Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
SEEMS LIKE THE RUMORS WERE WRONG. BORING
GREER
Standing in the hallway of the small but surprisingly tidy apartment building, I paced. I lifted my hand before dropping it. I moved toward the stairwell, going down three steps before backtracking to the door.
Quit being a coward.
The sooner I get this done, the sooner I can go to Gilded.
That was incentive enough—inappropriate as it might be—and I finally knocked on the door. It opened instantly.
“I was wondering which way the coin was going to land,” my dad said by way of greeting, making it obvious he’d been observing my indecision through the peephole.
Oops.
“I was wondering, too,” I said honestly.
“Come in.”
Like the rest of the building, his apartment was basic but nice.
He gestured to a couch. “Are you thirsty?” I was about to decline since my stomach was doing more flips than an Olympic gymnast when he tacked on, “I made you orange lime water.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
He went into the kitchen before returning with a plastic cup. “My finest glassware.”
I swallowed hard past the lump in my throat, forcing a smile I didn’t feel.
I’d known seeing my dad would be hard. That the feelings I’d worked so hard to compartmentalize would come rushing free. I’d expected betrayal. Frustration. Anger.
Any of those would’ve been easy. Welcome, even.
My gaze darted around the room for some sign that Gloria had been there because I wanted to feel indignant rage.
But there was no evidence of her, which wasn’t surprising. The no-frills apartment didn’t fit into her life of leisure. Neither did my father without his expensive wardrobe, loaded bank account, and celebrity connections.
With nothing to restoke my ire, I was left with one emotion.
Sadness.
Overwhelming sadness.
Tears burned behind my eyes, and I took slow, steady breaths to keep them at bay.
I need information.
A plan.
That always helps.
Suddenly wishing I’d brought a notebook, I sat up straight and put my focus on something other than my emotions. “Tell me what’s happening with your case.”
Dad reared back a little where he sat in the faded chair, but he answered instead of evading like he used to. “My lawyer is still working out the logistics of everything. But considering the relatively small scale of the kickbacks and that no one died, she’s confident they’ll agree to three years.”
“Years?” I shook my head. “That’s ridiculous. You need a better lawyer. I’ll ask Easton for recommendations—”
“Easton Wells?” he cut in, his brows lowering.
I forgot that my dad would be out of the loop that was once such an intrinsic part of his social and work life. “He’s dating Maddie. Anyway, I’m sure he can recommend someone better equipped to fight—”
“I’m not interested in someone better.”
“Because three years is too long—”
“Greer.”
“Like you said, it was small scale—”
“Greer.”
“Not that you don’t deserve some punishment, but—”
My dad slammed his hand down on the arm of the chair. “Greer Moore!”
I pressed my lips together as I looked at him.
It wasn’t irritation or anger in his expression.
It was worse. His face was soft with guilt and acceptance.
“Sweetheart, I don’t want a new lawyer. Mine already offered to go to bat on this.
I’m the one who said no. I don’t want a trial.
I want to face my consequences and then move on with my life.
And I want to do that while disrupting yours and your mom’s lives as little as possible.
There will still be some press coverage, but it’ll be a lot less than if I fight it. ”
“We can deal with coverage,” I said, even as the thought of it made acid burn my throat.
“No. I’ve put you and your mom through too much already.
” He crossed one of his legs over the other, and his pants shifted up to show the flashing ankle monitor.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen my dad blush, but redness moved across his face as he quickly dropped his leg and cleared his throat.
Awkward silence stretched before he broke it.
“Maddie is dating Easton Wells? That’s not a pair I would expect. ”
“They’re good together.”
“Are you seeing anyone?” He gave me a small smile. “I’ll take that look as a yes.” His smile fell just as fast as it’d formed. “It’s not Josh again, is it?”
“No,” I rushed out before he’d even finished his question.
“Because I know you’re an adult who can make her own choices. And he’s not responsible for my actions. That’s on me. But that doesn’t mean he’s innocent. If things between you two—”
It was my turn to cut him off. “Dad, no. I haven’t even talked to Josh since everything went down.”
Well, other than answering his call yesterday.
“Good.” He slumped back like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. For a second at least. The tension was back when he went for nonchalance—and missed it by a long mile. “How’s your mom?”
“I’m not talking about her with you,” I said firmly. I’d made the decision to accept his olive branch and give him the chance to mend the rift he’d created.
But only the one between us.
When my mom talked to him—if she talked to him—was her choice.
“Fair enough,” he said. “Tell me about school. How’d finals go? Are you excited for your last semester?”
That wasn’t a much better topic.
But I was good at pretending.
Ispent longer than I’d intended with Dad. By the time I left—with a hug and a promise to be in touch—I felt better.
Not good.
Not happy.
But better.
His genuine remorse gave me hope. We would never be back where we were. The rift could be mended, but it wouldn’t be a smooth, seamless finish. But I could deal with a little bumpy. It was better than nothing.
Walking out of the building, I got into the heavily tinted SUV that was parked at the curb.
“How’d it go?” Tripp asked, studying me carefully.
When I’d told him I would be visiting my father, I’d insisted I go alone.
He’d insisted on driving me.
I’d tried to argue.
He’d reminded me who was in charge.
And he’d been right. Not just that he was in charge—though he was.
But, also, that I might want the company after.
If I was spending the long drive back by myself, I would overthink all the calm that I finally felt.
I would focus on the irrational guilt that simmered through me, like I was betraying my mom—despite her being heavily in favor of me forgiving my father.
I would dwell on how different our family would always be.
And I would likely do it all while oscillating between sobbing and raging over the fact he was going to spend years in jail.
But I wasn’t alone. I had Tripp there.
“It went better than I expected,” I told him.
“I’m glad, siren.” He gently dislodged my hair from my grasp. I hadn’t even realized I was fidgeting with it. Tucking it behind my ear for me, he asked, “What do you need?”
My answer was immediate. “I need to watch a movie and eat brie until I’m more cheese than human.”
Tripp had offered a trip to Gilded as a reward—or distraction or stress reliever—when I’d wanted to bail on the visit. As fun and helpful as our time there was, I didn’t want to use it as a crutch.
Cheese, on the other hand, would always be available.
I worried Tripp would be disappointed, but there was no hint of it in his soft smile. “You got it.”
A few minutes later, another thought hit me. A vital one of the utmost importance. “I have another favor, Sir.”
His hand tightened on my thigh as he drove. “Name it.”
“Can we also get mozzarella sticks?”