Page 37 of Hate To Love You

Just. Like. Apollo.

“No.” I one track that word on repeat from the doorway, where I’ve frozen. Still facing away. Because I can’t bear to turn around. I’m afraid of what’s going to come out next. “You didn’t. Not Apollo too.”

“I’m sorry, Pay. I asked him not to call you or write to you before he left. I said it would only hurt you past what you could bear. Your mom was already gone, and if he was leaving, then he didn’t need to cause you more pain.” Remorse. I’ve never, ever heard my father sound this close to defeat. He sounds like a stranger. The man who would do these things isn’t the parent I know.

“You didn’t think I was old enough to make that decision for myself?”

“You were just a little kid. You were in so much pain from losing your mom.”

“I didn’t have to lose her, though,” I bit back in response.

“She’s never been stable. She’s moved from place to place. And there were things you didn’t understand about your mom’s mental health.”

“I would never have had to live with her, Dad. I just wanted to hear from her. I needed her so badly. A visit, a card, a call…it wouldn’t have hurt. If you think it would have ruined my life or damaged me to hear from her, then I’m not sure your mind was in the right place either. Or your heart. What you did was cold and heartless. It was more about payback than about keeping me safe. I understand the motivation behind it, or at least half understand, but it didn’t have to continue for years. And certainly not Apollo. You punished him too. You might have wanted to protect me, and yes, it hurt to lose him, but it would have hurt a lot less to have been long-distance friends. I needed him. I needed my best friend, and I needed my mom.”

“They both would have let you down.”

I’ve never been someone who smashes things when I get angry. In fact, I’m not someone who usually gets angry at all. But right now? I’m angry enough to go full-on rage tornado. To be fair, I wouldn’t pull anything in this house apart. I wouldn’t slam a door in my own place, let alone in someone else’s home, but the thought is there in my mind. I imagine myself slamming something, breaking a dish, and yelling. It’s satisfying, even if it’s in my own head, which is pretty darn scary in itself.

I don’t want to be that person.

I still want a relationship with my dad because he’s my dad. He’s a father, but that never made anyone perfect. And my mom? I need to undo whatever it is that’s been done all these years, starting with that restraining order. I’m an adult now. All that’s left for me to do is to make my own decisions.

And Apollo?

Ever since I came out here, I’ve been punishing him for something he didn’t have any control over, either. He obeyed my dad, an adult he trusted. He listened to my Dad when he said it would cause me pain. He didn’t want that.

He came back. He tried to help us, tried to help me. He tried to give me a freaking house, which he built from my childhood dreams. He told me that he liked me as a kid. Maybe this was entirely about asking for my forgiveness in extreme, wild ways, but he doesn’t have anything to apologize for.

“Patience? Please don’t hate me. I’m sorry. I didn’t believe I was wrong, but I should have told you when you were eighteen.”

“You should have told me sooner.” My tone of voice is snappy. I need to get out of here, but I’m not going to leave things this way. I just can’t. It’s not an acceptance of his apology, which I believe is sincere, but it’s an acknowledgment that I’m going to think about it and will not punish him forever because I don’t want to destroy the rest of our lives. “You shouldn’t have done any of it. I just…I can’t go home with you now. I need time to think, time to undo this, and time to reach out to the people I’ve unknowingly hurt. You have the company to run. You’ve always done an incredible job, and your work truly does matter. I love every single person there. Just because I’m not there doesn’t mean it’s not important. It’s safe now, so please go back and do the amazing work you’ve always done.”

I can’t bear to look at Dad right now because I’m scared of what I’ll see. I don’t want to look at a broken man. It’s not a pride thing for me, but I want to salvage his. “We’ll say goodbye in the morning before you leave. I still love you. I’m always going to love you, and we’ll figure out a way to repair our relationship too. You’re always going to be my dad. That’s never going to change. I don’t need to find it in my heart to forgive you because I already do. I think the last thing you need is to be alone. I lost my best friend for years, and you have as well. I’m going to find a way to work it out, and I think you need to talk to John as well. Keep trying to talk. Don’t let it go. Don’t let him go because friendship matters. Sometimes, it’s all that keeps us going. The people we loved and still love matter.”

“Patience…”

“Goodnight, Dad. I think we just need to talk in the morning, okay?”

I think he knows I’ve been pushed about as far as I can be pushed. I’m trying to handle this with maturity and grace. But it doesn’t mean I’m not bloodied, horrified, deeply saddened, and steaming mad.

The tension in the room is going to kill me. At this rate, I’m going to suffocate.

“Okay,” he sighs. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

I want to offer some words of comfort. Something to make the long hours of the night and all those thoughts he’s going to be battling with better, but I just have nothing. I don’t know how to make this better for myself, but I do know what I can do to make it better for one other person.

CHAPTER 14

Apollo

I can’t think of a single time when I haven’t been able to lose myself in the water. It’s so corny to say that it washes all the shit away, and I guess it doesn’t, but at least it usually clears my mind for the moment. If I concentrate on pushing myself, timing my breathing, achieving the perfect stroke on my time, feeling the burn in my muscles, denying my body, and pushing myself further and harder every single time, then that’s a pretty good way to clear my mind.

I’m not competing. I haven’t for a while now. I swim for the love of it, and there’s no way I can get into a hardcore-focused rhythm tonight, no matter how hard I try.

Half of me keeps thinking about that kiss. And the other half is the small voice that nags at me the way it’s nagged for years. It’s the little tickle in my brain that keeps saying I told Patience everything I could, but it wasn’t nearly enough.

I don’t know how many laps I’ve swum out here, but I can’t tire myself out. I can’t get my brain to shut it, and my body is so far from being worn out. I have endless breaths, and it just keeps coming. Fresh bursts of energy whenever I alternate between anger at myself, life, the house, my decisions, our conversation, and then that kiss.

---