Page 166 of Come Apart
But I am an adult.
However awful he is, however much I hate him, however good it might feel, it does me no good to hit him.
Yes, Alyssa would have been mine so much sooner if he hadn't fucked with her so royally.
But she's also not mine right now. And Ryan had nothing to do with it.
I have to take responsibility for my decisions and my mistakes.
This time, I was the one who hurt Alyssa.
But I'm not going to wallow. I'm going to make it up to her.
"I didn't know who else to call. Mr. Lawrence sometimes has lunch with a college friend—a Mark—but he lives in New York."
"It's okay."
My heart thuds in my chest. It's Alyssa.
Fuck. She isn't going to like this. She's got some silly idea that I'm holding on to the past.
Ridiculous, I know.
The door to the office opens. Even now, even though we're separated, she's still a beam of light in my gray existence.
She has pity in her eyes. And a good dose of irritation. This really wasn't for her. It was for me—because I hate that fucker and his stupid face. It's not just because he hurt her, but because he rubbed me raw, because I had to see his ugly face every day for three years. Because I have to see every asshole he represents—another fucker who ruined his wife's life, who took away everything that ever mattered to her and tried to take away her kids and house too.
I hate him because he is my asshole father, only thirty years younger and infinitely less charismatic. I've held on to that pain too long, until it festered inside me. It hasn't done me a bit of good.
There's no sense in holding on to anything that isn't Alyssa.
She looks me over, shaking her head.
"I thought I was the one with issues." "I was defending your honor."
"Uh-huh."
Clearly not buying it. She eyes me almost clinically. "Did he at least start it?"
"It depends on your definition of ‘start it.’"
She sighs. "What the hell am I going to do with you?"
"Kiss me."
"Ha!" She gives me a look. "Come on—let's get out of here you idiot." I hold her gaze. "I love you."
"I know.” She rolls her eyes. "But I really don't know what I'm going to do with you."
"I don't care about anything but being with you."
"Your black eye disagrees," she points out.
"My fist cares about smashing Ryan's face. But you can hardly blame me for that."
She laughs. Grudgingly, but she does.
"Come on," she repeats, turning around and walking out of my office. "I'll take you home."
