Page 9 of The Prodigal

I turn to leave—to light up a cigarette until the emotion disappears, but my father appears behind me, blocking my escape. “Take a breath, Remington.” He puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes, letting me know that I’m not going anywhere unless I want to make my mother cry.

Honestly, I’ve avoided this for as long as I could. I’ve ignored my parents’ pleas to stay with them and not live with Vance too many times. They’ve given me space. They’ve been patient. And now they’re done.

I can’t say I blame them.

I’ve been epically shitty at avoiding the fact that I have a home.

Because that would mean thatshewas right.

I was home.

I found my peace.

And just like before, it’s being ripped away from me all because ofhim.

“Breathe, son.” It’s not a suggestion, especially when his eyes offer me a sad understanding. “Then let your mother show you around.” My father—as much as I hate it—is a good man. He’s everything I would have wanted in a father, and one day, he’ll get the opportunity to start over with a child who won’t keep secrets from him like I am.

Finding my strength, I swallow down the emotion and flash him a grin. “I bet you let her drag you to the store and pick out the wallpaper.”

It’s not a thank you, but my father understands my way of expressing gratitude and matches my energy without missing a beat. “I did. I also let her talk me into trying out the mattress.” He grins, and my stomach turns. “You won’t have a problem with yours. It’s firm and holds up through rigorous movement.”

I groan, actually sucking in a decent-sized breath.

“He’s joking,” my mom rushes out, swiping under her eyes. “We would never do that.”

Everything about her splotchy face makes me want to bolt, but she deserves better, so I clear my throat and nod, taking the first step inside my room.

I promised her I wouldtryto stop smoking.

Trybeing the operative word here.

I don’t remember what it’s like not to smoke. I especially don’t remember what it’s like to fight the memories alone.

Honestly, I don’t know if I can, but I promised to try—even if she tricked me into that stupid deal.

How was I supposed to walk away from the first real room I’d ever had?

The answer was I couldn’t.

Instead, I took out my pent-up aggression on my father, forcing him to sing happy birthday to me in front of his brothers.

I’ll admit, seeing his red face and tense shoulders helped a little, but not as much as a cigarette would have.

“Since when do you ask for aquarium tickets for your fake birthday?”

I look up from my phone and cock a brow at my father. “Just because you prefer a mattress store to get your dick wet, doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t enjoy a little romp against the fish tank every once in a while. To each his own, right?” I almost laugh when he scrunches his face like he’s seconds from bolting from this little bonding session on the sofa.

“You’re lying,” he says, seeming to recover quickly.

I shrug. “Maybe, but you aren’t sure, now, are you?” Seeing how the tickets were a gift from him and Ray after I “accidentally” admitted how I’ve always wanted to go. But, unlike my mother’s innocent heart, my father isn’t so easily swayed. He’s been a suspicious pain in my ass for months.

“How about Ray and I go with you?”

I laugh. “Don’t get cute, Dr. Drab. I’m not going to suddenly spill my guts next to the sea lion habitat. You know I require a little more foreplay than that.”

He flashes me this intense look that gives me pause. “Whatever you’re up to, I will figure it out. You’re not in this alone anymore. I want you to know that in case you’re thinking of doing something stupid.” Like running, he means.

But I’m not running.

---