Chapter 21
“I want you to know I appreciate you, Rowan. You were just a kid when I left. And I always thought it was shit that you walked in on the same thing I did. A kid shouldn’t see the guy he idolizes, his father, being so disrespectful to his mom.”
I’ve been replaying my conversation with Saylor’s dad since the moment we spoke at the shop.
I don’t know that a day has passed that I haven’t thought about the moment he mentioned.
All the shitty things that have happened in my life seem to have been born that very second.
It was my fork in the road, all because I decided to go to the office with my mom to take my dad his favorite takeout while he worked late one night.
Caleb was busy with video games and didn’t want to go.
My basketball practice had been cancelled, and I could have stayed home with him.
But there was something about my mom’s expression, a sadness that dimmed the light in her eyes and kept her mouth from forming anything other than a frown.
Looking back, I realize she had already known.
It would be easy to blame her for letting me tag along, but I think on many levels her mind was broken just as much as her heart back then.
I’ve never blamed her for any of it. Not for the choices I made after.
Nor the lawsuits she filed against our dad to get her fair share.
Not even for leaving us in that house with him.
He wasn’t physically abusive, and he rarely parented, passing duties off to Gitte, our housekeeper.
Mom was starting over with nothing. She wanted us to stay in our school, to get the private education she felt our dad owed us.
She wanted me to have that basketball team around me, and the chance to play in college if I wanted to.
No. I didn’t blame her then, and I don’t now.
But I sure blame my dad. It’s his fault I hold people at an arm’s distance.
When people look at me, I fear they see how similar he and I are.
When Saylor stares into my eyes, I’m afraid she sees my father’s colors, his nose, the shape of his chin.
And if she finds out the truth about how he ruined her life, drove away the parent she leaned on when she needed him most, I would understand if she saw the devil when she looked at me, too.
Because that’s what my father is—the devil. And I’m his son.
I kept the truth about her parents’ rift a secret for her sake at first, and my brother’s.
I did it because her dad asked me to. But now that we’ve grown closer, now that I’ve started to fall for her, that secret has been burning a hole through my chest. It’s haunted my dreams, like a threat waiting in the shadows to steal my happiness.
I’ve kept my mouth shut these past few weeks for me.
Because I’m selfish, and I don’t want Saylor to know the kind of man who made me.
He’s rotten in so many ways. And if she looks at me and sees him, it will break me.
But now, I may not have a choice.
“I was angry when I left back then. Disappointed in my wife, for sure. Angry at your dad because of his abuse of power. Mad at myself for being so blind to it all. I didn’t want to drag things out, make a spectacle.
I didn’t want Saylor going through that shit, or you and Caleb.
Your family has had enough constant scrutiny as it is.
But you’ve all grown up. And the band is going well.
We just need that extra push. We want to stay indie, but it requires investments.
And I think we both know your dad owes me. ”
Jason Kelly added a stop to his band’s tour, not to see his daughter, but to get his due.
And hearing him say those words tore me up from the inside out, because I know that the moment that began my spiral is the very same one that started his.
And if Saylor finds out the truth from long ago over some post-concert dinner she thinks was meant to be a special reunion, it’s going to leave a mark.
The kind that sends a life spinning, and changes dreams, breaks trust, and closes off hearts.
So, I’m going to tell her the truth first. All of it. Even the things her dad doesn’t know. I’m going to give her complete power over me. And I can’t rip the Band-Aid off fast enough.
It’s a testing day for her swimmers, and it’s hard not to draw comparisons to the ones who leave the water with the best times to their coach.
Saylor always finished first, not just when a medal was on the line but when it came down to a stopwatch at practice.
She could have made the team coasting, coming in as a top three time.
But that was never good enough for her. She says she’s over the competition, but I think maybe she’s just shifted her focus to wanting to back others on their way to success.
The last swimmer to finish today’s freestyle rounds rests at the edge of the pool, disappointment weighing down her bottom lip and red eyes.
These kids are twelve, a hard age to handle pressure and expectations.
It’s the eager parents on the sidelines that make it hard.
Their words aren’t always supportive. Frankly, they’re often not nice.
This girl’s mom just finished shouting, “I told you to put in more practice. That’s what you get. ”
Reminds me of my father.
Saylor squats at the side of the pool, tilting her clipboard to the side and tracing her finger along a series of numbers.
I’m not sure what she’s saying, but her sad swimmer seems to be finding her grit again.
It’s not a big smile, but it’s a present one.
And by the time the girl lifts herself out of the water, she’s nodding and pounding knuckles with her coach.
“You’re so close,” Saylor says as the girl heads toward the locker room with energy in her step.
Saylor glances toward the loud parent next and stares at the woman long enough to make her feel the heat.
The woman busies herself with her phone after a few seconds, and if anyone recognizes this avoidance move, it’s me.
I’ve done it. My father’s done it. Caleb.
Yet one more thing we all have in common.
“You’re really good with them,” I say to Saylor as she slides her sunglasses to the top of her head on her way toward me.
She sits on the bench beside me and takes the half-filled water bottle from my hand, guzzling the rest down as she squints with one eye open on me.
“I hate the armchair coaching from parents. Not every kid is good at tuning out the extra noise. That girl’s gonna be just fine. So, she won’t be a freestyle swimmer. Her butterfly is strong. Her mom should hop in and let me time her.”
I chuckle at Saylor’s rant. She’s lit for sure.
“Sorry,” she says, wincing. “I just care about these kids, I guess.”
“I know you do.”
Her eyes shift to mine, and we lock gazes for a few quiet seconds. It feels nice, and there’s an instant understanding that accompanies our silence. She likes helping people. I love that about her.
“Give me five minutes to get dressed, then we can head to your mom’s,” she says, getting up and tossing the now empty water bottle toward a blue recycle container. She sinks the shot, and I raise my hands and let out a hushed, mock crowd noise.
“Probably the first shot I’ve ever made. We aren’t all hoops stars.” She shakes her head at me as she walks backward, and I hold my tongue because I’m no star either, but I kind of like that she sees me as one.
I head to the car to get the air on and to find my courage.
The next several minutes are going to be heavy, and the selfish beast inside is tearing away at my resolve, begging me not to blow the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
That’s what Saylor is. She’s a future. A confidant.
Someone to love and feel loved with. And for once, I think I may deserve it.
But not unless she knows about our families’ histories and the ugly places they cross.
Her hips sway with her joyful steps as she waves goodbye to her coworkers and skips toward my car.
I take a deep breath and push my smile into my cheeks.
She smells like chlorine and that vanilla shampoo she uses after she swims. Her hair is down, the wet waves sticking to the bare skin on her arms. She’s wearing a green halter dress that screams summer, the top hugging her breasts and the short skirt high above her knees as she sinks into the passenger seat.
I hunger to run my hand over her thigh and travel between her legs, but I don’t deserve that yet.
It’s time to share my darkness with someone, fully and completely.
And Saylor is that person. My person. I hope.
“You look really nice,” I say, sucking in my top lip.
She gives me a coy smile as she buckles up.
“Why, thank you. I thought you might like this dress. I know green is your favorite color.” She shrugs it off, but I hold my gaze on her for a beat, wondering how the hell she knows that.
“What? I mean, it’s only the color of every birthday cake my mom ordered for you, and despite all the gray and black shirts in your closet, there are a few colors that pop out, like the green hoodie I’ve been eying.”
I shake my head and laugh.
“Don’t you dare steal my Notre Dame hoodie. I found that thing in a bar two years ago and it’s my favorite sweatshirt.” I shift into drive and begin to roll out of the lot, baffled at the details she notices.
“What other things do you keep locked away about me?” I glance at her before turning onto the main road.
I’ll be stopping at the burger shop up ahead to grab a late lunch-early dinner for us before we head to my mom’s.
It’s where I plan to bare my secrets, and I hope she’ll still be in the car after I’m done speaking.
I deserve the rush of new love and infatuation for a few more minutes.