Chapter 30 #2
Granddad freezes. He’s two steps from me, but it’s Dad who feels closest.
My father has never interrupted him before. Not once. Not when I was benched at thirteen and Granddad tore into me in front of my entire team. Not when he called me greedy for leaning into the pitch or weak for needing surgery.
But now, in this snow-choked parking lot, he does.
“Rod,” Granddad warns, his voice low and dangerous. “Think about what you’re saying.”
“I already did,” Dad says. His breath shakes, but he stands firm. “I’ve thought about it for thirty years.”
Granddad takes a step toward him. “You work for me.”
“Not anymore, I don’t.”
My jaw falls. Granddad’s face turns so white, it looks like he’s turning to ice on the spot.
“Son, don’t be stupid,” Granddad hisses. “You’ve got a family to feed.”
“No, I have one to protect. You’ve threatened me with that long enough, Dad.” With every word, his voice gets stronger. “I don’t need your money, your … golden handcuffs. I wish I’d never taken a job with you in the first place.” Dad says.
For a long second, none of us move. The snow settles on their coats, on the car roof, on my shoulders. All I can hear is my own breathing—and the soft sob Mom’s trying to hide behind her gloved hand.
Granddad finally turns, stiff and shaking with rage. “You’ll regret this,” he says, but his voice has lost its bite. He walks back to the car, slams the door, and the engine roars to life.
I can’t move. Every muscle in me feels locked in place, as if my entire body is capturing this moment.
Dad stays where he is, watching the taillights fade. His hands are still shaking when he finally looks at me.
“I should’ve said something a long time ago,” he says, voice thick. “I let him talk to you the way he talked to me, and I’m sorry for that. I’m proud of you, son.” A sob bubbles in his throat. “And I love you.”
It’s not eloquent. It’s not even steady. But it’s the bravest thing I’ve ever seen him do.
I close the distance between us and pull him into a hug. He grips me tight, and for the first time in I don’t know how long, I feel like I have a real father. Someone who cares enough to go to bat for me.
I was finally ready to stand up for myself—to be the lone wolf I pretend to be—but it turns out, I didn’t have to.
And I’ve never been so glad not to be alone.
My fingers itch with a desire to call Poppy …
The swelling in my chest deflates.
Poppy.
Grace.
I let her slip between my fingers—both hers. I froze Grace out. I pushed Poppy away.
I blew it.
“I’m so proud of you both,” Mom says, joining us, throwing her arms around us with sniffs.
We stay there for a long beat, finally free.
When Mom releases us, she wipes her eyes with a smile. “Should we go? Your brother will be wondering what’s taking us so long,” she says.
I nod, but my relief is already fading, replaced by an empty ache. I just got my family back, but I’ve still lost Poppy.
I hand her the truck keys, and we all climb into the truck, Dad in the driver’s seat, still shaking a little, and me in the back, trying to process everything that just happened.
My phone is in my pocket, a dead weight. Grace deleted her profile. Poppy thinks I don’t want her.
And I just let her believe it.
Before Dad can start the engine, there’s a tap on my window.
Darren.
I roll it down. “Hey.”
“Sorry,” he says, breath fogging in the cold. “I just ... I heard the yelling and wanted to make sure you were okay. Sounded intense.”
“I’m okay,” I say, and I mean it. “Thanks to my dad.” I reach a hand up and clutch my dad’s shoulder. He pats my hand.
Darren nods, then glances at Mom and Dad. “For what it’s worth, Mr. Fletcher, what you did back there—standing up to your father—it took guts. Real guts.”
Dad’s voice is rough when he speaks. “Thank you, Darren.”
An awkward beat passes. Darren shifts his weight, clearly wanting to leave but not sure how.
“I thought you’d be at the reception, already. What kept you so long?” Mom asks.
“Oh, a friend is having an event in the basement. Sort of a … memorial party.”
My heart stops.
“Memorial?” I ask, my voice sharp enough that everyone looks at me.
“Yeah, in the fellowship hall. They went out to the cemetery for a bit, but they’re back now. It’s more of a party than I expected.” He pauses, looking at me. “Why?”
“Did you see—” I can barely get the words out, and words escape me. “A woman, uh, no the woman who, well, no, she was an intern—” I stop, not knowing how to talk, what to say. “Elf! No. I mean, a short, brown haired, beautiful woman, probably looked like she’d been crying?”
Darren’s brow furrows. “You mean Poppy Lewis? Yeah, that’s who I stopped by to see.”
A weak, sad, hopeful laugh escapes me. “She’s there? How was she?”
“She was talking to a group of older guys. She was smiling. Laughing a little. Her eyes were pretty red, though, so I think she’s been crying a lot.” He looks between us, confused. “You know her?”
“I’m in love with her,” I say, the words coming out as easy as breathing. “Poppy Grace Lewis. I met her on the plane, and we drove together, and I—” My voice cracks. “I messed up. I hurt her, and I need to fix it.”
Darren steps back from the truck to let me out. “You’re in love with Poppy Lewis?” He laughs. “That’s awesome. She’s good people.”
“The best,” I say. Then I reach into the front seat and put a hand on my mom’s shoulder and another on my dad’s. “I gotta go, guys. I’m sorry about the reception.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Mom says, giving me a watery smile. “Don’t let anything hold you back, sweetie. Especially not fear.”
“And forget about your granddad,” Dad says. “I’ve spent thirty years putting his expectations ahead of my kids’ happiness. No more. Go, son.”
At Oak & Ivy, the reception is probably already starting. Evan’s waiting for me. Guests are expecting me. Granddad’s probably already telling people I’m unstable, emotional, just like he always said.
I don’t care.
For the first time in my life, I’m choosing what I want. Who I want.
Poppy Grace Lewis is on the other side of this building, and I’m done wasting time.
“You’re sure she was in the fellowship hall?” I ask Darren, hopping out of the truck and walking backwards.
“Yeah. East entrance, down the stairs. But I don’t know if she’s still there. People were starting to leave.”
“Then I gotta go.”
I start running before anyone can say anything else. Behind me, I hear Darren call out:
“Good luck, man!”
I laugh with every pounding footfall.
Darren Murphy’s wishing me luck.
And I’m gonna need it.