Page 107 of Take Me Home

He dropped his face into his hands, shaking his head slowly back and forth, and she wasn’t sure if he was about to laugh or cry, both unnerving options. “Of course—” he said sharply. He drew in a long breath, controlled his voice. “Of course I was worried. Ever since you left the party. We went home as soon as we realized you’d taken off, and all your stuff was gone. No note. You didn’t answer any of my calls. By the time I tracked down your friend’s number, you’d left there, too.”

Ash.Her insides twisted. That he’d had to explain her absence, or cover for her, or just deal with her baggage, yet again…

“First word I hear from you, you’re five hours away in the middle of nowhere. Worried is a goddamned understatement, kiddo.”

Hazel swallowed loudly. “Sorry. I didn’t realize.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to see there’s a lot you don’t realize. That’s my fault.” He wiped his palms down his thighs and patted his knees absently. Her father could stand completely still on camera and look natural, had trained away his nervous tics for his job, but he was miles away from his TV personality now, fidgeting in joggers and mud-caked tennis shoes, hair uncombed. He looked ten years older.

“I don’t know how to…” He shook his head, set his jaw, and looked her in the eye. “I should have been calling you more. I should have come to those parents’ weekends.”

Hazel picked at the seam of the comforter under her.

“I don’t want to excuse anything. I should have pushed my way in. You just never seemed to—”

He looked up to the ceiling, tried again. “When you were little, your mom was the one who knew what you liked to eat, your favorite books, which stuffed animal you needed to sleep. When she left, I didn’t know the simplest things about taking care of you. I was a wreck, Hazel. But not you. You handled it all so well. That counselor at your school told me you were adjusting great, better than expected. I couldn’t even cook a decent meal. What I wanted seemed…”

Emotion surged in her chest. “What did you want?”

He lifted a shoulder, a painfully helpless gesture. “I had a lot to process that first year. I wish I’d handled it better. By the time I started to come out of that place, I realized things were different between you and me—distant. I didn’t know how to get back in. I didn’t want to disrupt your life more than I already had—my job, my failure with your mom.”

That wording,my failure with your mom, didn’t sit right. Her mother had made plenty of mistakes, too.

But it was another part of his speech that she latched on to. He didn’t know how to get into what? Her life? She was right there, through a single, unlocked door in his own home. He was the one who hadn’t come in.

“I thought I’d have more time to figure it out. It was years, I know. But they passed so quickly. Then, when you went to college, it really was too late. You were all the way across the state, this totally independent person. Not like you needed me for much by then. I didn’t blame you for never wanting to come back. And now…” He scratched his neck, his face full of regret.

Hazel studied the muted, gray wallpaper behind him, sinuses burning, hands clenching the comforter so tightly her knuckles hurt.

“Go ahead,” he said.

She shook her head, barely unclenched her teeth to say, “Go ahead and what?”

He gave her a sad smile. “I can take it, kiddo.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yep.”

“Okay.” She pushed up and paced across the dingy, threadbare carpet. “Okay, fine. You should have tried sooner, or harder. I couldn’t change that Mom was gone. I accepted it. But you werethere. Only, really, you weren’t.” Her heartbeat galloped in her ears. Her hands shook, palms sticky with sweat. Getting the words out made her feel sick. “So, I went to college, and you figured that was it, huh? Then they came along, and you got a do-over? I’m not really sure why you asked me to come home. Aren’t I just a reminder of everything you did wrong? Don’t I ruin the perfect picture of your life now?”

She whirled around to face him, tears spilling hot down her cheeks. She drew in a big breath to keep going, but the sight of him stopped her. He was looking right at her, not hiding from her criticism or fidgeting in discomfort, just taking it, even though his eyes were red and glassy and full of raw anguish. His lips trembled, and he pressed them closed. She had never seen him look so fragile.

“I’m sorry,” he said gruffly, not bothering to wipe his eyes. He opened his palms on his knees. “You don’t ruin anything.Imessed up. I’m so damn sorry, honey.”

Hazel sank back down onto the edge of the bed. She wiped her sweater sleeve across her face and blew out a shaky breath. She felt heavy and tired and, despite everything he’d said, confused. “Why was it so hard to love me?”

“No,” he croaked. “Look at me. That was never the case.”

“Then, what?”

Her father pulled two tissues from the box on the nightstand and finally blotted his face with one, passing her the other. “It wasn’t your fault. When your mom left, I was ashamed. I couldn’t give her what she needed. I failed with her. And worse, my failure didn’t only devastate me. It was my faultyoulost her, too. I knew by the time I came around and tried to fix my mistakes, you might have some resentments. I understood why you were harder to reach. My therapist insisted it was just preteen moodiness and I should keep trying, but I didn’t want to upset you just to get what I needed.”

Hazel frowned. “I was moody?”

“Now I know a little better what’s normal.” He didn’t mention Lucy, but Hazel read the omission. “I should have encouraged you to decorate your room. Didn’t realize how important a bedroom is to a girl that age. You spent every minute in there. I thought—”

“I didn’t want to be with you?”

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