Rex
It took a lot longer than I’d have liked to get the full story out of Wynter.
Her shyness around Rachel faded every time we started bickering, and without us conferring on it, we bickered a lot so that she’d grow accustomed to it faster.
In barely any time at all, she had the confidence to join in.
Circumstances and concerns aside, with my two girls sitting opposite me in a restaurant, a spread of tacos and taquitos in front of us, I didn’t think I could be fucking happier.
This was living the dream.
I didn’t think it was possible for there to be more clear-cut proof that I was meant to be a family man. That this was what I’d been wanting, hell, waiting for all along.
It made it a fucking pleasure to sit back against the booth, to watch them both talk about AP History, to get pumped for information on Greek philosophers, to discuss her math paper, to talk about band practice…
This was what we’d missed out on.
This.
And it hurt, but in the best possible way because ‘better late then never’ was starting to become my motto.
So when, after all that good stuff, her fingers covered in guac as she dove into the nachos that had just arrived, she murmured, “I don’t want to be here anymore,” my heart kind of broke.
Rachel instantly blanched but she was reactive. “We can take you home if you’re ready—”
“Huh? Oh. No!” Her cheeks flushed. “I meant, not here. I meant, you know, like, um, Burbank?”
The relief that hit me was like a smack to the fucking face.
I released a soft breath and said, “Kid, preface that better next time. You about broke my heart.”
Her eyes rounded. “I did?”
“You sure did.”
“But—”
“We’re very aware that any time you grant us is a blessing,” Rachel said softly, gracing Wynter with a smile that hit her eyes and made her ten times more beautiful than the knockout she was.
My woman as a mom was the hottest thing I’d ever fucking seen in my life.
“A blessing?” Wynter frowned. “Really?”
“We never thought we could have this,” I said gruffly, reaching for my soda. “So, Rach has it right—this is a blessing.” Wynter gnawed on her lip but I didn’t want to overwhelm her, so I just asked, “What’s going on, kid? Why don’t you want to be in Burbank anymore?”
“I’m ready to come home, Dad.”
For a second, I could only stare at her.
Dad.
Fuck. DAD. She’d called me ‘Dad.’
Rachel swallowed, then seeming to realize my brain was fried upon hearing that label that mattered so fucking much to me, rasped, “We’d love for you to come to Jersey.”
Maybe because she was always so practical, her immediate acquiescence—which was very impractical—made me step up. “Kid, I want you home with us. Make no bones about it. But you ain’t like me—what about school?”
Wynter’s shoulders hunched. “I took my SATs.”
My mouth rounded. “What?! You didn’t tell me. Is that why you’ve been stressed?”
“Yes.” She bowed her head. “I didn’t do so well.”
“Well, you took it junior year,” I pointed out, wondering if that was why Kinnock had shouted at her to get her to quit her job. “There’s time to retake it if the scores were that bad.”
Clearly wanting me to shut up, Rachel kicked me under the table. “What did you get, honey?”
She sniffled. “Fifteen hundred and ten.”
I shot Rach a look and mouthed, “Is that bad?” I hadn’t taken mine so I genuinely didn’t remember. It didn’t sound bad, but maybe shit had changed since I was in high school.
Rach was shaking her head though. “That’s… ninety-ninth percentile?”
Wynter swallowed. “I was aiming for top marks.”
I snorted. “You’re so like Rachel it’s insane.”
Rachel shushed me. “It depends on the school you want to go to, I guess. Harvard’s out,” she admitted with a grimace.
“It’s out with fifteen hundred and ten?” I groused. “What do they want? Blood?”
Her glance was worried. “Yes. I’m sure a blood sacrifice would help too.”
See, this was why I was over this bullshit.
Rach had once told me I had it in me to be a politician, but I didn’t. Not because I lacked the smarts or the skills, but because I lacked the patience for these ridiculous social constructs that meant nothing to me.
Wynter bit her lip. “I want to go to—” She paused, sucked in a breath, then blurted out, “I want to cross-register with Juilliard and Columbia. They have a program—”
Rach’s eyes started glistening. And I got it. Damn if my heart didn’t squeeze in my chest. “You want to come to the East Coast?”
Wynter’s chin bobbed. “I do.”
Rach reached for our kid’s hand. “We can work toward that. You still have a year until graduation,” she pointed out.
“Thank you,” Wynter muttered before, miserably, admitting, “My mom doesn’t even care what my score is.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Rach tried to appease.
“She got clean years ago, but whatever the Triads did to her, it made her start drinking again. She’s too busy sleeping off her hangover so that when she goes to visit Dad, he doesn’t snipe at her for being drunk.”
Wow. Healthy.
“And Dad, when he found out, you’d think I’d gotten nine-hundred on the tests or something.” Her bottom lip quivered and, sniffling, she swiped at her eyes. “He was really mean.”
I reached for my cellphone and typed out:
Me: You got that fucker Jeremy Kinnock off the transplant list like I asked you?
Lodestar: Yup. I tagged him as a low priority.
Me: Good.
Lodestar: No ‘thank you?’
Me: You know I’m grateful. Wouldn’t put up with you otherwise.
Lodestar: ˉ\_(ツ)_/ˉ
Grunting under my breath, I asked, “You only have, what? Six weeks left in the school year?”
“I know it’s nothing—”
“If you come back with us, I can set you up with remote learning. You’d need to fly back for finals, but you could stay with us.”
Wynter’s eyes rounded. “I could do that? You’d want me there?”
“Sweetheart, I didn’t want to leave you in January, so you can guarantee I want to take you back with us now.”
She gulped. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Are you sure you want to do this? You seemed to want to stay to support your mom and dad while he’s sick,” Rachel remarked, her tone cautious.
I wanted to snap at her and ask her why the fuck she was putting obstacles in our way when this was the reason we’d traveled like crazy people today, but I knew it was the right thing to do.
“Dad barely talks to me, and if he does, it’s about school and how I should have gotten 1600. He wants me to go to Stanford, and he wants me to do what he’s doing, but that’s not… I don’t want that. I didn’t want it before King, I mean, Dad came—”
Excuse me while I fucking preened.
Dad.
“I’m not a teacher. I’d be so bad at doing something like that, but he insists, and I just feel horrible because I can’t yell at him when he’s in a hospital bed and he’s almost dying.”
“You said it yourself, Wynter. He will die if he can’t get a transplant,” she pointed out. “I don’t want you to feel bad for leaving—”
“A month ago, I went to get Mom some coffee because she was slurring her words. When I came back, I heard him say that he regretted marrying her, that I’d ruined his life because I’d brought Rex into it.
” She peeped a look at me. “He was speaking as if I were the reason he’d gotten hurt, when, if anything, I’m the reason he didn’t die.
Because they’d have killed him if it weren’t for you, wouldn’t they? ”
Temper surging, I wasn’t certain how I managed to keep a rein on it as I stated, “If a man pays his debts, there’s no reason to kill him. It’s when that changes there’s a problem, and considering how he offered payment in kind, I’m going to assume that things weren’t looking great for him.”
“Rex, you’re upsetting her,” Rachel sniped.
“No. I’m not. Real talk shouldn’t hurt.”
“It usually does,” Rachel countered.
“I needed to hear that,” was Wynter’s soft reply.
“What did your mom say?” I questioned.
“She didn’t say anything.” If a breadstick could be snapped bitterly, then she did it then. “She didn’t defend me, even after everything he’s done. Everything he’s put us through. I just don’t understand her.
“I thought this would bring us all together. When you came here, Dad, I realized that I was kind of hard on you. That was wrong of me. S-So, when—” Her mouth worked as she struggled to get her words out.
“You thought that if King was worthy of a second chance, then your dad was worthy too,” Rachel supplied, her hand coming to rest on Wynter’s shoulder.
Head bowed, she nodded and her chin butted her chest. “He was… I didn’t want to get to know you. But you were… You made me realize I was closed off. So I thought Dad, I mean, Jeremy, would appreciate a chance to turn things around too, but it hasn’t worked out.”
“Then he’s the fool, honey,” was Rach’s soft rejoinder.
Wynter shot her a grateful look.
The temptation to visit Kinnock’s hospital room and to deliver on my last promise to him was strong.
But I didn’t have time to waste on that bastard.
He’d had his second chance, and he’d fucked it up. Now my family would reap the benefits of his mistakes.
So, I gritted my teeth together, and I rumbled, “Tomorrow’s Friday. You can skip a day and we can make arrangements to fly out over the weekend.”
“Parker can handle that.”
Wynter frowned. “Who’s Parker?”
“My assistant,” Rachel answered then, to me, asked, “You can deal with the school and set up some remote learning?”
“I pay the bastards enough,” I grumbled, “that they should bring the exam hall to Jersey.”
A soft snort escaped Wynter. “Not sure that’s how it works.”
I grinned at her, but Rachel murmured, “Your father’s used to getting his own way. He’s the Prez of his club. That means that what he says, goes, and what he wants, he gets. It’s very bad for him. I make it a point to make sure I don’t always say yes, just to keep him real.”
I chuckled. “Oh, that’s why you’re so ornery, is it?”
Rachel’s eyes were twinkling. “For sure.”
Wynter’s laugh was stronger than before. She was more at ease. I could feel it.
“I really do want to go back with you,” Wynter whispered, her gaze darting between us both.
I half-expected to hear a ‘but,’ only it never came.
“One thing Rachel didn’t tell you is that when you’re the Prez’s kid and the Prez’s woman, that means you get your own way too.” I winked at her. “We can make this happen if you’re ready for it. We can even get you a goddamn piano if that makes it better.”
Her eyes definitely lit up, but she admitted, “I-I feel bad but I’d be leaving for college soon anyway and it’s not like being here is—”
“Is what, sweetheart?” I asked when she broke off.
“It’s not like they want me around,” she said on a rush. “So I’d prefer to be with people who do want me around, you know?”
I reached over and patted her hand. “I’ll make it happen.”
Rachel shot me a measured glance. “You’ll need to get Ally to sign off on her leaving the school and the state.”
Simply arching a brow, I repeated, “I’ll make it happen.”
My little girl shot me a shaky smile. “Thank you, Dad.”