Page 142 of All Too Well
I loved every damn second of it, while Cas just wanted to hang at the bars with the musicians.
“This isn’t the same thing.”
“No shit. This time it’s about you.”
I grumble. “Did you call to yell at me?”
“Pretty much.”
“Are you done?”
“Not even a little bit. You and Ainsley will figure your shit out. I have faith in her to fix your ass, but ... I’ve let this shit with your dad go because I get it. Fathers and sons are complicated. Lord knows my relationship with the Admiral is fucked, but your dad cares, dude. He’s tried and wants a relationship that isn’t about making you into the son he always wanted. You already are that. Also, he loved your mother, and I know that you went through absolute hell, but what if you’re missing something? What if you don’t know the whole truth, Lachlan? What would happen if your entire foundation has been built on sand instead of concrete?”
“Thank you, Dr. Phil, for your unsolicited advice. I appreciate what you’re saying, but I have a tractor trailer’s worth of issues regarding my father.”
“Then it’s time to unload, Lachlan, because you’re carrying too much weight.”
The fucker hangs up before I can say another word.
I’m sitting in my truck outside my father’s house, not even sure what the hell possessed me to get my keys, call Delaney to stay with Rose, and head here.
I take that back. I know what possessed me—Caspian.
However, after we hung up, I cursed him to hell. I thoughtabout the absolute shit he said to me. I’m not a fucking kid. I was there. I saw her spiral and waste away.
Then I thought about the possibility that he was right. What if I don’t know everything?
What if with everything I’ve done my entire fucking adult life, I was missing something, and now I might miss everything?
I kept circling the fact that I assumed Ainsley would be like my mother if she gave up anything for me. That she’d be unhappy, in a place she doesn’t want to be, wishing she’d chosen another life.
The only person who can answer any of this is sitting in the living room, reading in his chair.
I knock twice, and my father opens the door, stepping back with wide eyes when he sees me.
“Lachlan. Is everything okay?”
“Why did Mom give up and choose not to fight the cancer?” I spit the words out before we can talk about the weather or Rose or anything else.
My dad’s hand is gripping the edge of the door. “Is that really the question you’re asking?”
“I need to know why she gave up. I need to know how she could just think her life was worthless and the people around her weren’t going to suffer because of it.”
His hand drops and he steps back, opening the door more. “Come in.”
I haven’t been in this house since the day she died.
I look at the wood floors that I walked on for most of my life. The fifth floorboard on the right will creak if you step on it. All the memories, the way she’d laugh and chase me around with whipped cream on her spoon, the stain still there from the spot we missed.
My feet cross the threshold, and I follow Dad into the kitchen.
“Do you want something to drink?”
“I’m good.”
He nods once, and then we both sit at the table.
“Before we get into things, I wanted to thank you for bringing Rose over. It meant a lot to me.”
