Page 78 of Crashing Waves

Maybe he’ll feel sorry for me.

Jesus, was that what I wanted? For my father to take pity on me? I would’ve preferred respect, but I guessed pity would be better than him despising me.

I clenched my jaw and balled my hands into fists as the song changed from Elvis’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love” to Eric Clapton’s “Wonderful Tonight.” A memory of a woman with reddish-blonde hair came to mind.

Melanie.

Her soft lips.Kissable. Her kind, sparkling blue eyes. Her melodic voice and sweet, sweet laugh. I had wanted to dance with her to this song, playing over the jukebox. I had wanted … fuck, I had wanted so much from that night, and years later, I still couldn’t shake the unanswerable question of,What if things had been different?

What if she hadn’t had a boyfriend? What if I hadn’t been just passing through?

I didn’t know why I still remembered that one inconsequential night so vividly or why I felt such a prominent ache deep in the pit of my chest at the thought of her, but I did, even if for only a moment. I lingered in it,drownedin it, wishing I had danced with her anyway. Kissed her anyway. Told her how I felt anyway because maybe she felt the same. Maybe she would’ve called her boyfriend, told him it was over, told him she’d fallen madly in love with a sergeant from Massachusetts, and everything—every little fucking thing—could’ve been different …

I lifted my head from the memory of the heartbreaking longing in those blue eyes. I saw her vividly now, in my mind’s eye, as if I’d just seen her yesterday. I wanted to go back there. Iyearnedfor her. I stared at her memory, wishing I could wish her into reality, until I blinked again, and then …

All I could see washim.

Dad.

His fifties had barely touched him, it seemed, with only his temples showcasing a little more white than before. He kept his eyes forward, unseeing, and his mouthwas in a straight, terse line. He wasn’t happy. No, he wasn’t happy about this at all—but, dammit, he hadcome. Oh my God, he had shown up for my sister on her wedding day, but when I had needed a ride from the airport, the sorry bastard had hung up the fucking phone, and, oh my fuckingGod, he washere!

A terrible rage and sorrow pressed aggressively to my chest, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from charging at him with fists swinging. I wanted to break him. I wanted to swing blow after blow against his ears until he couldn’t hear anymore either.

But then there was Ricky, laying a hand over my shoulder, his touch somehow grounding me. I turned to him, and in his eyes, I saw my old best friend. One of the few people who had known what an awful, cruel, unforgiving man my father was.

“You good?” he asked quietly.

I just knew if I said no, he would do something extreme. Something that would maybe ruin this day for him and my sister.

I tamped down my anger with a swallow. “Yeah. I’m good.”

He narrowed his eyes with a doubtful, knowing look. “You sure?”

I flicked my gaze in the direction of my father and saw him looking right back at me. I resisted the urge to flinch under his scrutiny and looked back at Ricky.

“It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

“I think I speak for all of us when I say, I’m starting to think you’re lying every single time you say that.”

I talked my lips into smiling as I turned away with a roll of my eyes toward the sky overhead. “Shut up and get married.”

A smattering of fluffy white clouds hung above us, encircling the sun. Bob Ross would’ve called them happy little clouds, and they were. A picturesque sky, making a beautiful backdrop for the wedding photos that would undoubtedly make their way to walls and albums to be looked at over and over again. It was a blessing, when the night before had been filled with thunderstorms. I was certain they’d carry into today to ruin the outdoor ceremony. But they didn’t, and I’d taken it as a good omen. But now, with my father steadily approaching, I realized I didn’t need black clouds in the sky to tarnish the day. I just needed that man to look in my direction, and even when I was thirty fucking years old, my thundering heart couldn’t find a steady rhythm.

“Who gives this woman to be married to this man?” the officiant asked.

My father was slow to answer, and when I dared to glance at him, I saw the look of smug satisfaction. Any bit of control, any way he could find to bring the attention back to him, he was going to hold on to it for as long as he could. Even on a day that wasn’t at all about him.

“I do,” he finally replied.

The officiant said something, and then Ricky reached out to take Lucy’s hand. She laid her palm over his and took a step, but my father had yet to release the hold he had on her arm. She turned to look at him, and with a smirk on his lizard-like lips, he leaned in to kiss her on the cheek.

“I love you, Daddy,” I heard Lucy whisper.

Acid rose up my throat at the proclamation. But what was worse came after.

“I love you too,” he replied just as quietly, but, oh, I heard, despite my diagnosis, and my lungs tripped through a torturous series of breaths as Lucy came to stand beside her groom and my father went to take a seat beside my mother.

Mymother. The woman who couldn’t be bothered to say goodbye to me before heading off to war. The woman who hadn’t seen me in years. She was here now though, all dolled up and looking every bit as beautiful as the day she herself had gotten married.

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