Simon chuckles, but his gaze turns serious as I pass by. He reaches up to grab my hand, squeezing it in his. “If things get too much today, call me.”
“I will.” I nod, stooping to retrieve my coffee mug before heading inside. Simon’s right, and I could bail on Chase right now if I really wanted. But the honest part of me knows that’s not true at all, my self-preservation be damned. I’ve spent the last three years trying to forget this man and failing miserably. But now, now I want to know everything about him. And that scares me most of all.
12
Chase
I pull up to the curb outside my dad’s house and cut the engine to my truck. I need to pick up Alicia soon but there’s something I want to do first. My gut tightens with nerves as I walk up the steps to my childhood home. It’s an automatic reaction, as is the impulse to be sick. I’ve been through hours of therapy to deal with the demons of my past, but some things are impossible to erase. Pausing outside the door, I reach for one of my coping strategies, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly as I count down from ten to reclaim my inner peace.
Dad knows I’m stopping by. I’ll only be here a few minutes. It’s just a house. Four walls and a roof. Nothing inside can hurt me, except my father’s words. But I’m in control. I can leave at any time. I am choosing to be here.
My father and I have struggled to find ease in our relationship. For so many years I went out of my way to piss him off—vying for his attention, struggling to affirm my worth in his eyes, and wishing he would see what he refused to acknowledge—the sexual assault I experienced for years from my step-sister. Recovery and therapy helped me realize I can’t force that from him, or anyone else, but I can expect it from myself.
I’m in a good place. I like the person I’ve become. But there are some things that trigger old feelings, and this is one of them.
I pull open the screen door and knock.
“It’s open!” Pops hollers from inside.
I twist the knob and step inside, bracing myself for the old familiar pain but surprise washes it away. “Hey, Pops.” The coffee table is filled with piles of old photographs, small boxes littering the room. When I called earlier to see if I could come by and go through photos from my childhood under the pretense of a wedding surprise for Cam, I didn’t expect Dad would help.
“Hi, son,” My dad sits on the edge of his recliner, leaning forward with his reading glasses balanced too far down the bridge of his nose.
“You found them.”
“Yeah, they’re a complete mess.” He pats the leather arm rest of the couch next to him, an invite to join him. “Probably should’ve organized these years ago instead of shoving them in the closet.”
I pick up a few boxes and take a seat next to him. I suck in a breath at the photo atop one of the piles. First by the fact I’m smiling next to Tiff, and second because there’s a distinct resemblance to the little boy I met yesterday. I’m probably only six or seven in the picture, and she’s barely a teenager. My fingers shake as I pick it up to study closely. I swallow hard against the onslaught of memories—a mix of good and nightmarish. It’s hard to reconcile the happy blended family in this photo with the reality of my adolescence. Did Tiff know she was grooming me to stay silent for the future abuse that would occur under her hands? Or was she sick, a victim to her circumstances too?
The little boy in the photo was so innocent, clueless of the horrors that would happen.
My chest aches with pain, wishing somehow I could go back in time and protect him.
“I know.” Pops clasps me on the shoulder. “I just don’t know where things went wrong.”
He’s referring to Tiff ending up in jail for attempted manslaughter, not of her sexual abuse toward me. I consider telling him everything, as I’ve debated telling Cam, but as always I come up with more excuses not to. He already has his mind made up. I’ve done a lot of work to heal, and moving forward is my only priority. Anyway, I don’t think I can deal with his rejection. Deep down I don’t think Dad will believe me. Besides, I’m not about to blow up our family dynamic days before Cam’s wedding. That would be selfish and uncalled for. My relationship with Dad is strained at best, and I’ve accepted that’s all it’ll ever be.
“These might work.” Pops hands me a small pile of photos. “Take whatever you need. They’re just collecting dust.”
“Thanks.” I push past old demons and work quickly, flipping past the photographs with Tiff.
“You want coffee?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
He gets up to poke around the kitchen and I reach for another box. I’ve never seen these photos before, but they must be from a family trip to the beach. Cam can’t be more than fifteen, and I’m maybe two or three. When I flip to one—a close up of me—I suck in a sharp breath.
I might as well be staring at Alicia’s little boy.
The resemblance is uncanny.
He has to be mine, but I knew that yesterday, didn’t I?
Fuck.
My chest squeezes as a cluster of emotions pass through all at once. Relief—that I’m not fucking crazy. Profound sadness—that she kept him from me. That I’ve missed so much. Then anger. I’ve spent the last three years moving on when she held a piece of me.
I have a son, and he doesn’t even know who I am.
Thankful my dad’s in the
