Page 96 of Best Man Speaking

Our waiter arrives, placing our drinks on a table now drenched in uncomfortable silence. The standoff continues as water glasses are refilled and our server moves away, obviously reading the vibe well enough not to ask if we’re wanting anything else. Probably a good idea, as I might’ve asked for a knife. A sparkling water with a side of patricide, please.

“Well, then,” I say, gesturing for him to continue, to get on with this long-awaited apology.

He removes his sunglasses now, pushing his espresso to the side so he can place his forearms on the table as he leans forward.

“Hallie, I’m sorry I’ve been an absent parent—a bad father, to put it plainly. I’ve not been there for you, and while I could try to explain my actions, to excuse my behavior, I doubt it’d help.”

And I doubt I’d believe it,I think snidely, even as I remain silent and attentive.

“I know I’m in no position to ask you for anything,” he continues. “But I need to ask if you’d consider trying to build a relationship. I’m not asking for us to start again, for a magically clean slate—it wouldn’t be fair. But I’d love to be in your life, however you see fit. I’d like to keep in touch, to speak regularly, even once you’re back in Scotland.”

The easy answer is “yes.” Part of me genuinely wants it—this idyllic notion of our father-daughter relationship being healed, of a slow rebuilding of trust over time. Except today isn’t the day for rational consideration of this request. Potentially not even next month or next year. Because the more cynical part of me, the Hallie who’s spent years being overlooked, who spent this morning being betrayed, believes he isn’t being genuine, that part of me would simply be saying yes to get him off my case.

He stops momentarily to pull out his own phone, where the screen is now flashing. I feel his shaded eyes rest on my face before he says, “Just a moment, Hallie.”

Simply nodding in response, my brows rise in familiar exasperation. Running my tongue along the back of my lower teeth, I wait impatiently, reining in my frustration at the fact this man can’t seem to focus on me even when apologizing. The hypocrisy is undeniable.

I keep my eyes on him as he listens to his call, his features drawing in what looks like concern. He nods throughout, which I find odd, seeming only to remember as an afterthought that the person on the other end of the line can’t see him. There’s an “I see” and an “I understand” here and there, but otherwise, he gives nothing else away. And then the call ends, his eyes still having never left me.

“Well…” he starts now, taking off his sunglasses and placing them on the table. “It seems like once again I’ve caused more harm than anything else.”

The temptation to drawl out a very sarcastic “Noooo, really?” is strong. Somehow, I refrain.

“You think?” I ask, and even though I mean for the question to be rhetorical, it comes out just bitter enough that I think he might answer.

Instead, those blue eyes of his—of ours—take me in, and I wonder how it all got so messed up.

“Well,” I say, nodding toward his phone. “Who was that?”

I have a fairly good idea who he was speaking to, but I want to hear him admit it.

“That was Marcus.”

Of course it was. Lovely to see he and my dad are still on such good speaking terms.

“Hallie, you should speak to Marcus. Answer the next time he calls. I might’ve wanted to speak to you, but not like this. This meeting between us was meant to be from a place of good intent. I wanted you to choose to be here. I expected you to be angry, planned for it, but I still wanted you to be here of your own choice.”

With that, he gathers his phone and removes some cash from his wallet, sliding it under his water glass.

“Hallie, once you’ve spoken with Marcus, I’d appreciate it if we tried to do this again. In person or simply a call, whatever you feel more comfortable with. I’ll wait for you to decide.”

“I might not make contact at all,” I state, curious to know what his answer to that will be.

He continues to stand, readying himself to leave, while I sit here, flabbergasted at the turn of events.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take if it puts the control back in your hands,” he says with a small smile. “And Hallie? You’re worth that risk. I really do hope I hear from you soon.”

With that, he leaves.

And my phone rings again.

Chapter Thirty

Marcus

I’d headed home to wait Hallie out, knowing she’d have to return at some point, if not to stay, then at least to collect her belongings. Knowing she had her passport worried me; she was a known flight risk, but I hoped Erica and Jules were enough to keep her as grounded and as close as could be. At least for a little while longer.

Through the sound of blood rushing in my ears, I hear a car door slam, my side gate opening and closing. I count to twenty slowly, giving Hallie time to get inside, and then I make my way to her.

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