Chapter 19 #2
My father appears looking better than he has in months. His hair is neatly combed, his prison-issued clothes pressed and clean. He’s even put on a little weight, which means the commissary money I’ve been sending is going to good use.
“Son.” He pulls me into a hug—brief, firm, the kind of embrace that’s meant to project strength rather than warmth. “You made it. I knew you couldn’t let me down.”
“I told you I’d be here.”
“You did.” He settles into the chair across from me, studying my face with that analytical gaze that’s eerily close to a villain’s smirk. “You look tired. Long flight?”
“Red-eye from Miami.”
“Ah yes. The mysterious new job.” His tone is light, but I can hear the edge underneath. “Private security, you said?”
“That’s right.”
“For someone important, I assume. If they’re flying you around the country.”
I hesitate. The smart move would be to deflect, change the subject, keep Charlie as far from this conversation as possible. But after everything today—Anne’s words, the envelope still in my pocket, the strange lightness in my chest—I want to be honest.
“Yeah,” I say. “Someone famous, actually.”
My father’s eyebrows rise. “Care to elaborate?”
“It’s complicated.”
“It always is.” He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “But we have time. And I’d like to know what’s keeping my son so busy he almost missed visitation for the first time in years.”
Ah, the guilt trip—familiar territory. Subtle, almost affectionate, but unmistakable. He’s making me feel bad about something I didn’t even do. I’m here, aren’t I? But I let it wash over me without responding.
“Her name is Charlie,” I hear myself say. “Charlie Riley. She’s my boss, but we’re also kind of starting something…I don’t know. She’s incredible, really.”
My father’s expression flickers. Recognition. “The singer? Taio…isn’t she a teenager?”
“She was. Five years ago.” You can’t really blame my dad for being out of touch. Even before he went to prison, he’s not exactly Charlie’s target audience.
“Huh. So you’re working security for Charlie Riley. And you guys are a thing. Wow.” He says it slowly, like he’s tasting the words. “That’s quite a client. She’s worth…what? A hundred million? Two hundred? Is she paying you well?”
“Dad…”
“What? It’s just curiosity.” He waves a hand dismissively. “But go on. You were saying it’s become more than just a job?”
I move past the money comment. That’s just how his brain works—always calculating, always assessing value. It doesn’t mean anything.
“It started as security. Well, it started as something else entirely, but that’s a long story.” I take a deep breath. “The point is, I like her. A lot. I haven’t had anyone since Alaina, so this is new. She’s different but in a good way. She makes me feel like there’s more to my life.”
Silence. My father stares at me, his face unreadable. I can see him processing, sorting through implications and possibilities, trying to figure out what this information means and how it might be useful.
“More to your life,” he repeats finally. “Meaning what, exactly?”
“Meaning just that. She sees me as more than…a bodyguard. She makes me happy.” Well, I’m certainly not going to say escort, because we’re in a prison and every word I say is likely being listened to.
The words take up residence between us. I’ve never said them out loud before—not to Charlie, not to Forrest, not to anyone.
And now I’ve said them to my father, in a prison visitation room, surrounded by vending machines and plastic chairs and the distant murmur of other families having their own difficult conversations.
Maybe I’m more tired than I thought.
But something unexpected happens. My father’s face softens. The analytical edge fades, replaced by, possibly, genuine warmth. His eyes get a little shiny, and he blinks rapidly like he’s fighting back emotion.
“Taio.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “That’s wonderful.”
“You think so?”
“Of course I think so. You’ve been alone for too long. Ever since you dumped Alaina—”
“She dumped me, Dad,” I correct him.
“Same difference.”
I’m so tired of him rewriting this narrative. “No, it’s not. I bought a ring for her. She left me because you stole her family’s wealth. I just want to be clear.”
He glares at me for a while, angry that I brought up the storyline he hates—the truth. “Well, either way, Alaina was a shit friend. This Charlie girl sounds much better.”
“Based on what?”
“She’s rich for starters. You made a good choice there.” He laughs, but I don’t see the humor in it. “I’m kidding, Taio. Tell me about her,” he continues. “What’s she like?”
I hesitate, waiting for the catch—the manipulation, the angle, the way he’ll twist this information to serve his own purposes. But he just looks at me, expectant and somewhat pensive.
“She’s chaos,” I say finally. “She’s messy and impulsive and she says whatever she’s thinking without filtering it first. She can’t dance to save her life, but she sings like her whole heart is trying to escape through her throat.
She’s terrified of being seen and desperate to be known, and she doesn’t realize those are the same thing.
She’s this enigma that I can’t stop thinking about. ”
Dad’s smiling now—a real smile, not the calculated one he uses in negotiations. “You’ve got it bad, kid.”
“Yeah.” I exhale. “I really do.”
“And does she feel the same way?”
My fingers rake through my hair, catching on the tangles I’ve neglected since yesterday’s flight.
“I think so. It’s complicated. Her world is a lot.
Paparazzi, publicists, fake relationships for PR.
She’s got this whole machinery around her designed to control her image, and I don’t know how I fit into that. Or if I even can.”
“What do you mean, fake relationships?”
“She has a public boyfriend. Some actor. It’s all for show; their teams arranged it to manage their images or whatever. But from the outside, it looks real.” I shake my head. “That’s the world she lives in. Everything is performance. Everything is strategic.”
“And where does that leave you?”
“On the outside, mostly. Hidden. We don’t exactly run in the same social circles. She has her celebrity life and I have my…” I search my brain trying to remember what my dad thinks I do for a living. “Gym trainer buddies?”
My father is quiet for a moment, processing. “That must be difficult. Being with someone who can’t acknowledge you publicly.”
Okay, that was smooth sailing. Apparently he still believes I’m a personal trainer.
“It’s fine.”
“Is it?” He quirks an eyebrow. “Because it sounds like you’re describing exactly the kind of relationship that would make you feel used. Like she’s embarrassed of you.”
The observation slices closer than I’d like. “I don’t think she’s embarrassed of me. And yes, this is messy and complicated, but she’s worth it. More than worth it.”
My father nods slowly. “Then you try. You fight for it. That’s what we do, Taio. What I’ve always taught you. We don’t give up on the things that matter.”
The irony of receiving relationship advice from the man who destroyed his own marriage isn’t lost on me. But there’s something genuine in his voice—something that sounds like the father I remember from childhood, before everything went wrong.
“I need to keep this quiet for now,” I add. “The public doesn’t know, and if it got out…” I shake my head. “It would be a whole thing.”
“Of course. I understand completely.” He mimes zipping his lips. “Your secret is safe with me. No one to talk to in solitary confinement.”
I groan and point to the wall over his shoulder. “Dad, there’s literally a potluck signup on the wall over there. You’re not in solitary confinement.”
We talk for another hour—about the lawyers, about the case developments I’ve been tracking. For once, he doesn’t ask about Mom, or insist he’s innocent. He just listens. Asks questions. Acts interested in my life.
“What about that cat?” he asks at one point. “Where’s he while you’re gallivanting around Miami?”
“He goes with us, believe it or not. Traveling cat. Right now, he’s with Charlie, while I’m here. She’s been taking care of him.”
“You left your cat with her?” His eyebrows rise. “That serious huh?”
“Well, he’s not my cat.”
“Whose cat is it?”
I’m getting really tired of explaining this, mostly because it doesn’t make sense. “It’s not the point. All I mean to say is I trust Charlie.”
I hadn’t really thought about it consciously, but leaving Black Cat with Charlie felt natural in a way it shouldn’t have. Like I already trusted her too much, and assumed we were this cat-parenting team. Is that a good sign or bad?
“The cat likes her more than me I think,” I admit.
“He’s not the only one.” My father grins. “Go on, tell me more. What’s her family like? Does she have siblings?”
I talk about Claire—the pregnancy, her naming the baby Charlotte, the way Charlie’s face lit up when she told me.
I tell him about the dancers and how Charlie gave them the spotlight.
About the blanket fort and the Rotel dip and the way she looked at me when she fell asleep with her head on my chest.
I don’t tell him everything, obviously. Some things are private. But I tell him enough, and he listens with what seems like genuine interest.
It’s nice. Suspiciously nice.
But I push that thought away. Maybe Anne was right. Maybe it’s time to stop looking for the worst in people—even people who’ve given me plenty of reason to expect it. It feels good to just talk. And by the end of the visitation, I realized I’ve probably shared way too much.
“Dad, I really mean it. You can’t tell anyone. Not the lawyers, not your friends in here, nobody. Charlie’s whole world is delicate, and I don’t want her business to get out and put her through hell—”
“Taio.” He puts his hand over his heart, expression wounded. “I would never betray your confidence like that. You’re my son. Your happiness matters more to me than anything.”
And God, do I want to believe him. I almost do.
When visitation ends, my father hugs me again. Longer this time. Tighter. He pats my back twice, the way he used to when I was a kid and he was sending me off to school.
“I’m proud of you, son,” he says quietly. “I love you.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“See you in two weeks?”
“Dad,” I say, dropping my gaze to my shoes. “The upcoming tour dates are tight. It’s hard to get back here between the shows. And Charlie needs me with her—”
“Taio,” my dad says, stern-faced, arms crossed over his chest. “I’ll see you in two weeks,” he reiterates. “End of story. Family sticks together. Don’t let some girl muddle what’s most important, okay?”
Some girl? Wow, how quickly that perspective changed.
“I’ll do what I can.”
He holds up his hand before the guard escorts him out of the room.
I walk out of the prison feeling lighter in a way.
The sky is gray and heavy with the threat of snow, the parking lot slicked with melting ice, but inside, I feel almost warm.
Hopeful, even. A feeling I’d nearly forgotten how to have.
Maybe it was the admission. Telling my dad I’m falling for someone.
Maybe he can learn to respect that. As much as I have to let him go, he has to learn to let me go too.
I get in the rental car and start the long drive toward the city, toward the airport, toward a flight that will take me back to Miami and the woman I can’t stop thinking about.
I’m already composing the text I’ll send her when I land.
Something sweet. Something that lets her know she’s been on my mind every minute we’ve been apart.
I’m so caught up in this unfamiliar optimism that I’m halfway to the airport before I notice my phone buzzing with a call from Rina.
And just like that, everything changes again.