Page 140 of Tell Me When It's Over

Another sharp nod. “I’m sorry,” is all he says to the fading inquiry.

I swallow, not necessarily sad from the news considering I don’t even know his name, but still…hurt. Hurt that Mom never told me his name, or that I never got the chance to decide for myself if I wanted him in my life.

Until now.

Harry is giving me that.

“Consider it an apology gift.”

“I don’t need an apology,” I tell him honestly, withholding a sigh. I lean back against the seat, finally allowing myself to look out the window and watch the scenery pass.

The fact that the man who thought he’d fathered me for years is willing to give me what my mother never did tells me more than I need to know about him. “I don’t think there’s a point of me learning who he is. It wouldn’t make a difference,” I murmur, lips pressing together.

“He’s family.”

That makes me turn to face him. “So is Kyler, but you’ve always treated him more like an employee than a son.”

The man beside me blinks, a grayed eyebrow raising ever so slightly.

“I know it’s not my place,” I add, voice softer, hesitant. “But I never got to have a relationship with either of my parents, and Kyler has both of his. It’d be a shame if you didn’t treat him with the respect he deserves and miss out on what a wonderful person he is.”

Again, he’s silent.

I lift a shoulder, knowing there’s nothing more I can say on the matter. “Thank you for looking up my…for finding out who my biological dad is.”

He clears his throat. “You’re sure you don’t want to know?” Nodding, I fold my hands into my lap while he studies me. “For the record, I respect my son far more than he thinks. I have a shitty way of showing it.”

My brows go up.

“I know I’m hard on him, but he’s always had more in him than he’s allowed himself to show off. I only wanted the best for my son. Not for me, not for our name, but for him.”

This time, it’s me who’s quiet, and in the silence, he’s challenging me. I don’t fall for it, letting him get out what he needs to.

He doesn’t care if I believe him or not, but I do. I’ve never thought Harry was a horrible person. Disrespectful at times, but that’s just his personality. He’s blunt to a fault, no matter how hard his words are to hear.

Letting it go, I ask the only thing I want to know. The one thing that’s been on my mind since the day we left the Bishop manor in the rearview mirror, driving away to Mom’s untimely demise. “Did you love her?”

I can’t look up right away, but when I do, I see his throat bobbing as he looks anywhere but me. His jaw ticks, and with nothing more than his profile to go on, I’d say the man with a rock-solid demeanor is struggling. “As much as a man like myself can,” is all he offers me.

And it’s enough because I know Mom would have said the same thing.

When we finally get back to the house, Kyler and Gordy are already walking out of the door before I can step out of the car. Instantly, I’m wrapped in the arms of a man who smells like home, reminding me that this is worth it.

“Getting tired of me yet?” he teases, trying to lighten the mood.

I breathe him in, shaking my head and smiling despite the day’s events. “Never.”

When Harry follows us inside, it takes an awkward staring contest between the two Bishops while Gordy and I watch before the eldest one speaks up.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” he tells his youngest, sighing in a defeat I’ve never heard from him before. “I’m tired, son.”

The moment I realize I should let them talk one on one I pull back from Ky. It’s the low admission weaved with confidence that comes from the younger of the two that has me faltering by the staircase. “I’m fucking tired of it too,” Kyler murmurs, blowing out a breath. “You going to be good with this?”

I’m not sure what ‘this’ is since my back is to him, so I look over my shoulder to see Harry looking at me, while Kyler waits for an answer with arched brows.

All Harry says when he looks back at his son is, “You’re a Bishop. You’re going to love that girl even if I tell you not to.” There’s a pause, a minor shadow crossing Ky’s features, before his father adds, “Don’t screw it up, kid.”

I’ve learned by now, from the years of being around Harry in his many moods, that that’s as good as it’ll get.

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