Page 124 of Rebel Summer

“I am.” A cool calm spread through me along with a breath of laughter. My voice didn’t waver. A weight I’d carried for so many years began to lighten as I realized that this man’s opinions didn’t mean much to me anymore.

“You’re not going to waste ten years of schooling because you decided to sow some wild oats this summer.”

“I’m not wasting them,” I said. “I’ll still be teaching, but I’ll find somewhere nearby.”

“What? A community college? No.” He shook his head adamantly while I grew bored of the conversation. “Not my daughter.”

“Am I your daughter? Your name comes up as The Senator on my phone.”

His jaw ticked with anger. “I’m very aware that my career means nothing to you, but?—”

“Probably because your career means everything to you.”

“That’s not true.” He shook his head adamantly.

“I’ve never once voted for you,” I said, a faucet unwilling to be shut off.

His next words stalled on his lips as a look of betrayal etched across his face.

“Even when you used to send me the absentee ballots at school. I always voted against you. So maybe instead of trying to give me life advice, you should think about why your daughter, one of the only people who truly knows you, wouldn’t vote for you.”

He reared back slightly at this. And it was enough for me. The honest truth of my statement suddenly felt so heavy. So sad. I had already put years of therapy into mourning the father I had grown up with. Looking at him now, I found myself mourning the father he could have been.

“We’re not done yet,” he stated as I brushed past him and took the stairs up to my door.

“Yes, we are.” When I grasped the door handle, I turned back. “Listen, Dad. I’m staying. I’m going to figure out what I want to do next, and you’re going to have to deal with that. I don’t want to be angry. I don’t want to fight anymore, but if that means I can’t talk to you, then so be it. I’ll smile at you at the cafe. I’ll pour your coffee. I’ll even wave to you on the street. But until you’re willing to try for something different, that’s where our boundaries will have to stay.”

And then I walked inside, feeling strangely liberated.

The rest of my morning passed without Dax.

After my dad left, I got my phone call to Vanderbilt out of the way. They had been unsurprisingly understanding about the whole thing, which confirmed my suspicion that they would have no trouble replacing me. There were still things I needed to decide. I had a house in Nashville I would need to sell or rent. Eventually, I’d have to go back to pack up my house.

Noon rolled around with still no sight of or even message from Dax, which was fine. I was absolutely certain he and Beau were out on a joyride right now. And good for them. Hopefully, the friends had made up and buried their hatchets.

I attempted a nap after lunch but quickly decided that pacing my floor, listening for any sound of Dax returning, was more fun. When the cafe called at two in the afternoon, extremely short-handed and asking me to work, I couldn’t get out of my house fast enough.

Had it all been a mistake? Why wasn’t he texting me?

Maybe he forgot his phone. Maybe he didn’t get the car on the ferry in time, and Beau had to arrest him. Maybe—and this idea was rapidly taking flight in my head—I had scared him off.

It was just now occurring to me that neither Dax nor I had ever really talked about our feelings. We danced around things, sure. This morning, brushing our teeth, and our late-night conversations began to blur in my mind. Then I went and more or less proposed marriage to Dax Miller inside the judge’s office. Maybe not marriage, but it had been pretty clear what I was sticking around for. Who I was staying for. That was a lot of pressure on a man who had gotten comfortable carving out a life of not needing anyone.

I picked up my pace to the restaurant, needing something to occupy my hands and hopefully quiet the noise in my head. It was all going to be fine. Why do brains do these things? They find that tiny seed of doubt and then plant it, sprout it, and let it fully bloom all within minutes.

Dax had been ready to kiss me in Judge Baylor’s office—a good one too, by the looks of it.

So, shut up, brain.

But seriously…where was he?

“What’s with you?” Cat asked a while later, sitting across from Jane in a booth at the cafe.

“Huh?” I asked, wiping up some water drops on her table.

“I asked you three times if anything happened between you and Dax while you were sharing a freaking jail cell, and three times you told me the daily special.” She leaned forward with a laugh. “I don’t want clam chowder.”

“Oh, sorry.” I checked behind my ear for my pencil and found it. “What do you want?”

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