27 | Comin clean
CLEMENTINE
Dad looks at me, those sharp eyes seeing straight through me, like always. “Spit it out, my love.”
My hands ball into fists under the polished oak of the table. The wood’s cool against my knuckles, grounding and suffocating all at once. “I think I messed up my interview.”
Dad’s expression softens, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “Honey, I’m sure you—”
“—On purpose.”
He stills, his hand hovering over his glass. “What do you mean?”
I bite my lip, take a long sip of wine to swallow the lump rising in my throat. It burns on the way down. “I don’t think I want the job.”
His brows knit together. “Honey, there’s nothing wrong with staying where you’re at a little while longer. There’ll be other opportunities down the line if it’s too much right now.”
I shake my head. “Truth is, I don’t know if I want those either.”
He leans back in his chair, wrapping one hand around the stem of his glass. “Ah.”
The sound that leaves him is so soft it barely makes it across the table. I meet his gaze, nerves prickling hot under my skin.
He lets the silence stretch, then leans forward again, voice gentler now. “So… are you fine where you are, or looking for something new?”
My throat tightens. “Maybe something new.”
His face brightens instantly, like the sun just came out.
“That’s great, Clementine! There’s still so much for you to discover. You’ll do great with whatever comes next! And if you don’t know what that is yet—Marlene actually has several connections all over the city. She could hook you up with someone in no time!”
The enthusiasm in his voice makes my chest ache. I bite my lip, hard, blinking fast as tears start welling anyway. He notices before I can hide it.
“Clem?” His voice cracks slightly. “If I said anything—”
Cue the waterworks.
I drop my face into my hands, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. I don’t even know why I’m crying—only that everything feels so damn fragile all of a sudden. Like I’ve got one foot in my old life and one in my new one, but both are on roller skates, and I’m just trying not to face-plant.
I want to stay here. I want to want to stay here. Everything would be easier if I did.
If I hadn’t felt what I feel for Colton.
If I hadn’t felt that rush of life helping that lamb breathe its first breath.
If I hadn’t felt so goddamn at home in the quiet of the countryside.
“Hey, hey,” Dad murmurs, his chair scraping as he stands. He circles the table and crouches beside me, pulling me into his arms just like he did when I was little. His stubble scratches my forehead as he speaks. “What’s going on, my love?”
It takes me several shaky breaths before words form. “I think I want to go back.”
He freezes, his chest stilling against mine, then exhales. “You mean move back to town?”
I lift my head, dabbing at my eyes with a napkin. “I think so.”
A gentle smile tugs at his mouth. “So why are you crying?”
I shift in my seat, voice breaking. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”
“Oh, darling…” He tugs me close again, one big hand smoothing over my hair. “Why would you say that? You could never disappoint me.”
But my chest still feels like there’s a band cinched tight around it. “I don’t want to let my skills go to waste.”
“You’re an editor—couldn’t you work remotely? Or—” His brows furrow, like something’s just clicked. “That’s what I told you, isn’t it? That you were too skilled for that town?”
I swallow, nodding faintly. “You weren’t wrong, though. That life wasn’t for me then. But maybe it is now.”
His breath hitches. “Oh, Clementine. I’m so sorry.” His eyes shine. “I’ve messed up so badly.”
“You didn’t—”
“I did,” he cuts in, dragging a hand down his face. “I made it sound like belonging in the countryside wasn’t good enough. Like it meant settling. I just… didn’t want you to feel stuck like I did. But I think I made you ashamed of what you loved.”
The words hit deep, scraping raw against everything I’ve tried not to feel. “Dad…”
“How long have you felt out of place?” he whispers, voice cracking.
I can’t answer. I just break.
The tears pour out like someone’s cracked a dam wide open.
All the years of chasing something I was never sure I wanted.
All the years of mistaking feigned ambition for belonging.
I sob until I can barely breathe—and I don’t even realize until the shaking beside me that Dad’s crying too, holding on just as tight.
Dad’s the first to speak, voice low and rough. “You know why I moved to the countryside in the first place?”
I nod my head, still sniffling. “For Mom.” His hand rubs circles over my shoulder, and he lets out a shaky breath.
“Yeah, for your mom,” he says, smiling faintly through wet eyes.
“She was sunshine, that woman. Couldn’t stand the sound of traffic or the smell of exhaust. Said the city drained her—said it dimmed her glow.”
He pauses, his throat working. “So I followed her. I knew I was giving something up, but I didn’t care. I would’ve followed her anywhere.”
His voice catches, and I swear I can see the younger version of him—the one who traded skyscrapers for hay bales and conference calls for the sound of crickets.
“And for a long time,” he continues, “I loved it. I loved that life because I loved her. And because I loved seeing her in it. The way she’d dance barefoot in the yard, or talk to the cows like they were people. There was light everywhere she went. Hell, I thought I’d live out my days there.
I wanted to.”
My heart aches. I can picture it—Mom’s laughter floating through the open windows, Dad pretending to grumble but watching her like she hung the moon.
His next breath trembles. “But when she died…”
He stops, swallowing hard. “The silence of that house—it was deafening. The smallness of that town—suffocating. And suddenly it all felt like a cage. Every neighbor, every smile—everyone knew. Everyone pitied us. They watched me fall apart in real time, and I couldn’t stand it.”
He leans back, wiping his eyes. “When I’d go into town, I could feel it—the whispers, the condolences, the looks that said ‘poor man, poor child’. I had left the country for that reason—moved to a city where nobody knew my name, and suddenly I was back in a place where everyone knew my pain.”
His gaze flicks to mine, glassy and soft.
“And then there was you. My reason to keep breathing. You were this feisty thing with her eyes and her laugh, and I couldn’t let that light get trapped there too. I told myself I’d take you somewhere big. Somewhere where the world was wide open, where you could be anything you wanted.”
I swallow thickly. “You wanted to save me.”
He gives a sad little smile. “I wanted to save both of us, sweetheart. But somewhere along the line, I confused ‘saving you’ with turning you into me.”
His fingers tighten around mine. “Every time I told you you were too good for small-town life, I was just projecting. I didn’t realize I was rewriting your voice to sound like mine.”
The words hit hard. I look down at our joined hands, tears blurring my vision again. “You didn’t mean to.”
“I just didn’t want history to repeat itself,” he murmurs. “I didn’t want you to get stuck. Not for Mom. Not for Tessa. Not for Colton.”
Everything inside me goes still.
“Colton?”
“I knew the power of young love, sweetheart. I knew you would’ve stayed for him.”
My blood turns to ice. “You knew about us?”
Dad nods, oblivious to the quiet storm starting inside my chest. “Everyone knew, my love. The way the two of you looked at each other—it was hard not to.”
It feels like a belt tightening around my throat, each word from him pulling it another notch. My pulse thunders in my ears.
“You… talked to him?”
Dad’s expression falters—just a flicker, but enough. “I… Yes, sweetheart.”
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Oh noooooo. What do we think will happen next?
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