember, and his jaw is set so hard I’m surprised he can talk at all.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, voice clipped. “Did your little love triangle go south?”
“Well, it’s not a triangle, more like a square—” I stop myself and then shake my head. “I didn’t call because I didn’t think you’d pick up,” I admit, and instantly regret how defensive it sounds. But he just stares at me for a second and lets me in, the heavy door groaning shut behind us.
Inside, the condo is exactly as I remember, with hardwood floors buffed to a shine, the scent of lemon polish and old paperbacks, every surface lined with photos that he stopped updating when I left for college. There’s one of me in an ancient soccer uniform, mid-run, hair flying wild.
In all of them, I look like I’m just about to disappear out of the frame.
Or maybe that’s just me, projecting how it felt to grow up as Robert Blake’s daughter.
We move to the living room. He gestures for me to take the armchair while he sits on the couch, not quite facing me. The silence is suffocating, like he’s waiting for me to admit full guilt for my sins.
“So,” he says, his tone painfully devoid of emotion. “To what do I owe the pleasure? I thought I made it clear this wasn’t acceptable unless you came to your senses.”
I take a deep breath, then another, rehearsing the lines I practiced in my head a hundred times on the walk over. None of them sound convincing in the slightest, so I just say it.
“I’m moving out of my house today.”
His eyes dart up, then quickly move away. “What does that have to do with us?”
“I’m moving forward into a relationship with Brody, Miles and Emmett.”
He snorts, and the sound is pure Dad—unimpressed, a little disgusted, a little wounded. “Fine. Brody’s new project, is that it? I hope you enjoy being his flavor of the month. It won’t last.”
I swallow the urge to scream. “You were wrong about him. And you’re wrong about me.”
He studies me, like he’s trying to find some small fragment of the daughter he thought I was.
I press on. “We’re going to make this work, and it’s not just a fling. It’s real.”
I wait for the explosion, but it never comes. Instead, he just sits there, staring at the floor. “Is this a sick joke? A fucking experiment or something? Some new way to stick it to me? I’m not interested in your rebellion, or your need to come here and rub it in my face.”
“No,” I say, and this time the words come easily, the anxiety finally leaving my body. “It’s not a joke. It makes me happy. Happier than I’ve ever been.”
He shakes his head again, but the anger is gone, replaced by something I can’t really read. “I don’t get it, Georgia. I really don’t. I spent my whole life trying to teach you the right way to do things, to keep you safe, and you… You just walk right into a disaster and call it love.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be safe,” I snap. “Maybe I just want to be free, even if it means screwing up.”
He rubs his hands over his face, and for the first time, I see a vulnerable side of him. He’s suddenly not the ex-Navy powerhouse who could break boards over his knee, but a guy whose best years are behind him, desperate for a win that won’t come.
And he’s not trying to control me. He won’t control me. I won’t let him.
“I’m not asking for your blessing,” I tell him. “I’m telling you how it is.”
He lets out a sound, halfway between a laugh and a groan. “That’s your mother, right there,” he mutters. “You get this from her.”
I almost say thank you, but I don’t. Instead, I stand up, forcing him to meet my eyes. “I love them,” I say, my voice still steady. “All of them. And they love me. You can hate it, or you can get used to it. But I’m leaving them.”
He stands too, and for a second, I think he might hug me, or hit me, or say something that will rip the last thread between us. But he just nods, jaw working, eyes locked on mine.
“I don’t understand it,” he says. “But you’ve always been stubborn as hell.”
I smile slightly. “That hasn’t changed.”
He shakes his head, but there’s something in his eyes—probably a memory of when I was his little girl. There’s sadness in his eyes now but he makes no move to make amends—just stands there with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Goodbye, Dad,” I say, knowing I’ve done what I needed to.
I close the door gently behind me and step out into the evening, the city humming around me, and I realize I did need that. Way more than Lily and Daisy even realized.
I don’t need his permission. I don’t even need his love.
I love myself and that’s the most important thing.