31. Chapter 31
I sit back into the red leather seat as I take a sip of my coffee.
It’s probably the wrong move having so much caffeine when I’m already a nervous wreck, but I wanted to be alert for this conversation.
Plus, I needed to order something on the menu so they wouldn’t kick me out.
I know for certain my father won’t be ordering a damn thing, and I need this conversation to be in a public place.
I’ve got the perfect view of the door from here, which means I can gauge his sobriety before he sees me, and decide whether this conversation is even worth it.
Jamie sends me a picture of him and Ella smiling at their peewee football session, the one he now coaches, and it helps ease my nerves a little.
Things are coming together. This is the last loose end.
Jamie: Good luck with your dad. We both love you to the moon and back.
I quickly type back a response.
Tiff: Thanks. Good luck, Coach. Love you both.
I set my phone back on the table and exhale slowly. Across the diner, there’s a little girl who can’t be older than seven sitting with her family. She’s talking a mile a minute, her hands flying as she tells some dramatic story, and her parents are leaning in, listening to her every word.
I don’t know why it hurts to see the adoration in her parents’ eyes, but I guess it’s because it’s a reminder of what I didn’t have.
Support. Love. Care.
Even when I needed it most, my parents weren’t there. Not because they couldn’t be, but because they didn’t want to be.
I will never let Ella feel like she’s unworthy.
I make that promise to myself, knowing I’ll keep it. I will be a better parent than mine ever were.
When the bell above the door chimes, my heart does a little skip before my stomach drops.
He’s here.
It’s funny last time I saw him, I was so hyped up with adrenaline that I didn’t really take him in. Now, in the light of day, I can see him better. The man who abandoned me years ago and sold me out.
He looks so much older than I remember. His face is puffy, his cheeks ruddy with broken veins, and his clothes are hanging off him.
He looks sick, and for a split second, I get it. I get why he couldn’t be there for me. My father was battling his own demons; I was just the collateral damage. Maybe he didn’t want to be like this. Maybe he wanted to be different, but life didn’t give him that opportunity.
My heart breaks, but then I remember he gladly accepted payment from Jamie’s father to ruin my life even though I was free of him.
He was willing to destroy me in court and take Ella away from the only family she knows.
Not because he was fighting for the truth, but because he needed cash for his next bottle.
No. My father will sell me out without a second thought, and any compassion I have for him needs to be pushed aside.
The girl who was once hurt is gone; in her place stands a woman forged from grit and steel.
Me.
“Tiff.” My father slides into the booth across from me, and I catch a whiff of cologne trying desperately to mask the stale alcohol underneath. “Thank you for meeting me. I wasn't sure you'd come.”
I don't smile. I don't soften my expression. I just stare at him. “You have five minutes.”
“Right. Okay.” He clears his throat, fidgeting with the menu he's not going to order from. “Look, I know things got out of hand with that Nicks situation, but—”
“You took money from Jamie's father.” My voice is flat and emotionless. “You took a bribe to testify against me. To help them take Ella.”
His face flushes, but he doesn't deny it. He can't deny it. “I needed—”
“You needed what? Another bottle?” The laugh that escapes me is sharp enough to cut through flesh. “You sold out your own daughter and granddaughter for drinking money.”
“It wasn't like that—”
“Then what was it like?” I lean forward, keeping my voice low, but sharp. “Explain to me how taking money from the man trying to destroy me in court was anything other than exactly what it looks like.”
He opens his mouth, closes it. What can he possibly say?
“I made mistakes,” he finally manages.
“No.” I shake my head. “You made a choice. You chose money over your family. Again. Just like you always do.”
“We all make mistakes.”
The waitress appears, but I wave her off, not wanting her to hear this. All she’ll see is a groveling father and what looks like an ungrateful daughter. I’m tired of living in a narrative I didn’t create.
“A mistake?” My voice betrays me. There’s a crack in the question. That little sign of weakness will be used against me if I don’t make my position clear. “Just like when you kicked me out when I found out I was pregnant?”
“That was such a long—”
“No. You don’t get to minimize what you did.
You left me. You always left me. You could’ve called me anytime.
You knew I was at Zach’s house.” I blink back the tears threatening to fall.
He doesn’t deserve them. “I would’ve forgiven you and mom, you know?
If you had even bothered to speak to me.
To meet your granddaughter. I would’ve taken anything you gave me. ”
I swallow hard. “But you didn’t, and that’s fine because I’m done begging for a father and only getting you.”
“Tiff—” he starts, but I’m already sliding out of the booth. I’m done with trying to make amends with a family who didn’t want me.
“There’s nothing left to say, Dad.” I pull out a ten and drop it on the table. “Don’t contact me. Don’t show up at the house. I don’t ever want to see your face again.”
“But your mother—”
“Your wife,” I correct coldly, “chose you over me a long time ago. I've made my peace with that.”
I turn and walk toward the exit, and this time his voice doesn’t stop me. There's no desperate declaration of love, no pleading. Just silence. Because he knows. He knows exactly what he did, and he knows there's no coming back from it.
When I’m outside, I look through the window and see the same family getting up to leave. The little girl hugs her dad, her arms tight around his neck. For a second, our eyes meet through the glass. She smiles at me.
I smile back.
It doesn’t hurt this time.
As I walk to the car, I pull out my phone and text Jamie.
Tiff: It’s done. I told him to never contact me again.
His response is immediate.
Jamie: How do you feel?
I smile, genuinely smile, as I type back.
Tiff: I get it now. When you said it felt like you could finally breathe.
Jamie: Good. You deserve that. I can’t wait to hear all about it when you meet me at my new
apartment.
I smile through the unshed tears, excited to see his apartment. He moved in last week, but this is the first time he’s letting Ella and me actually see it. I don’t know what he’s been up to, but Zach and Reese have apparently been helping. Who knew they’d forge a friendship through all of this?
Tiff: Great. I’m just going to head home and drop some things off. Then I’ll meet you and Ella there.
Jamie: Just finishing up with the football. Will see you there.
Tiff: Love you.
Jamie: Love you, always.
By the time I get home, I notice Zach’s car is in the driveway. Good. I can tell him how it went, and share the feeling of freedom with someone who’s been by my side through all of this.
I unlock the door, tuck my shoes into the shoe cabinet, drop my keys into the bowl next to it, and head down the hallway into the kitchen.
“Oh my—” I gasp, taking a step back into the hallway. “I’m so sorry for interrupting.”
Honey’s eyes flutter open mid-kiss, and she sees me over Zach’s shoulder.
I cover my eyes, but nothing, and I mean nothing, will erase the image of Honey with her legs wrapped around my cousin’s waist with his hands holding her against the granite countertop. When I peek back, they're still in the same position.
“Shit!” She shoves Zach backward so hard he stumbles, and she practically launches herself off the counter. “Tiff! We thought—you said—”
She tries to comb down her hair, but her face is flushed and her shirt is unbuttoned.
Zach spins around, his own face bright red, his hair everywhere. “Shit, Tiff. I’m so sorry. Is Ella—”
I hold up both hands, fighting back a grin. “No need to explain. We’re all adults here. Ella’s with Jamie. Sorry for interrupting.”
They’re both silent. Honey can barely look up.
“Next time, though, you might want to avoid the counter…we prep food on there.” I try to joke, but neither one finds it funny.
Honey's already moving, grabbing her bag from the counter, muttering to herself. “I should go. I need to—I have to—”
“Honey, wait—” She backs away when Zach reaches out for her, already heading to the door.
“No, this was—we shouldn't have—” Her eyes are wide, and she won't look at either of us. “I'm sorry. I have to go.”
“Honey, please let me at least take you home—” Zach's voice cracks, but she's already gone.
The front door slams behind her, the windows rattling with the move.
Silence.
It’s deafening.
Zach stands frozen in the middle of the kitchen, his hand still outstretched toward where Honey was.
“Fuck,” he breathes, and then he's moving, running his hands through his already destroyed hair. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“Zach—”
“Don't.” He spins to face me, and I see the devastation on his face. “Don't say it was a mistake. Don't tell me I fucked up. I know. I fucking know.”
I close the distance between us slowly, like approaching a wounded animal. “I wasn't going to say that.”
“She ran.” His laugh is bitter and broken. “She always fucking runs.”
“What happened?” I ask gently, leaning against the dinner table.
He sinks onto one of the kitchen stools, his head in his hands.
“She came over to talk. About you. About her dad. About how she’s thinking of leaving after the end of this year.
” He looks up at me, and his eyes are red.
“And then we started talking about us. About everything. And I told her—fuck, Tiff. I told her that I’ll never not be in love with her. ”
“And?”
“And she kissed me.” His voice is barely a whisper. “She fucking kissed me, and for a second I thought maybe we could fix this.”
“But then I walked in,” I finish quietly.
“And she ran. She always runs.” He drops his head back into his hands. “Every time we get close to something real, she panics and bolts. And I just—I can't keep doing this. I can't keep putting myself out there just to watch her leave.”
I move to sit beside him, resting my hand on his shoulder. “Maybe she just needs time,” I offer weakly.
“It's been over a year, Tiff. A year of watching her with Chris, of seeing her smile at him the way she used to smile at me, of pretending I'm fine when I'm fucking falling apart.” He looks at me, and I see genuine anguish there. “How much more time does she need?”
“I don't know,” I say honestly.
We sit in silence for a long moment, the weight of everything hanging between us. Outside, a car drives by, and for a second, Zach's entire body tenses, like he thinks maybe Honey came back, but the car keeps going, and his shoulders slump again.
“How'd it go?” he asks, his voice rough as he tries to change the subject. “With your dad.”
I hesitate for a second, not wanting to minimize his crisis, but when I see the hurt behind his eyes, I know he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore.
“I told him to never contact me again,” I say quietly. “I called him out for taking the bribe from Jamie's father, and for selling me out to help them take Ella.”
Zach's eyes meet mine, searching my face. “How do you feel?”
“Free,” I admit. “Light. Like I can finally breathe without carrying all that weight.”
He nods slowly, and something that might be pride flickers across his face. “Good. That's good, T. You deserve that.”
“So do you,” I say softly. “You deserve to be happy, Zach. With or without Honey.”
“Yeah.” He doesn't sound convinced. He sounds like a man who just had everything he wanted in his arms and watched it slip away. Again.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Jamie: Heading to the apartment now. Ella can’t wait to see you and tell you all about the touchdowns she scored.
I glance at Zach, taking in his destroyed hair, the hickey developing on his neck, and his head slumping forward. I rest my hand on his shoulder.
“Can I make you something other than chicken and sweet potatoes to eat? Ella’s out with Jamie, so we can talk. About everything.
He manages a weak smile. “Nah. I’m good. Go be with your family.”
“You’re my family too,” I remind him. “Brother.”
“I know.” He reaches up, covering my hand with his. “I’m proud of you. For today. Standing up to your dad took guts.”
“I’m proud of you, too. Talking it out with Honey is a good start.”
“Yeah, and look where it got me,” he says. There’s no real bitterness in it, just exhaustion. I hate leaving him like this, but I know when he needs space, and I’m the current reason he and Honey aren’t making up. As much as he loves me, I wouldn’t blame him for hating me right now, too.
Standing, I head to the hallway, then pause and look back at him. “For what it’s worth? I know she loves you just as much. A lot of stuff is happening with her, and I think she needs to figure herself out before she can figure out what being with you looks like right now.”
“Yeah,” he says quietly, closing his eyes. I’m not saying anything new or groundbreaking. We both know this, it just doesn’t make the separation any easier. “Maybe.”
“I’ll text you later,” I say softly.
He nods without looking up, his elbows on his knees, head in his hands.
I linger in the doorway for a second. It hurts to walk away from him when he’s like this, but maybe loving someone doesn’t always mean staying in the room while they break. Sometimes it means giving them the time and space to survive it.
“,” I say one more time.
That makes him look up at me with a smile. “I love you too, sis.”
Outside, the cold air bites at my cheeks. For the first time, it doesn’t sting. It feels like a reset. Finally, I’m ready to start over.
We are ready to start over.
I pull out my phone.
Tiff: On my way. Save me a hug.
Jamie: Always.
I slip the phone back into my pocket and smile to myself.
For so long, I thought peace would come from fixing what broke me. Turns out, it comes from walking away from it—and toward the people who never let go.
Then I start the car and drive to Jamie’s new apartment.