“Benji,” he says, taking a hesitant step forward. “I know you’re mad at me. You have every right to be.”
“Wow, thanks. How generous of you.”
He pauses, sucking in a deep breath. “I want to make things right. I want to be there for you, and Sarah, and the kids. I set up a college fund—”
“You can’t buy us off, Ben. You can’t just throw money at us and expect us to come running back. We don’t want your money.”
“It’s for the kids.” His sharp, blue eyes—so similar to my own—drill into mine. “It’s for Gabby and Bradley, son.”
“I’m not your son.’
“You are my son. No matter what you think, you’ve always been my son. Always will be. Even if you push me away for the rest of my life.”
I scoff. “Is that a challenge?”
His eyes drift to the house behind me. I know what he’s seeing. A house on the verge of disrepair that needs a new roof and a good lick of paint. An old truck with the garage’s logo emblazoned on it. A lawn that needs mowing.
“Listen, Dad,” I spit. “Why don’t you go back to your pretty, young wife and your new family. Enjoy your five-bedroom McMansion. Give your army of gardeners an extra weeks’ worth of wages in my name. Either way, just stop coming around here. I don’t need you. Never have. Never will.”
“I want to help, Benji.”
“You didn’t want to help when Sarah and I were kids. You didn’t try to help when Mom started using. You never once came to see us when we needed you most. You were off gallivanting all over the country, making your millions. Well, enjoy them. I don’t want your money.”
“The courts—”
“Save your excuses. You left us. Live with it.”
“Sarah’s kids—”
“Stop pretending you care!” I step up to him, puffing my chest out. My father’s face twists as he takes a step back, holding up his hands.
“Okay. Okay. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“It’s not mine, Benji. It’s yours.” He lifts his gaze up to mine, his lips set in a thin line. “You can choose to use it or not, but it’s yours either way.” He takes a deep breath. “I know you’re planning a party for Sarah’s birthday—”
“If you think you’re getting an invitation, you’re more delusional than I realized.”
My father sighs. He shakes his head. “I only wanted to help out, if I could. Pay for the venue, or the food. I don’t know.”
I set my jaw. “I. Don’t. Need. Your. Money.”
I turn around and stomp toward my faded front door. The frame rattles when I slam it closed, my chest heaving. I clench my fists, dropping my head and letting out a breath.
I can’t get away. Can’t have any peace.
Money-hungry, blood-sucking vultures. All of them.
I can’t even go to Sarah’s house without thinking of Rae next door.
They’re all the same.
They think money can solve everything. My father thought he could pay us to make up for the years he spent away from us. They were the worst years of my life, when I had to watch my mother get high every single day. When I had to be the one to make sure Sarah’s clothes were clean and she was fed for school. When I had to start working for Harold just to pay the rent, because all my mother’s money was being poured into her various addictions—even the child support my father sent.
His money didn’t help me then, and it sure as hell won’t help me now.
Deep down, in a dark chasm of my heart, something tugs at me. Gabby and Bradley. For them. College. A better life.
Isn’t that what I’ve been working for? Isn’t that why I helped Oliver out with a job? Why I took care of Sarah all those years? Why I’ve worked every day since I was fourteen?
I shake the thought away.
Taking Ben Cartwright’s money is shaking hands with the devil. It goes against everything I believe in. It makes me no better than Rae, who turned her back on Sawyer for the sake of a few bucks.
Loyalty is more important than money. Integrity is more valuable. I won’t sell my soul for a couple of dollars. I won’t put on a pair of golden handcuffs, no matter who happens to be dangling them in front of me.
I’ll make sure Gabby and Bradley go to college or trade school or art school or wherever they want to go. I will. I’ll be there for Sarah whenever she needs me, and not just for money. I’ll pay for her birthday party with my own money.
I’ll be by her side. On the other end of a phone call. A couple of streets away.
That’s what real family does, and it’s what I’ll do—because I know that a big bank account can’t replace being here. Caring. Putting someone else’s needs above your own.
That’s what’s important.
But people like Rae? Like my dad?
They’ll never understand it.
The next day, the weather is beautiful. The sun is shining in a clear blue sky, with fluffy, white clouds that look like they’ve been painted overhead. There’s a new birds’ nest in a tree next to my bedroom window, and I can hear the new baby birds screaming for their breakfast.
“Same here, birdie,” I groan, swinging my legs off the edge of the bed.
I put on some old work clothes and make myself a cup of coffee. I drink it down in a couple of minutes and feel slightly better.
The bitterness of my father’s unexpected visit still weighs me down. I try to shake it off, but it dampens everything. My movements feel sluggish. My heart is heavy.
I stare at the black tar at the bottom of my mug, sighing.
Then, the doorbell rings.
As I approach the door, my mood worsens. It better not be him. If he’s back here, spouting some bullshit about taking his money, I swear to—
“Rae,”
