Page 83 of Fall onto me

It wasn’t Grace that had history with Wes, it was her.

No number of questions unrelated to that fact will help the hole that just ripped into my heart.

Finally, I look at him.

Wes is still rooted in place. He looks me over, different than usual. This is a head-to-toe realization that the girl he’s been around so much is his daughter, and he, my father.

“Car, please,” he whispers to her, not taking his eyes from me. “Please don’t tell me when you left …” His ocean eyes are brimming with tears. “You were pregnant?”

She walks towards him slowly, on shaky legs that can’t seem to catch a rhythm. “I was so in love with you, Wes, but love doesn’t put a roof over someone’s head.”

Now, he looks right at her. “It wasn’t your right!” For the first time, I see him lose control. He peers around the room. “My daughter …” Then he looks at me. “My daughter was subjected to abuse in this home.”

“I needed more out of life, back then,” she admits.

“You always wanted more.”

“I thought it was the answer, but I was wrong. If it makes you feel any better, it was hell.”

“It doesn’t,” he scoffs. “It doesn’t at all. I thought you just wanted more. I thought you left to start a life with a man who you loved. I could die knowing you were okay, living on the sparkling side of town, because you were happy!” Wes turns his attention to me. “If I would have known …” His voice cracks. “God, if I would have known.”

I wrap myself into his arms, feeling the love of a father for the first time in my life. It makes me revert to my childhood, to moments missed with him. He’s the type of guy who would have taught me to ride a bike, not hired someone to do it. When my dad was too busy with paperwork to teach me the small life lessons I so desperately wanted from him, Wes would have stepped up and done it all.

I wish I could say I forgive my mom, and I do for most things. But this? I don’t know if I can. “I was invisible to the world,” she cries.

“You weren’t invisible to me, Car.” Wes says, burying his face in my hair. “I saw you … I saw you,” he croaks.

“Can you go pack her stuff?” I say without emotion, unable to deal with anything but us all leaving here right now. I have to ignore my anger to keep us all safe. “Foster, help him.”

“I’m stay—”

With as much grit and less anger, I say, “Help him. Go get her things.”

They both walk away, hurrying up the stairs and down the corridor to give us a moment alone. “Come on,” I tell her, holding out my hand.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. Thick tears make rivers of mascara that flow down her face as I help her up.

“We’ll focus on this later. We need to get something.”

Foster and Wes are powering through her closet, grabbing important clothing and essentials and shoving them into designer luggage while we tear through my not-so-father’s office.

Her hands are shaking as she pulls open another drawer. “What are we looking for?”

“Your prenup.”

She sighs, “It’s airtight. I won’t get anything.” She looks up at me, her perfect hair tangled from running her hands through it. “I don’t want anything but for you to get out of here.”

I shake my head; he won’t take anymore from us. I may be pissed at her right now, but the ramifications of leaving here empty handed will destroy any chance of a future she may have. “You can’t be left with nothing.”

She starts piecing through the folders. “I was scared that you wouldn’t be okay,” she whispers.

“I don’t want to talk about this right now,” I reply.

“What will finding the prenuptial agreement do?”

“It will give us time; we can bring it to a lawyer. If Kent has the only copy, we have no way of finding a gray area.”

“There are no gray areas. She doesn’t have any fucking right to my money.” Kent is here, standing in the doorway and fixing his cuffs. Jail hasn’t done him well. His hair is disheveled, a few bruises line his jaw, he looks withered and downtrodden.

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