Page 85 of Winning the Nightcap

Aiden

“Okay, truth,” Bec mumbles from behind the rim of her wine glass. She’s bundled in a blanket as we sit in a pair of Adirondack chairs on the second story deck just outside the wall of windows of the small cabin. The sky is clear, showcasing the light of the stars and moon from above. We lit the fire pit in the center of the patio table and the warm glow from the flames dances across Bec’s skin.

“What’s your favorite dessert?”

“Ugh, Aiden. The point of the game is to distract us from being hungry, not make me hungrier,” she whines.

We finished her snacks hours ago, and since neither of us is desperate enough to eat the dish I ruined, we’ve filled up on wine since the snacks ran out.

“I won’t know what dish to ruin next if you don’t tell me your favorite.”

“Didn’t you say you used to cook with your mom all the time growing up? I thought you had skills or something.”

“I thought I did too,” I say with a laugh. “My memory must be fucked. I bet my mom spent more time in the kitchen fixing mymistakes than I realized.”

“All right, fine…brownies. All brownies, even the easy box mixes. You can’t mess that up at least.”

“It’s cute that you think that’ll make it harder for me to fail. Also, do I need to remind you of what happened to the birthday cake you made me? You know, the one with the crater in the middle. I believe that was also a box mix, right? Those can be just as challenging.”

“I have no defense. I was really humbled by that damn cake. On second thought, maybe we need to promise each other we’ll only get desserts from a bakery or something.”

“Deal,” I say in agreement.

“Okay, Price. Truth or Dare?”

“Truth.”

“Awe, too scared to dare?” she asks.

“No, too cold to risk anything that requires me to get out from under this blanket. I think my nipples are harder than a mannequin’s right now.”

“You’ve gotten comfortable mixing up the dirty talk,” she says.

“I like to keep you guessing. Okay, Miller. Hit me with a question.”

“I want to put a disclaimer here…you don’t have to answer this one if you don’t want to. No penalties.”

“Oookay?” I say, confused about the direction she’s about to take this conversation.

“Do you…do you speak to your dad?” she asks, hesitation clear on her face.

My face falls. Of all the questions she could ask, I didn’t expect one about my father. Pain pulses in my chest at the thought of having to share more about this part of my life, but if I want Bec to be honest with me, I know I need to reciprocate.

“No, I don’t.” Letting out a heavy sigh, I go on. “It’s hard to talk about.”

“I’m sorry. You don’t need to say anything else. I shouldn’t pry. It’s just…your mom and sister are so wonderful. And with everything you’ve told me, I know the three of you have overcome so much. You’ve managed to be there for each other through it all while still accomplishing so much. I was wondering if he had any place in your life now.”

“Hey, it’s okay. Don’t feel bad about asking, really. It’s understandable that you’d have questions.” I look away, not sure if I can manage to share all that I want to if I were to watch Bec’s reactions, so I just look into the fire instead.

“My father was…angry. He never physically harmed us, but he made people hurt in other ways. I think my mom knew…knew that it was only a matter of time before his emotional outbursts escalated, and she wasn’t going to stick around for that. He made it difficult. He limited her access to their finances and refused to cooperate in the divorce process for the longest time. She made huge sacrifices getting us out of that environment, and I’ve never wanted to go back knowing all that waited for me was pain. I haven’t talked to him since I was drafted. That’s the last time he reached out. It felt like a convenient time for him to want to reconnect and it was clear from our conversation that he hasn’t changed since he and Mom separated.”

“I’m sorry. I think it was really strong of you to hold that boundary. It sounds like he hasn’t done the work on himself that would warrant more of a relationship to be built between the two of you. Not that you’d owe him that even if he did.”

“It’s not easy. There’s always that small part of me that wishes I knew what it was like to have my dad in my life. Then I felt guilty for missing someone like that. Or maybe it was the idea of someone…who I wished my father could be,” I say.

I know there will always be a part of me that wishes my father was the kind of man I wanted to be involved in my life, the kind of fatherwho deserved that recognition and my time, but he isn’t, and that’s up to him to change, not me.

“When we first left, I was afraid for so long that he’d turn up at our front door. I was young, but when we left home, when we moved out, it all became so real, and even my young mind felt like I needed to take care of Mom and Evie. Mom never wanted that, neither did Evie, and when I pushed for control so that I could feel like I was protecting them, they made it clear that we weren’t going to operate like that as a family. So we didn’t, but the drive, the impulse to protect the people I care about is still there and it can come across as overbearing. I started to feel like I would turn into him. Like my need to control everything around me was close, too close, to the way he needed to control everyone around him.”

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