Page 33 of Exclusive

“Okay, I’m through beggin’.” He releases my arm, sets Castello down, and stands. “Sutton told me not to give up until I got it out of ya, but, I’ve been upfront, open, and honest with you since you were old enough to ask questions; I won’t grovel for what I more than deserve in return. When you’re done with your, retreat here, bring Hank by the house to meet your Mama. And P?” He walks to stand behind me, placing both hands on my shoulders and squeezing gently, “Whatever it is botherin’ ya, about to cost you the greatest love you would’ve ever known, I’m sorry. I’m so. Damn. Sorry, for my role in it. I, I never, ever, meant to jade you, or whatever it is I did. Never.”

I stay frozen in place while he descends the deck stairs. I start to cry as the gravel crunches beneath his steps. And the second he disappears from my peripheral and around the corner of the cabin… I give up.

“Daddy, wait! Come back… please.” He cranes his neck back, his expectant, impatient eyes coming into view, and awaits my next move in silence. “You’re probably going to want to sit back down for this.”

“We’ll see. Start talking, keep going, and I will. Not walking all the way back over there for you to spout off a couple of words then stall out again.”

He’s right; if I’m going to broach the subject, even one sentence, then I might as well just drop the fucking floodgate and let it all pour out. And maybe, once I get started, momentum will do the rest for me… so, I take a deep breath, steel my shoulders, and release the first of the demons. “I know I’m not your real daughter.”

Apparently, those were the couple of words to nix his former ruling, ‘cause not only does he come ‘all the way back over here,’ he flies in front of me, deep lines of angry worry spidering out from the corner of his eyes. “Don’t think I heard ya right; say again?” he grunts, eerily calm.

My head drops forward, no longer able to support the weight of regret in my shoulders. Whole body. Soul. “Yes, you did. It’s okay, I’ve known for a long time. And, well, th, thank you… for loving me anyway.”

“Oh, hell no,” he howls? Barks? Quite frankly, I have no idea what the sound is, only that it’s loud and a lil’ scary. “You. Sit.” He points to the lounger. “Me. Here.” He tests the strength of the chair, that somehow survives, by plopping himself down in it. “Presley Alexandra Beckett, you ever thank me for loving you, ‘anyway,’ again, and so help me God…” he closes his eyes, rubs his forehead and uses the other hand to try and still his leg, that’s wildly bouncing.

Fucking Sutton. This is all his fault. I blame him for each and every second that my father remains silent; hurting, angry, sad, all of it — his fault! And yet, at the same time, I also hold him responsible for sticking it out; fighting me on every dip, curve and U-turn until he reached my core, and loved what was left of that core enough to ensure its repair got set into motion.

Yes, he finagled his way around my rules, but to his credit, a quite impressive balancing act — loving and looking out for me without actually betraying me. Forced my hand while still giving me the upper-hand. And while this sucks, really sucks… it needed to happen.

“Dad?” I finally find my voice, urging him to do the same.

He slowly lifts his head, the watery pain in his eyes gutting me. “I don’t… fuck, Princess, I don’t even know where to start. I think, I mean I guess, should we do this with your mama? Go to her? Call her?”

If this wasn’t about… what this is about… I’d be thinking how adorable my tongue-tied, at a complete loss, Daddy is; but… no, he’s still absolutely precious. And I can’t help my tiny grin, knowing that no matter the circumstances, I was just blessed with a rare sight — and by God, when you’re lucky enough to spot a mermaid, riding a fucking unicorn, you cherish it.

And then you snap out of it.

“No, just me and you; Double Trouble. Kinda our thing.” I smile and scoot my seat closer to him, taking his hand. “And I’m not kidding when I say, I’m good if you are. As in, we can stop now and pretend this never happened. Not every little thing calls for a Come to Jesus.”

He shoots me an arched-brow side-eye and scoffs, “That’s my girl, never acting like one, but, I’m thinkin’ this is a biggie, princess.”

I nod, and resolve myself to the fact this is happening. Right now. Really though… fucking Sutton.

“So, you’re angry with me. I understand, but let-”

“What?” I interrupt unknowingly, my head shaking itself. “No, not at all. Why would I be angry with you?”

“Uh…”

Okay, this version of him I recognize. Years of eating his own foot has him trained — never answer a woman’s question for her — let her tell you how you’re “off,” lest you accidentally dig yourself deeper.

“Go ahead, Dad,” I simper a bit, “there’s no wrong answer. Promise.”

“I figured, and it’d be well within your right, that you’re mad at me, us, for never telling you… things.”

My shoulder’s hitched before I can do it myself. “I’m not.”

“No? I’d damn sure understand if ya were, and yeah, maybe I shoulda told ya, and I’m not making excuses, I’ll take whatever I got comin’, but honestly, Princess, after a while, I just forgot. Not about tellin’ ya; I mean, I forgot it. Period. Actually, forgot isn’t the right word either. I just, well… it’s not a fuckin’ thing. It’s just, not. Never was. I don’t, have never, and won’t ever, acknowledge whatever bullshit version of, whatever, some people may think they think they know, and whoever the hell-”

“Daddy!” I grab his shoulder and jerk, hard, stopping him shy of a brain aneurysm. “Nobody told me anything, and again, I’m not mad about that.”

He’s still heaving, catching his breath, but manages to wheeze, “Then what are you mad about? And how’d you find out, ya know, about whatever pretend horseshit?”

“I’m not mad about anything. I’m just sorry; for what it cost you, and Mom, but especially you.”

“Cost me? What’re you talking about?”

“A child of your own, really made up of you, biologically. Maybe even a son, that looked like you, walked and talked like you; your mini-me. I heard them, talking, through the vent. I know how much you and Mom sacrificed, and I’m so sorry, Daddy. I swear though, I never take it for granted. That’s why, that’s why Sutton and I…” I have to stop and swallow so he won’t hear the agony threatening to choke me, “I can’t give him all he deserves without getting what I don’t. I’d die before slapping you and Mom in the face like that.”

He shoots up out of his chair, knocking it over, and starts pacing the deck, only slowing long enough to rear a leg back and send a now shattered flower pot flying through the air. “You heard who talking, through what vent, when, saying what exactly?” he roars, hands folded behind his neck as he quickens his pacing.

“Aunt Laney always hid the Christmas presents in the very back of her closet; and as unluck would have it, once you pull out all the presents, you uncover the big vent in the wall. The same wall that connects to the family room, where it turns out, Mom and all of the aunts go to have their top-secret discussions.”

He stops cold and stares at me. “How old were you?”

I shrug and look away, the ground an easier audience. “Around nine, give or take a year.”

“Shit,” he groans. “Way too little. Way too long ago. Wish you woulda come to me then. Need to tell me now though, Princess… what’d you hear?”

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