Chapter 32 #2
I killed the engine and dragged myself up the steps to the front door.
"Hello?" I pushed the front door open, but no one was in sight. My dad’s office door was open, though, a sliver of light was peaking through. I stepped closer, peering through the gap. The chair was empty, pushed away from the desk like he'd just gotten up and walked out.
Something drew me in. The closet door was open and usually never was. A box lay on the floor inside the door, half-buried beneath a pile of discarded papers and old ledgers. Its lid hung off, corners bent. I crouched down to get a closer look.
A flood of emotions hit me all at once. My fingers traced the cardboard, revealing envelopes, photographs, and cards discolored with age.
I lifted a photo to the light, glimpsing her smile—so much like mine—and felt the sharp sting of betrayal.
Anger consumed me as I recognized the names across the envelopes. All addressed to me from my mom.
I went through the memories, pictures of her and Boston.
A wristwatch buried inside had long stopped working, frozen at a point in time I’d never known about.
She had been reaching out all this time.
She was right about everything. Betrayal coiled in my chest like a snap about to strike.
I had lost years with my Mother and with Boston because of him. My dad. He’d kept this all from me.
My fingers clenched around the edges of the cardboard box as I lifted it out of the room.
The clinking noises floating down the hall told me exactly where to go.
Ice against glass, and probably whiskey being opened, was all too familiar to me.
I stepped into the dark bar area where my father stood, his back to me.
He poured himself a drink with his sleeves rolled up. I could feel the tension in the room.
With a thud that echoed my frustration, I tossed the box onto the bartop. The contents jumped around slightly. "What the fuck is this?"
Dad turned slowly, barely flinching at my abrupt entrance. His eyes met mine for a quick moment, then he took a slow sip of his whiskey.
"It's nothing," he said calmly. The word “nothing” rolled off his tongue so easily, like another one of his courtroom lies. But the proof was right in front of him—proof that it was definitely fucking something—everything—hidden and kept from me.
"That's all you have to say?"
All these years, she had been trying, reaching out.
Everything had been intercepted. In the corners of my mind, I’d always fought the vicious thoughts of her not wanting me.
I felt empty, and I’d tried to fill that void with anything else—baseball, women, friends.
Nothing ever filled it. He was the reason for that void.
He was silent at first, then tilted his head slightly before finally speaking. “Reese, you don’t understand. Everything I did was for you. To protect you.”
I let out a slow breath, my fingers tightening around the keys in my pocket, the sharp edges digging into my palm.
“Was it?... because from where I’m standing, you took something from me—years I can never get back.
Were you really thinking about me? Or were you just doing what was best for you and your ego? ”
I turned, heading straight for the front door. I didn’t even want to look at him anymore.
“Where are you going?” His question stopped me mid-step. “You have the draft in a few days—you need your head in the right place.”
I turned to face him again. The man who had stolen so much from me, hurt me more than he helped me, stood steady and unflinching. My gaze met his. “Does it matter?”
Then, when I thought I’d finally get out of there, his voice cut through the silence again. I paused, hand hovering over the doorknob.
“Where have you been all day?”
"Caroline's sister's wedding," I snapped. The audacity of that question made my blood boil. My jaw clenched, my breath came sharp, and if I wasn’t already fuming, I sure as hell was then.
He paused mid-sip. "Her again?" he asked, his voice a low drawl. "What are you doing with that girl?"
"Come on, Dad," I said, frustrated. I ran my hands through my hair.
"You try to control so much of my life already. You made sure I didn’t have a relationship with my mom or Boston.
You put so much pressure on me with baseball all my life.
Do you have to have this too? You wanna arrange a marriage for me? "
His gaze studied the whiskey as it swirled in the glass. He chuckled. "There's a difference between controlling you and protecting you."
"There's a thin line, Dad."
“I’m just saying, you’re going places—she’s not,” he snapped. “You’re going to have more money than you know what to do with, and people—they see that. Not just her, but Cindee too. They’re going to use you, take advantage of you, and you’re too damn blind to see it.”
I let out a bitter laugh, pulling my tie loose and over my head with one sharp tug. “Then so be it.” I tossed it onto the floor, my chest heaving. “I’d rather learn the hard way. I’d rather know for myself than have you decide who I can trust.”
His nostrils flared, his free hand clenching into fists at his sides.
When he spoke again, his voice was raw and strained like he was finally showing real emotion.
“You are the only thing in this world I have ever truly cared about.” His eyes burned with something fierce, something desperate.
“And the only way I knew to keep you safe was to keep you close. To protect you. That is my job and it has always been my job.”
“No. Your job was to be my father,” I bit out, trembling with frustration.
If keeping me close was about protecting me, then why did it feel like I’ve spent my whole life trying to escape him?
My jaw locked, the years of buried resentment pressing down on me.
Then, without another glance, I grabbed the doorknob, and yanked it open.
The door slammed shut behind me, rattling in its frame, but it still wasn’t loud enough to drown out the pounding in my chest.