36. Julie
36
“ Y ou know you don’t have to leave, right?”
I avoid Charlotte’s worried expression as I carry my suitcase to her Jeep.
“I know.” I open the trunk and throw my stuff inside, then suck in a deep breath before I face her. “But it’s time I deal with my problems head on.”
I gave myself last night to cry, be sad, and drown in my misery.
Jason is right. He’s also an asshole, but he’s right about one thing.
I am a coward.
At some point, I can’t keep hiding behind the threats Jacob is making. I actually need to do something about it. I need to trust that the people I love will do everything to protect me like I would protect them, and I can’t do that if I don’t let them in.
I need to go home.
I click the trunk shut, then wrap my arms around my best friend.
“Do you need help?” Charlie whispers in my ear.
I squeeze her tighter, loving her even more for the question.
My fight with Jason crushed my heart, but having Charlotte right beside me when it did made me realize something. For months, I felt like I was alone.
Like I had to slay all my dragons by myself. Being home made me realize that’s not true. I have a lot of people who love me and who’d kill demons to help me.
I’m not a coward because I won’t slay my dragons.
I’m a coward for not asking for help.
But this first thing on my to-do list is something only I can do.
“I need to do this by myself. Thank you for letting me borrow your car.”
“Sure.” She lets go, searching my eyes. “I’m here when you need me.”
I thank her, my chest filled with hope as I get in and take off to the one place I should’ve gone months ago.
I silently drive through the streets of Braeden, a deep sense of comfort and belonging settling in my bones as I head to the other side of town. The afternoon sunlight cascades down on the magnolia trees, my heart easing at the familiar houses passing by. I watch kids play in the yards, riding their bikes, and people walking their dogs, and for the first time in a very long time, my soul isn’t as restless as it has been.
I belong here .
I don’t belong in LA. Living in LA has shown me where I need to be. I don’t like the glitz and glam of Californian life. Sure, I like to dress pretty, wear heels, and paint my nails. But I also want to feel a connection with people, with the place I live. I’m never going to find that on the West Coast, not the way I’m used to.
As I drive by a for sale sign in one of the single-family homes, my heart stutters. The image of a couple walking up the yard behind me, her pregnant, both their smiles wider than humanly possible while I show them around. Them signing the papers before they ask me to take a picture of them buying their first home. The palpable excitement they vibrate of knowing their life together is about to start.
I want to be in real estate again.
I want to work with my dad again.
I pull into the driveway of the house I grew up in, parking behind my dad’s SUV.
For a couple of minutes, I take in my surroundings.
I love this house.
It’s not big, just a single-family home with a two-car garage, but I’m glad my folks never considered going bigger, even when business picked up. The house is white with blue window frames, and there’s a small porch on the right side of the front door with two rocking chairs, one for Mom and one for Dad.
And that tree. I smile at the big red maple that has been growing bigger and bigger since I was a kid until now, the tip reaching higher than the house itself.
My limbs feel jittery, but knowing the familiarity that’s waiting for me inside, I put on my big girl pants and grab my suitcase from the trunk.
With a pounding heart, I ring the doorbell, even though I have the key, and I impatiently wait for the door to fly open.
When it does, deep brown eyes blink back at me from behind glasses, reminding me of the soil that’s housing the red roses in front of the porch. His salt-and-pepper hair has become a little bit more gray than the last time I saw him, but it’s still thick, styled neatly on his wrinkled head.
He’s still in his work clothes, wearing a white polo and dark blue trousers. Shock flickers through his expression, and I don’t dare to speak until they soften, the littlest smile curving the corner of his lips.
“Hi, Dad.” The words hurt as my throat thickens just looking at him. “I know I fucked up, but please don’t ask questions. Can I stay here for a couple of days?”
His smile expands, holding out his hand to take my bag from me.
“This is your home. You can stay as long as you like.”
****
The next morning, I wake up with a heart that still aches like it’s been pulled through a shredder, but also getting nursed back to health just waking up in my old room. Falling asleep in the house I grew up in has healing abilities I don’t think you find anywhere else. It feeds me a sense of comfort that boosts my confidence.
I have a plan.
Today, I’m going to find a lawyer and see what my options are. As soon as I know that, I can decide how much I can tell my dad, just to prevent him from murdering Jacob, which I know he will once he knows everything.
I get out of bed and strut down the stairs, following the smell of freshly baked bacon until I walk into the kitchen.
“Good morning.”
My dad turns around from the stove, all dressed for work, a beaming smile aimed my way. “Good morning, honey. You want some pancakes and bacon?”
My stomach roars in reply.
“Yes, please.” I take out a mug from the cabinet and make myself a fresh cup of tea.
“You wanna talk.”
My eyes bulge as I rest my ass against the counter, staring at his back with my warm mug between my hands. “No.”
He nods, turning over a piece of bacon with his tongs. “I missed you.”
And just like that, he glues another piece of my heart together.
“I missed you too. And Mom. Where is she?”
“Out with the girls. Manis and pedis or something. Look–”
Oh, Lord. “I thought I said I didn’t wanna talk,” I interrupt with a little whine.
“You’re right.” He smiles, whipping his head back to me. “But I don’t really care. No offense.”
I groan, sipping my tea. “None taken.”
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on, and I won’t force it out of you. But you have to talk to someone.” He slowly sets each piece of bacon down on the plate with paper towels.
“I’m fine.”
He finds my eyes with a stern expression. “You are not fine. You are carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, and even though you don’t wanna talk to me, you have to get it off your chest.” He picks up the plate, motioning for me to take a seat before he sets it down next to the pancakes. “You pick who, but the level of stress that’s hidden underneath your beautiful face is killing your old man. It’s always heavier if you have to carry it all yourself.”
Unease creeps into my muscles, accompanied by shame. We both sit down, him in front of me, and he starts making me a plate just like he used to.
“People will get hurt if I talk.” I watch while he takes two pancakes and adds bacon, blueberries, and maple syrup before setting it back in front of me, looking like something Instagram worthy.
“People are already getting hurt.” His eyebrows furrow. “ You are already getting hurt.”
“I can handle it.” I pick up my cutlery, though I can't get myself to take a bite.
He takes my hand and squeezes, my throat aching instantly as I push back the tears that fight behind to get out. “I know you can. But you shouldn’t have to. Sharing your problems doesn’t make you weak. Trying to solve them on your own does. Doing nothing about them does.”
I want to tell him everything. And I will. But my gut is telling me to have more patience. To see what my options are and talk to a lawyer so I can figure out what will be the best option for him . I can’t live with the thought of my actions tainting his company in any kind of way.
“There’s just so much going on, Daddy. So much that could be ruined.”
He sighs. “Whatever it is, it’s not worth destroying your own life for.”
“Not even to protect the ones I love?”
He shakes his head, and I run my finger below my eye to quickly catch a tear. “If they love you back, they won’t allow it.”
I know they won’t. But isn’t that part of the problem? That telling my dad will make him take action that could possibly turn into consequences even worse than what they are now? That telling Jason could possibly end not just Jacob in jail, but Jason too? Or worse? Kill his reputation, and his business right behind it?
“Keeping your problem to yourself will only make it worse, honey.” He continues, letting go of my hand. “Two people see more than one. Remember that.”
He takes a sip from his coffee, then gets up. “I’m going to the office. Will you be here for dinner tonight?”
The question hurts a little, but I deserve it, since I up and left without a word the last time I was home. “Yes, Daddy.”
“Good. I will let your momma make some ginger peach chicken.”
I beam up at him and the mention of my favorite dish. “Oh, that would be amazing. Thank you.”
He rounds the table, kissing the top of my head. “Anything for you, Jules.”
The warmth of his lips reminds me of when I was just a little girl, my throat swelling all over again. I really missed my parents, my home, being here.
“Have a good day, Daddy,” I say as he ambles out of the kitchen.
“Have a good day, Jules. Oh, and honey?” I twist my head to face him and find a knowing expression on his face that lifts my eyebrows. “I know you didn’t steal my money.”
It’s a sentence I didn’t know I needed to hear, words that evoke a waterfall of emotion to vibrate through my body. He winks, then walks out, not waiting for me to reply. I hold my breath until I hear the front door fall shut again, and then I break.
I sob, tears of relief but also of pain streaming down my eyes and onto my pancakes.
My dad believes me .
I gave him absolutely no reason to, didn’t plead my case in any kind of way, but still, his trust in me, his loyalty, is unprecedented. Why did I ever doubt that?
I know why. I let Jacob get into my head so deep that I couldn’t even see the truth anymore. I forgot how many people would fight for me if I trusted them enough with my worries, and even when I didn’t, I didn’t trust them enough to make the right decisions.
But my dad is right. Two people see more than one. Two people hear more than one. Two people can come up with better solutions than one.
I take another sip of my tea, the warmth calming my senses before I dig into my pancakes with a newfound confidence.
Even if I assume the men in my life will act before they think as soon as I tell them all the nitty-gritty issues I’ve been facing, there’s at least one person who wouldn’t.
Who’s the epitome of calm and sensible, even when she has every right to bite back. She’s the one who can help me.
I hurriedly wolf down my breakfast, then get dressed in some jeans and a sweater in record time before I drive the Jeep back to the other side of town.
Walking up the front porch, I’m nervous, my hands shaking a little, but when I ring the doorbell, I straighten my spine, focusing on the relief it will bring me when I get all this shit off my chest.
“Hey, babe!” Charlotte smiles in surprise when the door flies open.
I glance inside, wondering if I need to steal her away, since what I’m about to tell her isn’t exactly PG-13. “Where are the kids?”
“Hunter took them to the park. You alright?” She frowns, and my heart starts to race.
I step inside, rubbing my sweaty palms together, not allowing myself to back out now. “There’s so much I haven’t told you.”