Page 10 of Cruel Steps

In those early days, Dad would hold me while we cried together. Neither of us knew the right words to use, but that was the great thing about our relationship. We understood silence, and there were things you couldn’t say with words.

For me, that outlet was dance, and for my dad, it was cooking. While he was an investment banker by trade, his real passion was food and discovering new recipes and dishes. It had been what brought him and my mom together. She was a journalist with a weekly food critic column. So, while Mom brought words to life, we let our passions talk for us.

Most teenagers might hate spending time with their parents, but I didn’t. Dad and I spent Friday nights putting together jigsaw puzzles, Saturdays traversing Farmer’s Markets for new ingredients to try, and Sundays reading. The two of us were a unit. He was the only reason I’d survived high school—not that he knew about any of the bullying.

Choosing to attend Brighton University had been a shock to him. And honestly, if it hadn’t been for Hope, I wouldn’t have gone so far away for college. I’d even debated returning to Oak Hills and enduring Hope’s wrath after the first few weeks away, but Taylor convinced me to stick it out, and I eventually fell in love with Brighton.

It had been the right step for me, despite the difficulty. I’d needed that time and space away from Oak Hills, and perhaps even the safety net of my father. Having the chance to flourish and find my own path away from mean girls had strengthened my backbone.

The distance had been good for me, and I wouldn’t change it, but it meant Dad and I had grown apart—an unfortunate consequence to being so far away.

Guilt swarmed me for leaving him, quickly followed by anger that he’d been taken advantage of. Then, more anger that he’d fallen for something shady. Add sadness for missing a guy I had no right to miss and guilt for ignoring my friends, which ultimately led me straight back to anger.

Anger at Hope. Anger at my dad. Anger at the person who’d scammed him.

Anger at myself for never standing up.

God, I was sick of thinking about this.

With the song changed, I stumbled back to the pool lounger and face-planted. There were too many emotions to deal with, and I’d chosen avoidance today, so it was time to get back to that.

Doodling in a notebook, I hummed along to the music and kicked my feet to the beat. In these quiet moments alone, I could pretend everything was normal. That I was a college junior preparing to return to Brighton U in a month instead of having no clue where I’d attend. Or that the cute guy I couldn’t stop thinking about would text me instead of being the brother of the one person who made my life hell. But mostly, I pretended the man I’d always admired hadn’t ruined my life and abandoned me all summer.

Almost as if my thoughts had conjured him, my dad stepped through the sliding door and smiled at me. Dropping my pencil, I gaped at the man walking toward me and wondered if I’d stepped into a different dimension.

Long gone was the gaunt man with greasy hair I’d come home to. I’d barely seen my father since I’d returned home. Once he dropped his bomb on me, he’d basically vanished. I assumed his guilt had kept him away, making him work longer than usual to find a way out of this hole. Perhaps it was a useless wish, but it was the justification I used to assuage my guilt for not applying to any other colleges. I wanted my father to fix his mistake so I could return to my life.

However, in none of the scenarios I envisioned, had I expected this version of my father. His skin was golden, like he’d spent his entire summer by the pool—except it hadn’t been ours, since I’d taken up residence, and he’d been nowhere to be found.

His dark hair was shiny and lush, looking like he’d stepped out of an expensive salon and not the same ten-dollar haircut he’d gotten from his barber the past ten years.

Though, the most disturbing development was the clothes he now wore. His gaunt frame had returned to his lean and muscular stature, but instead of the dorky dad clothes he’d worn my whole life, he had on stylish clothes, dripping in labels. It wasn’t that I was against labels—most of the items in my closet were name-brand—but my dad had never cared. He’d worn whatever my mother had bought him, and there were a lot of amazing things about my mother, but style had never been one of them.

To see him dressed in clothes that were actually in fashion this season not only confused me, but also infuriated me. He chose now to care? When he couldn’t even pay for college?

Yes, I realized how entitled I sounded, but the self-loathing wasn’t scheduled until tomorrow.

“Dad?” My voice came out high-pitched, and I sat up, glancing at the wrinkled clothes I wore. My shirt was baggy, but the shorts were no longer decent to wear in public. I hadn’t done laundry in weeks, resulting in limited clean options. Not that I’d call these clean. How many days had I worn this combo? Was that a Cheetos stain or last night’s curry? Stopping myself from picking up the material and sniffing it, I focused on him.

“Emmy, I have news.” He clapped his hands together and smiled brightly at me, highlighting the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth I’d longed to see. I swallowed at the sight, tears pricking my eyes, and I barely contained the hope overwhelming me.

He’d fixed it. I didn’t have to change schools. Life could go back to normal.

“You look so good, Dad. I thought…” I shook my head, stopping the words. “Nevermind. I’m just so glad to see you looking better. I’ve missed you this summer, but I knew you were working hard to fix everything.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, grimacing at my words, and I frowned.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around much, Pumpkin. But I promise, everything is going to be better now. I found a solution.”

Throwing my arms around his neck, I let the tears fall at the news. He hugged me, rubbing my back in soothing strokes like he’d done when I was younger.

“Thank goodness. I didn’t want to attend anywhere but Brighton. It’s my school, and I love it there. Your absence is forgiven.”

His hand froze, his body tensing, and all the euphoria I felt at seeing him evaporated.

“Pumpkin, I…” he stuttered, pulling back to stare at me. His green eyes, so similar in shade to mine, bounced back and forth as he tried to formulate words.

“Darling, did you tell her?” a feminine voice asked over my father’s shoulder. I jolted back, chills erupting at the sight of a woman standing no more than ten feet from me. At my eye contact, she rushed over and wrapped her arm around my dad’s shoulder, sitting in his lap.

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