Page 132 of The Mating Game
I nod morosely, wishing the same thing.
“But I do know this,” Dad says. “Love is rarely simple. It’s not always like the storybooks or the movies. Love is damn hard. Wedon’t always meet our person at the perfect moment, and we don’t always get the ending we thought we would.” He chuckles softly. “Trust me, I know. I’ve thought about endings a lot lately.”
“Don’t say that,” I say, my voice tight. “You’re going to be fine.”
“Maybe I will,” he says. “Maybe I’ll get that pacemaker and last another fifty years, or maybe tomorrow I’ll be a hit by a bus. No one can know for sure.”
“If you’re trying to cheer me up,” I say, my voice breaking, “you’re doing a terrible job.”
“My point is,” he goes on, “you gotta take what happiness you canwhenyou can. There’s only so much of it in this world, and when you find something good, you gotta hold on to it real tight and not let it go. Because tomorrow isn’t guaranteed, hon, and happiness doesn’t deal in what-ifs.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying if you care about this man of yours, you should tell him that.”
“I don’t want him to feel like he has to—”
“If youdon’ttell him,” Dad stresses, “you’ll regret it forever. Because, Tess? Take it from someone who’s had to stare death in the face.” He squeezes my hand. “There’s no greater ache than the words we don’t say. They’re what haunts us forever, you hear?”
I press the heel of my hand to my eye, stanching the tears there. “I don’t remember you being so poetic.”
“Yeah, well. You live as much life as I’ve had to live these past few years…you start looking at things differently.” He gives my hand another squeeze. “You gonna think about what I said?”
“I’ll…think about it,” I agree warily. Even if I’m not sure telling Hunter would do us any good.
“That’s great.” He pats my knee. “And, hon? I’m so proud ofyou. It’s one of those things I don’t say nearly enough. You really have spent your whole life taking care of us in one way or another, and I want you to know I see that. I just wish someone could take care of you for a change.”
Someone did, I don’t say.
“Now,” Dad goes on. “How about some coffee? We could slip a little whiskey in and celebrate.”
“You know damn well you shouldn’t be drinking,” I scold.
He raises his hands placatingly. “Worth a shot, I guess. Besides, didn’t you hear? Practically getting a new heart, it seems like.” He winks at me. “Got my daughter to thank for that.”
I give him a watery grin, shaking my head. “Go make the coffee.”
“Can do, kiddo, can do.”
I watch him shuffle off into the kitchen, mulling over everything he’s said. I really didn’t mean to spill my guts like I did, but my dad has a way of seeing right through me like no one ever has. I’ve never been very good at hiding things from him. It’s a wonder I kept the HGTV thing a secret for so long without caving.
I lean back into the couch as I wipe my eyes, trying to focus on all the good that happened today. Trying not to think about everything I may have to give up because of it. I know I was right when I told my dad that Hunter is tied to that lodge, that there’s nothing on earth that could make him leave it—and how could I ask him to? Not after everything he’s suffered.
Maybe it’s just one of those things that’s not in the cards. Maybe we didn’t meet each other at the right time. I can’t even say if telling him how I feel would do anything but cause him heartbreak, and deep down, I don’t know if I’ll be able to bring myself to do that tohim. I almost think it would be better to keep it all inside, if only to protect him.
You really have spent your whole life taking care of us in one way or another…I just wish someone could take care of you for a change.
I laugh scornfully under my breath.
Seems my dad was right.
A knock at the door makes me sit up, and I can still hear my dad moving around in the kitchen, so I holler at him that I’ll get it as I rise from the couch, wondering if maybe Mom forgot her keys again and came home early. That thought makes me wince, because there really is a good chance she’ll whoop my ass when I tell her the things I’ve been keeping from her.
God, I wonder if I can hide all the shifter stuff until I’m dead. That would be ideal.
I reach the door and wrap my fingers around the handle, preparing myself for one of her bear hugs that nearly crush me, already opening my mouth to explain my being here when I pull the door wide.
And then I freeze, shock trickling through me when I see who’s on the other side—sticking out like a sore thumb in the California sunshine with his beanie and his flannel and his larger-than-life presence, because how on earth is hehere?
