Chapter 42
The restof dinner is spent mostly in silence.
Cynthia and I chat, trying to fill the quiet with tidbits about my family and Cherry Peak. It’s hard to believe that before today, she didn’t even know I existed.
Garrison dumped our relationship on his mom this morning, but I can’t even be mad at him about that. Surprises don’t bother me, and this has been one of the best ones I’ve had in a long time.
I’m extremely relieved that she doesn’t mind that I jumped in with her son and husband. If she had, it would have bothered me, but I was prepared for any outcome when I decided not to keep biting my tongue.
I’ve never feared standing up for those I care about. And that extends to the man I love, even if it does include risking a potential relationship with his family. Reggie may have his reasons for doing what he did with the Jocelyn situation, but so does Garrison, even if they aren’t the most flattering. The hurt Garrison has felt from his father has only made it impossible for him to see that. They need to talk. Only then will he be able to scrape away the painful scar tissue that’s built over his wounds and start fresh.
Once everyone has finished eating, I look to Cynthia for any hint on what she wants us to do next. Whether we outright tell the two men to go talk or if we leave them a subtle opening instead.
“Poppy, would you be a dear and help me clear the table so we can get to washing the dishes?” she asks smoothly.
I nod. “Sure.”
Dragging my hand from the middle of Garrison’s back to his shoulder, I feather a kiss across his cheek and give him a reassuring squeeze. His following sigh is heavy, weighed down.
“You two are not as subtle as you think you are,” he mutters.
My lips twitch as I pull back and look into his eyes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t go too far. I want you close.”
I kiss his cheek again, unable to help it.
“I’ll just be in the kitchen. One shout and I’ll be here. Promise.”
“Fine.”
“So grumpy,” I sing, ruffling his hair as I push away from the table.
He glares at me, but the crinkle at the corners of his eyes betrays him. I have no doubt that if his parents weren’t staring at us right now, he’d swat my ass as I saunter behind his chair and begin clearing the dirty dinner plates from the table.
Reggie stacks the plates from the opposite side of the table and has them waiting for me to add to the one in my arms while Cynthia carries the leftover chicken to the kitchen.
I thank him for the help and then follow after Cynthia, flashing Garrison an encouraging smile before slipping out of view. It’s easier to breathe once we escape the tension in the dining room, and I set the plates on the marble counter beside a double farmhouse sink.
Joining me at the sink, Cynthia asks, “What do you think the odds are that they figure their shit out tonight?”
“Selfishly, my hopes are high. I just want him to open himself up more instead of putting up that steel wall of his, and I think he holds off on doing that because he’s scared anyone he does let in won’t stay around long. I’m sure your husband is an incredible man, Cynthia, but I’m going to have Garrison’s back regardless of the outcome tonight.”
A gentle hand falls to my shoulder, and I stare at it before looking up to find Cynthia staring at me with gleaming eyes.
“There’s a reason he broke that habit with you. Thank you for protecting my boy. He might think he doesn’t need it, but he does. You are perfect for him, Poppy. I can’t express to you how happy I am that I got this day with you. To watch the two of you together and witness the love between you . . . I will never forget it.”
She drops such a weighted declaration on me, and I struggle to find a reply worthy of it. But she’s not done, and by the time she is, we’re both crying.
“Eight weeks is not long enough for a love like the one you share. I understand why you both feel as though that’s all you can have, but please, for me, just remember that there’s always more than one route to take you where you need to go. Your mind and heart will always present you with two different routes, but sometimes, it’s your gut you have to listen to.”
Poppy disappears, Mom not far behind, and I feel the loss of her presence beside me like an amputated limb. I itch beneath my skin and know no matter how deep I’d dig my nails into my flesh, I know I’d never be able to soothe it.
The conversation that’s about to happen between my father and me is long overdue. The weight of that isn’t lost on me. It could go very, very wrong, or it could go fine. I wouldn’t put bets on either side yet.
“Do you have somewhere you want to start?” Dad asks once the sink starts to run in the kitchen. “The floor is yours.”
I look at him. Really look at him.
His age shows with every new wrinkle on his forehead and around his mouth. Exhaustion radiates from his slouched shoulders. Even lazing around the house, he’s wearing a deep purple polo with cream stripes and a pair of khaki pants. His style is atrocious. I used to get a kick out of it. None of my classmates’ dads dressed like mine while I was growing up, and even if I thought it was ridiculous most of the time, I loved his uniqueness. His lack of care for what others think about him is one of my favourite qualities about him.
With his eyes dull and mouth flat, he looks genuinely upset. I want to believe him, but I’m too stubborn to.
“Do you really not know when I stopped trying with you?”
“I don’t believe it was one single instance that created such a void between us.”
I huff a dark laugh and drag a hand down my face. “You’re right. It was years of feeling like you didn’t give a shit about me or Mom. How we were always second best to your music career and hobbies once that ended.”
“I have always cared about both of you more than I can explain.”
“Don’t lie.”
“I’m not, Garrison. You two are my entire life. My work is my passion, but you two are my heart,” he argues.
“If that were true, then you would have been there when Mom fell down those stairs. Or maybe if you hadn’t been so nose-deep in a fucking record for a D-list artist, she wouldn’t have fallen at all.” And then it’s out. The truth I’ve never spoken out loud to anyone besides Poppy.
My father flinches as if I’ve reached across the table and slapped him. Good. I want it to hurt half as much as I’ve hurt over it. As Mom hurt that day.
The water stops running in the kitchen, silence never sounding as fucking loud as it does right now.
“Garrison—” Dad chokes on my name. I tense my jaw. “I don’t regret anything more than I do that day. Not hearing her or—or being there. Not finding her. I didn’t . . . didn’t intend for that to happen.”
“What you intended to do doesn’t matter. And if you were so regretful, why have you still not stopped to make it up to her? You still fill your time in a studio with artists who don’t care about you instead of your family! Every day is always the same with you.” My voice cracks on the last word, and that only pisses me off more. I grip the edge of the table until my knuckles turn white. “Do you have any idea how much it hurts to watch you build these bonds with everyone besides me? I keep spiralling into this place inside of me that’s so dark and cold just so I don’t feel the pain you cause. I lash out at those around me and then wind up hating myself for it.”
His expression visibly shudders, tears wetting his lashes.
“You replaced the bond you should have had with me with every single artist you sign. The chosen ones in your eyes. Noah Hutton, Brody Steele. Every single person you’ve slotted into the space that should have been reserved for me. No matter what.”
My chest rattles under the restraint it’s taking not to burst into sobs. I don’t cry. Haven’t for years. But the relief of getting this off my chest is therapeutic in the cruelest way. It’s too much but not enough.
“I had the right to put distance between us when you chose your work over your family every day of my childhood. But you did not have the right to fill that distance with other people instead of jumping over it to work things out with me,” I say on a wobbly breath. “You are my dad. Not anyone else’s.”
Dad’s chair scratches the expensive wood floors as he shoves it backward and rounds the table. He moves quick enough to spike concern, even if I wish I could just feel nothing for one goddamn moment.
Coming to a stop at my chair, he uses a strength I’ve never witnessed to twist it around and then yanks me up and out of it. I’m enveloped in a hug tight enough to make it hard to breathe, but I don’t pull back. Despite everything I’ve just said, I return the hug and close my eyes, every inhale burning my throat as I continue to fight off tears.
“You’re right. Absolutely right,” he whispers, the words watery. “You’re my son. My heart and soul. My blood. I’m so sorry. So sorry.”
I don’t reply, not trusting myself to. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to focus on my breathing. In for three, out for three. The pain in my chest is nearly enough to bring me to my knees, but with every repeated apology that slips subconsciously from my father’s lips, it starts to ease.
“I don’t have a good enough excuse for my negligence. So, I won’t give one. All I ask is that you give me one chance to make up for everything I’ve done. Let me fix our relationship. I’m your father, and you’re my son. That will never, ever change,” he whispers.
“You already had years to make up for it.”
“I know. But now that I know the extent of the damage I’ve caused, I know what to fix. I didn’t know you were this hurt. Maybe I should have figured it out, but I didn’t. One chance, Garrison. I only need one. I promise. Just one.”
“And if you waste it? What then?”
He tightens his arms, hugging me to the point of pain.
“I’m not ready to say the words out loud. Not until I have no choice.”
I accept it. We both know that I’m fully aware of what those words are. And if he fails to follow through with his promise, I won’t give him another chance to convince me he cares again.
We’ll be done.