Your Dad Was Better

Chapter One

Seraphine

Cheating on me with his sister? How could he do that to me?

I grip the steering wheel so tight my fingertips tingle. I blink away tears, then glance in my side mirror before changing lanes. A car horn blares, and I swerve to the right to stay in the lane I’m in as the car on the left speeds past me, giving me the middle finger.

“Fuck!” I shout, slamming my hand against the wheel.

Biting on my bottom lip, I take a breath and press the button to roll my window down.

This time, I stick my head out to look behind me before switching lanes.

If the back seat of my car wasn’t stuffed full of my belongings, I would have been able to see the car coming seconds before, but I couldn’t fit everything in my trunk.

Once I’m safely in the lane, I put the window up and blast the heat. It blows out lukewarm and it’ll take forever for the car to reach the temperature it was at before I let all the precious heat out the window. My car is old and works only half the time, but it’s all I’ve got.

I’m in a long-sleeved thermal shirt and jeans—the same thing I was wearing when I walked in on them.

There was no time to change or even consider changing.

All I wanted to do was get my things and get the hell out of there.

I never thought there could be anything worse than being cheated on until I walked in on my boyfriend cheating on me with his sister.

Okay, stepsister, but still. She was one of the people I thought I could trust. I’d met her only a handful of times, but she was always so nice. I thought my boyfriend would be safe with his sister. But I was so very wrong.

How messed up is he? Not to just cheat on me, but to cheat on me with his family?

My God, it’s awful. It hurts. I’m angry.

I’m stressed out. My mood swings from furious to sad like a pendulum.

Every time I think about the fact I’m on my way to my father’s house, those moods double.

It’s the last place on the planet I want to be, but I don’t have the funds to stay anywhere else, and I have no other family or friends to help me.

The only person I can blame that on is myself. I burned bridges when I shouldn’t have.

Harrison, my ex, was always busy with school.

I had to work around his schedule for us to spend time together, and after canceling plans too often with friends, they stopped talking to me altogether.

I can’t blame them; I’d have done the same.

Of course, I regret it now. Staying with any of my friends, even if it meant sleeping on a couch, would be better than going to my father’s.

Hell, sleeping on a park bench is looking nice at this point.

Once I’m there and settled, I’ll have to go over my expenses and see if I’m able to afford an apartment on my own.

Maybe picking up extra shifts at the spa will help.

Or a second job. It’s expensive to live in Seattle, but I’ll figure it out.

I have to. Staying with my father for a long period isn’t good for me.

I can’t spiral into the dark place he always seems to send me to when I’m around him.

He’s a black hole, destroying everything around him.

If I had any other option, I’d take it. Well, any option other than going back to Harrison.

I pull up in front of my father’s house, parking on the street because he’ll complain if I take up the driveway—even if it’s big enough for three cars and his truck only takes up one of those spots.

With a groan, I drop my head to the steering wheel and let out a shaky breath, not ready to walk on eggshells so soon after my life has been upended and my heart shattered.

I loved him. I loved Harrison. We planned a life together… We had plans!

This is going to royally suck. I did everything I could to get away from my father, and it’s probably why I jumped into a relationship with Harrison so quickly.

Maybe that was a mistake. Maybe it was all too much too fast for him…

but he could have told me. He didn’t have to cheat on me and destroy my life.

I mean, how fair is that? Telling me things weren’t working out and that we needed to break up would have been better.

It would have given me time to figure things out. I wouldn’t have been blindsided.

Harrison sucks at communication, always has.

That’s just a guy thing, I get it. But he not only sucks at it, he hates it.

Which doesn’t make sense, considering he’s in school to be a lawyer.

How is he going to do that job without talking to his clients and relaying information?

He needs to have effective communication skills if he wants to make it.

Yet, he can’t even communicate with his girlfriend?

Turning the engine off, I grab my purse and get out of the car, leaving everything in it for now.

Dad won’t help me bring anything in, so I’ll have to bundle up to get it done.

Hopefully, he won’t complain about me using one of his jackets to do it.

I have no idea where any of my things are, and I may freeze in the process of looking for something to keep me warm.

I knock on the door when I reach it, looking down at the sad potted plant off to the side. A lonely stick poking out of dry dirt. It’s been in that same spot since I left over two years ago. It’s a nice warning of what’s to come when you walk into the house.

The door is pulled open, and I look up, forcing a smile. He doesn’t return it.

“Hi, Dad.”

He’s a big man. Tall, wide shoulders, beer belly. He sweats so much that it’s probably a medical condition, and smokes so much I don’t know how he’s still alive.

“Get in here before you let all the damn heat out,” he grunts, gesturing for me to get inside.

I’m hardly in before he’s slamming the door shut behind me, scraping my arm in the process.

“You interrupted my show, Seraphine.”

He’s the only one who calls me by my full name, and the reason I hate it.

He looks exactly as I remember. Greasy hair that’s too long.

Only thing different is the bald spot on top of his head is bigger.

The beard on his face is a few days old, and he’s wearing the same ratty red plaid shirt I remember from when I was a kid.

Mom bought it for him, and I swear a day hasn’t gone by without him wearing it since she died.

Don’t think he’s washed it once either, so it stinks to high heavens.

And he’s gained some weight, so it’s tearing at the seams.

I want to love my dad, truly I do, but he makes it really difficult. The worst part is he never used to be like this. I remember what he was like before Mom died, and this isn’t it.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” I say in a quiet voice I don’t even recognize.

“It’s just after three. How do you not know?” he snaps, stopping in the doorway to the kitchen. “It’s the same show I’ve been watching for ten goddamn years.”

He shakes his head as goes into the kitchen. The wooden chair scrapes against the tile floor, and there’s clanking of silverware against porcelain.

I pull in a deep breath, close my eyes, and let it out slowly.

This is all going to be fine.

I move down the hallway and up the stairs to my old bedroom.

At least I’ll have privacy. The only other rooms up here are a bathroom and a spare bedroom that’s crammed with boxes stuffed with Mom’s things.

The bathroom is musty with a ring in the toilet from the water and dead bugs in the tub.

It will need a deep clean. There’s no shower curtain or toilet paper, but I can get those things.

I have a little bit of money left from my last check.

My room is covered in a thick layer of dust with cobwebs in the corners, so it’ll need a good cleaning, too.

The bed squeaks as I sit on the edge, folding my hands together and looking around. A million horrid memories assault me, and I have to push them away before I throw up.

I’ll get used to being here. It won’t be as bad as it was before.

I’m older now. I’m aware and have accepted that my father has issues; all I have to do is ignore them.

Play nice. Just long enough until I can find somewhere else to go.

A few months, maybe? If I can’t find a place alone, I could look for a roommate.

Or just a boarding place with a room, maybe.

Getting up, I go to my closet, hoping I left something that I can throw on, so I don’t freeze my butt off while bringing my things in. The only thing inside is a spider that skitters away when it sees me. Great. Even the spiders can’t stand me.

I blow out a heavy breath, then head downstairs and turn right into the kitchen.

Dad is sitting at the table, his back to me, staring up at the TV mounted on the wall.

That TV was put there for Mom because she spent so much time cooking and loved watching TV while she did it.

That’s why Dad only watches TV in here, but he won’t say it.

He doesn’t say much of anything that isn’t an insult or a complaint.

I walk in when a commercial comes on. “Dad, do you have a jacket I can use for a few minutes?”

He turns to face me, his expression almost like he forgot I was here. Then he scowls.

“Where’s yours?”

“I packed it.” I gesture to the car.

“Well, that was stupid, wasn’t it?”

I blink, holding my breath and his hard gaze. I nod once.

“It’s in the closet by the door,” he says. “Just don’t get it dirty, for Christ’s sake.”

Blinking away tears, I go to the closet to get his jacket that smells like it hasn’t been washed in years, put it on, and go outside.

Even knowing what he’s like doesn’t take the sting away from his words.

He never used to be this way, and that’s what makes it hurt so much.

When Mom was alive, he was the best dad ever.

But he blames her death on me, and so… now he hates me.

I blamed myself for her death for a long time too.

Some days I still do. He acts like I didn’t love her, and I didn’t lose her too.

While I was here with my father, I didn’t deal with her death properly.

But to keep myself sane, after moving in with Harrison, I did a ton of research on mental health and most days I know my mother killing herself had nothing to do with me and everything to do with her inner demons.

Yes, I saw signs and should have helped her, but I was just a kid. I didn’t know any better. But I do now.

I take everything from the car and put it on the porch, make sure my doors are locked, then bring everything inside. Once I’m done with that, I lock the door, put his jacket back—after inspecting it for dirt—and bring everything upstairs. Dad doesn’t say a word, which I consider a win.

My arms are sore by the time I’m done, and I plop onto the bed, sneezing when a cloud of dust poofs up around me.

I groan, knowing I’ll need to change these sheets, but I’m not sure I have extras here and I won’t ask Dad for that.

It’s early enough to go to the store, but if I want to get things I need, I’ll have to go through my stuff first to see what I forgot.

This sucks.

Everything about this sucks. If I had somewhere safe and comfortable to go, I could deal with this Harrison mess in a healthy way. Being back here? It’s not going to be good.

All I can do is make the best out of it.

There’s nothing else I can do but move forward.

I mean, there are other options I’d considered, like getting even.

I can’t begin to figure out how I would do that, though.

I’m not a spiteful person or someone who plots revenge, but with the way I’m feeling?

The thought of it is tempting. Hurting Harrison seems like it would be a balm for my aching soul.

I push myself up and start unpacking my things before I don’t do it at all. Wallowing isn’t going to fix my problems.

An hour later, I’ve got a long list of what I need, because even though it looked like I grabbed all my stuff, it seems I forgot a lot of important things.

Like my toothbrush, shampoo, and deodorant.

Along with like a hundred other things. My stomach growls just as I leave my room.

I know better than to assume there is food here for me to eat.

Everything in this house belongs to him.

I’m an unwanted guest, one who is responsible for his wife’s death. I’ll get food while I’m out too.

Dad is still in the kitchen, sitting at the table in the same spot as before, staring at the TV.

I mull over telling him I’m leaving, unsure if it’s something that’ll anger him or if it’s something he’ll just brush off.

You never know how it’ll go with him. It’s the toss of a coin, and so I mentally do that in my head, gritting my teeth when it lands on tails. Tails always means take the risk.

“Dad? I’m going to the store to get some things. Do you need anything?”

He looks up at me, that same scowl on his face. I hold his gaze, trying not to look as fearful as I feel. He’s looking at me like I’m an alien and not his daughter. I’ve had enemies give me nicer looks.

“No, but if you’re not home by eight, don’t bother coming to the door. It’ll be locked.”

I try my best to hide my shock, even though I shouldn’t be shocked by that statement.

Ridiculous rules are a thing with him, and not because he cares about keeping me safe or in line, but because he’s miserable and wants everyone else to be miserable too.

It’s sad, but I gave up trying to help him a long time ago.

I no longer have the energy to help this man, and honestly, I’m not sure anyone can at this point.

“Oh, yeah. Of course. I’ll be here by then. Just getting a few things that I forgot at—”

“I don’t fucking care, Seraphine. Just be back in time or sleep on the fucking porch.” He scoffs, then turns back to face the TV.

Me and the lump in my throat head to the car.