Page 123 of Catching Sparks

“I don’t believe it was one single instance that created such a void between us.”

I huff a dark laugh and drag a hand down my face. “You’re right. It was years of feeling like you didn’t give a shit about me or Mom. How we were always second best to your music career and hobbies once that ended.”

“I have always cared about both of you more than I can explain.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not, Garrison. You two are my entire life. My work is my passion, but you two are my heart,” he argues.

“If that were true, then you would have been there when Mom fell down those stairs. Or maybe if you hadn’t been so nose-deep in a fucking record for a D-list artist, she wouldn’t have fallen at all.” And then it’s out. The truth I’ve never spoken out loud to anyone besides Poppy.

My father flinches as if I’ve reached across the table and slapped him. Good. I want it to hurt half as much as I’ve hurt over it. As Mom hurt that day.

The water stops running in the kitchen, silence never sounding as fucking loud as it does right now.

“Garrison—” Dad chokes on my name. I tense my jaw. “I don’t regret anything more than I do that day. Not hearing her or—or being there. Not finding her. I didn’t . . . didn’t intend for that to happen.”

“What you intended to do doesn’t matter. And if you were so regretful, why have you still not stopped to make it up to her? You still fill your time in a studio with artists who don’t care about you instead of your family! Every day is always the same with you.” My voice cracks on the last word, and that only pisses me off more. I grip the edge of the table until my knuckles turn white. “Do you have any idea how much it hurts to watch you build these bonds with everyone besides me? I keep spiralling into this place inside of me that’s so dark and cold just so I don’t feel the pain you cause. I lash out at those around me and then wind up hating myself for it.”

His expression visibly shudders, tears wetting his lashes.

“You replaced the bond you should have had with me with every single artist you sign. The chosen ones in your eyes. Noah Hutton, Brody Steele. Every single person you’ve slotted into the space that should have been reserved for me. No matter what.”

My chest rattles under the restraint it’s taking not to burst into sobs. I don’t cry. Haven’t for years. But the relief of getting this off my chest is therapeutic in the cruelest way. It’s too much but not enough.

“I had the right to put distance between us when you chose your work over your family every day of my childhood. But you did not have the right to fill that distance with other people instead of jumping over it to work things out with me,” I say on a wobbly breath. “You are my dad. Not anyone else’s.”

Dad’s chair scratches the expensive wood floors as he shoves it backward and rounds the table. He moves quick enough to spike concern, even if I wish I could just feel nothing for one goddamn moment.

Coming to a stop at my chair, he uses a strength I’ve never witnessed to twist it around and then yanks me up and out of it. I’m enveloped in a hug tight enough to make it hard to breathe, but I don’t pull back. Despite everything I’ve just said, I return the hug and close my eyes, every inhale burning my throat as I continue to fight off tears.

“You’re right. Absolutely right,” he whispers, the words watery. “You’re my son. My heart and soul. My blood. I’m so sorry. So sorry.”

I don’t reply, not trusting myself to. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to focus on my breathing. In for three, out for three. The pain in my chest is nearly enough to bring me to my knees, but with every repeated apology that slips subconsciously from my father’s lips, it starts to ease.

“I don’t have a good enough excuse for my negligence. So, I won’t give one. All I ask is that you give me one chance to make up for everything I’ve done. Let me fix our relationship. I’m your father, and you’re my son. That will never, ever change,” he whispers.

“You already had years to make up for it.”

“I know. But now that I know the extent of the damage I’ve caused, I know what to fix. I didn’t know you were this hurt. Maybe I should have figured it out, but I didn’t. One chance, Garrison. I only need one. I promise. Just one.”

“And if you waste it? What then?”

He tightens his arms, hugging me to the point of pain.

“I’m not ready to say the words out loud. Not until I have no choice.”

I accept it. We both know that I’m fully aware of what those words are. And if he fails to follow through with his promise, I won’t give him another chance to convince me he cares again.

We’ll be done.

43

POPPY

Feeling the cool bite of the pole against my palms, I swing my leg into the air and arch my back, letting muscle memory keep me from careening to the ground as I spin. I inhale calmly and let my mind go blank.

Engaging my abdominal muscles, I tuck the pole behind my knee and let myself drop until I’m horizontal with the ground. One hand gripping the pole above me and one below, I extend my other leg and hold it straight out, my toes pointed at the opposite wall.

---