Chapter 38 Lucas
lucas
“And how does that make you feel?” Dr. Williams asks as he sits on the other side of his desk.
I look over at Miller, Jackson, Dad. Whatever name fits the version of him I’m willing to accept today.
My chest does that tight, buzzing thing it used to do when I was a kid and didn’t have a name for anxiety.
Honestly, I’m terrified of losing him again just when I finally let myself believe he’s real.
The kid in me keeps waiting for someone to pull the rug out and tell me this was a sick joke.
The man in me knows better. The man in me knows I survived it once.
And I’m so damn tired of surviving, I want to live on purpose.
Out loud, without apology, like I should have been this whole time.
It’s been hard, but it’s been worth it. He put in the work, showed us every piece of evidence he’d gathered during his time in “hiding,” and he was even willing to come to therapy with me twice a month.
I sigh as I realize the wrinkle between my dad’s eyebrows gets deeper with every passing second of silence, like he’s aging right in front of me.
“I’m not mad at you, I just wish we could have gone about this differently.
The damage is done, and I grieved it, I came to terms with it, and then in the blink of an eye, everything I worked through was for nothing. ”
The words feel flimsy. Too soft for the anger buried under my ribs, too harsh for the affection I can’t seem to turn off. It’s weird, grieving someone who’s sitting right in front of you.
One minute I’m fine, the next I’m eight again, and my brain replays the nights I prayed for him to be alive. Then I had to teach myself to stop because it hurt too much when nothing changed.
Dr. Williams' chair rolls back across the floor. He stands, walking to the front of his desk and sitting on the front. One ankle crosses over the other as his hands frame his hips. The man is in his seventies, a funny little clown, but he’s damn good at making you feel at ease in his office.
And dare I say he’s even better at getting you to confront the things you don’t want to.
“It wasn’t for nothing though, was it?” He hums, taking his glasses off and setting them on the desk next to him. “You’ve sat in that very spot for years, telling me all the things you’d say to your dad if you were given the chance.” His head tilts to the right, “You have the chance.”
My eyes flutter closed, my nerves getting the better of me. I’ve talked to this man every day for the last nine years of my life. And he played an integral role in the summers I spent at the ranch. “How did I end up at the ranch? Was that part of the plan?” I ask as I stare at a spot on the floor.
“No.” His voice comes out rough, like he’d taken sandpaper to his throat all day. “You did that by yourself, when Scarlett first found you by the fence.”
I turn my head to the side when he doesn’t continue, “But?” My hands hang heavy between my spread knees.
His silence acts as heat to the annoyance buzzing under my skin. And it’s not at him, it’s at life, and how unfair it’s been to us both.
“You didn’t come back to us when you were out of therapy. After surgeries that changed your face, that helped hide you in plain sight, you still didn’t come back,” I snap.
His shoulders droop, hanging heavy as he pushes his hands into his eyes. “I didn’t. I couldn’t. They would have killed you both.”
I shoot off the couch, anger surging through me as I spin to look at him. “So what? That would have been preferable to the years of pain and abandonment I went through. Did you know I tried to kill myself?”
If heartbreak had a face, I’m convinced it would look like his right now.
Face pulled together at every point, tears forming behind his lashes, as his body goes rigid.
I didn’t expect that. I thought maybe he’d shut down or apologize, maybe go blank like my mom used to.
Instead, he looks like he’s the one falling apart.
And weirdly? For the first time, I feel the difference between the boy who almost climbed that bridge and the man sitting here now.
My eyes sting, my body shaking from anger or adrenaline, I don’t know.
But I breathe, I breathe in deep. “I’m not mad at you.
I’m mad at the situation, the years that were taken from me.
The life I could have had. We could have had.
I needed you. And sure, I had you in some way, and I’ve considered you the best father figure for most of my life. Ironic, all things considered.”
He lets out a watery laugh, and my head angles down to meet his broken gaze. “I’m a broken man, Dad.” My voice steadies. Not because the pain is gone, but because the panic is. I’m not spiraling. I’m not drowning in what-ifs or could have beens.
Maybe this is what healing actually looks like, standing in the wreckage and realizing you don’t owe anyone perfection. Just honesty.
“I’m really confused. And I’m hurt, but I could never hate you. I don’t want to waste any more time being angry at what we lost. I want to move forward. I just don't want any more surprises.” I say, closing the gap between the two of us.
I throw my arm over his shoulder, like I’ve done when he was just Miller a thousand times before. “How did you not tell me? How were you this close and kept this a secret?”
His hand lands on my thigh, and he squeezes once. “Because I knew you and Lettie would need each other more than you needed me. I loved you the best I could in the safest way I knew how.”
“And mom?” I don’t really want to know the answer to this, I don’t want to know he suffered knowing she self-destructed. Heck, I talked so poorly about her while dealing with my own mess, and he heard it all.
I watch as a fat tear breaches his lash line, landing on his forearm and sending the residual spray onto me.
“My biggest regret will always be letting you endure her negligence. She was my wife. I loved her as much as you love Lettie. But I imagine, if you watched Lettie ignore your kids for twenty years, you’d be pretty bitter, too. ”
Dr. Williams picks that moment to pipe up. “Would you like to talk about that? Because I think that's some common ground the two of you can work on together. Forgetting the past and moving forward with only better memories.”
We mumble our yeses and confirm our next month's worth of appointments before stepping out into the Florida sun. “Thank you for not shutting me out.” My dad says as he slides his sunglasses on.
I wrap him up in a hug, one I so desperately need. “I would never do that. I may not fully understand, and maybe I never will. You’re my dad, and you’re Miller. The two most important men to ever be part of my life.”
I let out a chuckle, ruffling his hair before stepping back. “Let me teach you how to make a real grilled cheese, and we’ll call it a fresh start.”
His laugh shakes loose something in me I didn’t realize I’d been holding onto, not anger, not grief, more like the last shard of disbelief.
“Deal.” He catches his breath, but only for a second before he breaks back into laughter. “God.” He wipes his eyes, “I really was awful at making those things, wasn’t I?”
“Yeah,” I say, my eyes now trained on the pond across the street. “You really were. But it’s the time we spent together that meant the most, anyway.”
He follows my line of sight, leaving me with one hard pat on the back.
“See you at the ranch, kiddo.” He calls over his shoulder.
I nod, looking both ways before I cross the street. There are two benches on each side of the pond, eight in total, yet right now, I’m the only one here. The sun reflects off the top of the water, shimmering as the ducks move around.
The anger, confusion, and the ache of wanting to belong aren’t as present anymore. It’s quieter, however still painful, sure.
But in a way that feels manageable. Human. For twenty years, I lived with the door cracked, waiting for someone to walk through it who never would. I didn’t realize until now that the door wasn’t stuck. It was me holding it closed, terrified of what was waiting on the other side.
I spent so long believing I was broken that some piece of me died with him, and what was left was unlovable. Mom sure made it feel that way. And maybe to an extent, that was true, but then I grew. I became a man in all the places grief tried to break me.
I loved when life told me I wasn’t worthy of it. And now, I get to keep both versions of myself. The boy who's been trying to heal for decades, and the man who stands tall despite the rubble that surrounds him. The thought settles something in my chest with surprising gentleness.
My lips pull up at the corners. For the first time since I was a kid, I don’t feel like I’m standing on the edge.
I feel like I’m standing at the starting line.
Like my life is no longer shaped by fear of being left behind, or what I could lose.
I now have a life where I get to choose who I want to be.
I let out a slow breath, the kind that pulls at the bottom of your lungs. Dad said he’d be here if I wanted him to be. And I do. Not out of desperation, or because I need him to fill some hole that aches inside me. But because I want him in the life I’m building, not the one I’m leaving behind.
I can see it now though, I’ve seen it already these past few months. The way dreams I’ve had of what I always wished my life could be have become my reality. Dream of holidays I get to spend with my dad, with my girl, with all my friends, and now, even with Rory, my real family.
It was weird at first, and it’ll definitely take me some time. But it’s a future I would have done anything for, one I’ll protect at all costs.