Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
“Everything okay?” my dad asks when I walk into his office, brows furrowed, the lines deep from years of my siblings and I putting him through the wringer.
I rarely show up unannounced on a Saturday, much less go right to his office rather than go bug my mom for food or a babysitting favor, so he knows something is off.
I sigh, running a hand over my hair as I try to sort through a million and seven thoughts, all of them conflicting and new and uncomfortable.
Emma locking herself in her room.
Emma calling Hallie.
Emma getting her period, which, in the grand scheme, I know was to be expected, but it still feels like it came out of nowhere, this moment where my kid is no longer my little girl.
And, of course, Hallie.
My girl called Hallie.
My girl called Hallie.
I think if I were someone else, I could get jealous of that, of her turning to someone else during a moment of vulnerability, especially since Emma has always been mine. But Emma called Hallie, and it made sense, in a way.
She’s as attached to the woman as I’m realizing I am.
“Emma got her period,” I say low before thinking that I should keep that to myself. It’s Emma’s story to share, or not if she chooses, but when a look crosses my dad’s face, a mix of understanding and solidarity, I remember that he’s been here and had to watch his own little girl grow up.
“Who’s with her? Wren?”
I shake my head, then sit in the chair across from him, sinking in.
“She called Hallie.”
I expect him to be confused. To ask a question. Something. Anything, because when I realized my daughter called Hallie this afternoon, I was all of those things.
But as it seems to be my dad’s way, he confuses me.
“Makes sense.” I shouldn’t be surprised. My dad’s always been able to see what I couldn’t long before I could. Silence spans between us before he speaks again. “How’s it going with her?”
“Emma?”
“No, Hallie.”
I tip my head to the side. “I don’t—”
“Oh, come on, Jess. You two have been inseparable for the last few weeks. So, how’s it going with her?”
I sit forward, putting my elbows on my knees, head in my hands, and groaning aloud before I speak. “It’s going terrible. She hasn’t talked to me in two weeks.” My dad chuckles, and when I look up, he’s thoroughly entertained by my current misery.
“Does this have anything to do with you having a throwdown at The Mill?” I sit up then, glaring. Before I can ask, he continues. “Your brother’s a bigger gossip than any of the old women in town.”
I roll my eyes, shake my head, and rest my head on the back of the chair.
“We got close when Wren was in Paris,” I say.
“Figured that. Your mom thought her moving in might help things along.”
“Help things along?” I ask, confused.
“Oh, your mom’s been waiting years for this, for one of you boys to make Hallie a King.
” My jaw tightens at the memory that I thought she wanted Madden, but he corrects me quickly.
“It became clear to me it would be you when she was twenty, or maybe twenty-two, but your mom is convinced she knew when Hallie was fifteen.”
“I was twenty when Hal was fifteen,” I say, in disbelief, but my dad just lifts a shoulder.
“I don’t question your mom’s ways, kid. You’ll learn that one day. You hit a point, your wife says something, and you say, Sounds good, dear.”
With his words, my mind doesn’t go to some far-off wife I might have one day, but to Hallie, and the idea of telling her sounds good, dear. She’d probably roll her eyes and smack me upside my head, thinking I was being sarcastic with her.
I smile at the image, and Dad laughs.
“See, she wasn’t wrong.”
I try to figure out what to say, moving between wanting to keep everything to myself and wanting to have someone to talk to about this finally. I settle somewhere in the middle.
“Yeah, well, we had a moment,” I say, and try to move past it quickly. “And we thought we could keep it casual.”
“Never works,” my dad says with a laugh.
“I thought I could handle it, but then Wren started trying to set her up on dates.” Dad’s head nods, knowing where this was going.
“I kind of crashed their date, as you know. After, she stormed over to my house and yelled at me, which I deserved, even if I’d do it again.
” It’s a strange feeling, knowing I was an ass but not being sorry about it.
“Then I kind of confessed I didn’t want to be just friends.
” I groan, remembering that night, how I pushed her too far, too fast. “She hasn’t talked to me in two weeks.
Today was the first time she came to see Emma. ”
My dad stares at me for long moments, reading me, taking me in before speaking.
“So, what’s the problem? Go get her. Make her yours. The two of you were meant to be together. Hell, the only thing that makes that clearer is the connection she and Emma clearly have.” At the very least, it’s good to know other people see it—that I’m not deluding myself in ideals and what I want.
“She doesn’t want a relationship,” I explain, and Dad lets out a laugh.
“I’m sure she tells herself that.”
“What do you mean?”
He sighs, the kind I heard a ton as a kid when he thought I was being too stubborn or irritating or frustrating, before he looks at me sternly.
“Hallie went through a lot as a kid—her mom leaving, her dad leaving the second he got a chance. She clung to this family as if it were a lifeline. You gotta hold that woman with kid gloves, Jess. Give her time. Don’t rush her, don’t scare her.
Just be there, giving her what she needs a little at a time.
Make her feel safe, make her feel loved. That’s all she wants.”
I sit with his words, seeing the truth in them, and trying to understand what that means for me.
Before I can ask anything else, though, we’re interrupted by my mom calling for lunch, somehow knowing I was here.
We don’t talk about Hallie again, even though I spent the rest of the day at my parents’ house.
The entire time, my dad’s words move around me, swirling with ideas, thoughts, and realizations.
One way or another, I have to make Hallie feel safe enough to give us a shot.
I don’t return to my house until I get the all clear from Hallie that Emma had gone to bed, happy and healthy, and even then, I stay at my parents’ place for another thirty minutes.
I’m nervous as all get-out when I walk home, my new plan formulating in my mind: be firm, don’t let her run, but don’t rush her.
Let her take the reins, but make sure she’s listening to her heart, not her fear.
Easy enough.
brEAK
When I walk through the door of my home, my heart moves into my chest, seeing Hallie curled up on my couch. I have to slide my hands into my pockets to remind myself of my mission, of moving slow and giving her space, because when I see her, I just want to hold her.
“How is she?” I ask softly.
She sits up and gives me a soft look. “She’s good.
Asleep. She ate a lot of junk, but I figured today was kind of a pass.
There’s more leftover Chinese in the fridge than either of you can probably eat, but she seemed okay by the end of the night.
I got her everything she needs, and…yeah.
” I stare at her, her eyes that pretty grass color, the freckles across her nose barely visible in the dim room.
“Thank you,” I whisper. A beat passes, her eyes meeting mine, a patient and kind smile tipping up the edges, and without meaning to, I move closer, a step, then two.
“Anything for her,” she whispers. “You know that.”
I nod, and then she bites her lip, looking over my shoulder toward the door.
“I should probably go—” she says, starting to get up, but I step closer to her, putting a hand to her waist and pulling her to me.
She doesn’t push me away, though. Instead, she rests her head on my chest, a soft sigh leaving her lips as if she can’t resist giving herself this one small moment of peace.
I know the feeling.
“Stay,” I say, and her head tips up to look at me. The shield is gone, the same as it was that Friday night, and it’s all there: fear and trepidation and need and desire and, buried beneath all of it, love.
She’s so fucking mine, and she doesn’t even know it. Or she does and doesn’t know what to do with it.
“Jesse—”
“I just found out my only child is no longer a little kid. Please. Stay with me for a bit.” She hesitates for a bit, looking over my face, and she must see something there that makes her sigh, then agrees, stepping back and sitting on the other side of the couch from where I settle.
“Thank you. For coming today. I know…” I take in a deep breath, trying to find the right words, but I just go with my gut, throwing elegance to the side.
“I know I fucked up that night. I got jealous, I got mean, I let my emotions win. We…” I shake my head, not wanting to say that night was a mistake, not wanting to give her that line to move forward with, not if I’m going to take my dad’s advice and move with kid gloves, but still move with her.
“Thank you for being there for her even when you have all the right in the world to be mad at me.”
A soul-deep sigh leaves her chest, and she shakes her head after a moment. “I’m not mad at you, Jesse.”
I raise an eyebrow at her.
“You’re sitting on the other side of the couch from me.” She sighs, rolling her eyes, and I have to tell my heart to calm down as it flutters with hope as she shifts, closing the gap between us until it’s barely a foot.
“Better?”
“You have no idea,” I say.
She smiles, then shakes her head before continuing, something I have to interpret as a good thing.
“I’m not mad at you. I’m…confused. I feel lost.”
“Why?” I expect her to brush past it, but as seems to be her way, she surprises me, giving me more, and I’m filled with relief that she’s talking.