Page 86 of Kiss Away Your Pain (Wounded Hearts 2)

The book in his lap, he pats my feet. “I want to show you something,” he says, clutching the book with his hand, but not opening it. “I — I’m an old-fashioned man.” A knowing smile warms his face as he shakes his head. “In my time, women weren’t encouraged to pursue their dreams.”

“I know, Dad. And I’m sorry I can’t be who you want me to be.”

“Et.” He cuts me off, holding up his hand, looking in my eyes. A hint of sadness sits in them. “I’m the one who is sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t more supportive of you and what you wanted.” His gaze drops, then he looks back up at me. “Time gives you perspective. I’m a stubborn man.” Another acknowledging smile spreads across his face. “I’m so proud of you and what you’ve made of yourself and your life, luce dei miei occhi.” The regret woven into his voice crushes me as a tear drops from his eye, traveling down into the crevices and up over the bumps of his weathered skin.

He’d never before used a term of endearment when talking to me. My heart splays open and falls apart simultaneously as tears threaten behind my eyes.

He opens the book in his lap, it’s a scrapbook. “I have all your pictures from when you were little and up through today, when I could find them in magazines.” His voice quivers as he looks down at the pictures in the book, touching a few of them, pride emanating from him. “Some are pictures I took of advertisements shot by you that were on billboards and signs in shops and malls. Your mom showed me how to use social media so I knew which ones were yours.” He flips cautiously through the pages, taking care with each turn. Pages and pages of pictures I’d taken, pictures he’d taken, and clippings from magazines, all taped into this raggedy scrapbook.

A myriad of emotions pummels me as he flips through the pages. A lump lodges in my throat as tears brim in the lower lids of my eyes. He must’ve collected these pictures for the last twenty years.

Looking me in the eyes once again, he reaches over and takes my hand in his. “I know I’ve never told you before, but I need you to know, Iamproud of you. Proud that you followed your dreams. Proud of the woman you’ve become.” He squeezes my hand gently. “I want you to beexactlywho you are. My feisty, driven, talented, tenacious girl. I don’t want you to be anyone else. I want what every parent wants, for you to be happy.” He tilts his head, raising his brows. “Are you happy?”

At that, I burst. Tears flow down my face as I hang my head. Holding my hand, he lets me cry. When I’ve pulled myself together, I tell him about Dom and Enzo and how twisted I am about it all.

“You can’t blame this man. It isn’t his fault. When your mom passed, I knew I’d never love another the way I loved her. No one has come along to sway that. You have many years ahead of you. You’re being given a chance to love again.” He pauses, narrowing his eyes. “Do you love him?”

The question holds the weight of osmium.

Without thought or doubt, my heart knows the answer.Yes.

Gravity tugs the corners of my mouth as I nod.

“Then let yourself love. Does he know how you feel?”

I sit, not knowing the answer. Have I let my fear mask my feelings for him?

“I don’t know,” I say, lifting my shoulders toward my ears.

“No one can know what’s in your heart unless you tell them. I know this, I learned the hard way. I should have told you what was inmyheart long ago.” Another squeeze of my hand. “Fight for him.” His gaze is more loving than any I’ve been on the receiving end of.

“Come, let’s get some rest.” He releases my hand, puts the scrapbook back on the shelf, and walks down the hall in his slippered feet to his bedroom.

I get washed up and lie in my childhood bed, replaying my dad’s words in my head. My entire life, I thought he hated me for the simple fact that I wasn’t a boy. I held such guilt that I couldn’t be who he wanted. I harbored resentment and anger that he couldn’t love me. And tonight, love swarmed my heart. His words, his scrapbook, his pride, his encouragement. Years of bitterness waning. Acceptance I’ve longed for.

This morning, he’s up before me. The bold scent of coffee wakes me. We spend the morning talking about his daily and weekly routines and what adjustments he’ll need to make. He and his next-door neighbor, Charlie, are good friends. Charlie called 911 when he slipped on his porch and fell. Dad said Charlie will be able to help with a few things until his wrist is healed.

Plans in place, meals in the freezer, he’s pretty well set.

“Thank you for coming to take care of me. I’ll be fine. Charlie will be able to help me.”

With my bags packed and at my feet, I stand at the door. “Promise you’ll call if you need me. I know it’s a long drive, but I can come back if you need me to.”

“I promise.” He leans forward and bows his head a bit. “You get back home safely and go find your love.” His lips draw into a smile.

“I will.”

He cages me in his one arm and kisses the top of my head. “I love you,” he says.

My heart swells, filling my rib cage, and I almost burst into tears again.

Releasing me, his hand remains on my shoulder as he gazes at me.

“I love you too, Dad.” I stretch up and kiss his wrinkled cheek.

Back in the car, I think about Dom and Enzo, searching my heart.

It’s time.

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