Page 92 of The Step Dare

Heat flares in my chest. “Don’t even say her name.” Given how chill I normally am, I’m shocked at the hostility in my tone and all this pent-up rage.

He takes a breath, raising his hands in surrender. “There were obviously things happening behind the scenes that you never knew about. And I never would have said anything disparaging about your mother. It wouldn’t have been appropriate.”

“You tried to convince me she was turning me against you plenty of times. Was that appropriate? Was it appropriate to make that comment about Aria?”

His gaze sinks to the table. “We all make mistakes, and that is one I regret every day. But you’re an adult now, and surely you realize you can’t define a relationship by one incident.”

The fury he stirred mentioning Mom’s name intensifies, burning like he fucking ignited something behind my rib cage.

“Oneincident?”

“That is what it’s always been about. I remember how you snapped. And I remember how Nicole jumped on the chance to turn you against me.”

The heat in my chest spikes so quickly, I can hardly think straight. “What are you talking about? You think I don’t remember all the incidents before that? You think I didn’t hear the little digs? Telling her she’d made dinner wrong? Or the bad example she was setting for me? Or the way you’d happen to mention how nice some of the women you knew looked because they were taking care of themselves. How she was letting herself go. Calling her stupid. Those were just the things you said in front of me, so I can’t even begin to imagine what you were saying when it was just the two of you.”

The way he’s glancing around the diner, I can tell he’s more concerned about people noticing the spectacle I’m making than about the things he said to Mom.

When he refocuses on me, he says, “How is this all coming up just now? Where has this been when you were younger?”

“I didn’t have to say anything back then because you knew what it was all about. Just like you know why you really came here. And it has nothing to do with making amends with me or Mom. It’s the same game. You want to control her like you did back then. And me.”

I hate myself for how I’m tearing up. I wish I didn’t have any emotion, wish I could hate him so much that I wouldn’t feel or show this, but I can’t help what I’ve pushed down for so long.

“I’m just an object to you,” I say. “I was always someone you could use to control her more. It’s the only reason you wanted custody. It’s the only reason you dragged us through hell to get it.”

“I wanted to know my son.”

“Then why didn’t you try to know him when you won?”

He remains silent, his gaze shifting about like he’s trying to come up with an answer.

“You had years to convince me you were a decent guy, but you never did because you knew I saw the real you. And youcan sit here playing this same character I saw you play before the judge and to every social worker we dealt with, but I’m not buying it.”

He’s quiet, once again, like back then, knowing the jig is up. There’s no hiding behind the bullshit anymore.

Another burst of rage pulses through me.

This one surprises me, though. Because it’s not the anger I’m used to when I think about him for what he did to our family. It’s something deeper. Something that stings at a wound I haven’t even let myself acknowledge.

“Do you even care?” I ask, my voice softer, and as he opens his mouth to reply, I say, “Don’t answer that. But when this conversation is over, I want you to remember that the first words out of your mouth when you saw me were explanations about why you were here. And about how happy you were to see me, but you didn’t ask about me or my life. Did you know I’m seeing someone right now?”

He shakes his head. “Obviously, we haven’t had time to discuss anything that’s going on in your life, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”

“It’s a guy too,” I spit out, “and I don’t even think you’d be queerphobic about it because you had plenty of queer friends, but even if you were, I wouldn’t give a fuck. I feel nothing about your opinion of what I do. And you actually know him too. It’s Bren. From high school. And he…fuck, he’s one of the parts of my life that lets me know that I don’t have to live in the hell I did back then. The reason I look forward to waking up in the morning. Because I know I’m gonna get to see him again. And we’re gonna laugh, and watch movies, play games, and go hang places and just enjoy our lives together. Because as far as I can tell, that’s all life is about. And I feel sorry for you. Because you could have been a part of all that. You could have been around for Thanksgivings and Christmases and birthdays. Mom will getto be a part of our lives because she gives a damn. But you only care about being a part of a family if it means squashing someone else’s happiness. Because I guess that’s how miserable you are.”

He stares at me, clearly in shock, then says, “I didn’t come here to mess anything up for your mother.”

There it is again.

“And just like that, you show your hand yet again,” I say, which earns a narrowed gaze. “Because after everything I just shared, a dad who gave a fuck wouldn’t have jumped in to save his own ass. He would have asked about Bren. He would have been hurt that he couldn’t be a part of my life. But you don’t care any more than you did back then.”

Again, I see that shift in his expression. Like he’s been caught.

“You know how much you hurt Mom, but I don’t think you realize how much you hurt me. You robbed me of a dad who could have been good to me and her. You robbed me of a dad who I could have jumped on the phone to tell about a project or a test I’d done well on. When I got the job I wanted or even just beat a level on a game. You could’ve been one of the first people I told about Bren. To tell you how he makes me feel, and how I can’t imagine a life without him. And to have that feeling of sharing my happiness with a dad who maybe even would have teared up knowing I found someone who can be as good to me as he was.”

The emotions coming up about Bren are surprising even me, but also speak to just how close we’ve become since we started seeing each other as more than friends.

I battle back tears. I don’t want the Piece of Shit to see me lose it, though I can feel them trying to break loose.

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