Page 118 of Always Knew It Was You

“No let me speak first.” I hold up my hand. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you I got engaged. I’m also sorry that I’ve been ignoring your calls. It’s my petty way of getting back at you for forcing me to stay in Laketown. But I shouldn’t have done it. I understand why you did what you did.”

“You do?” He looks and sounds surprised.

I shrug. “Well, you need an heir, don’t you?” I say it without bitterness this time because I’ve had plenty of time to accept it. “And that’s my job as the adopted son.... A spare.”

My father does an odd thing in response. His mouth emits a choked sound. Hurt and pain explode all over his face.

His expression breaks into so many pieces that it’s uncomfortable to look at him for a long time. But he can’t seem to get a word out. So I continue talking.

“I know you never wanted to adopt me,” I say. “Grandfather made it clear that it was always mom’s idea. But you lost your first son and now I’m here....”

“Micah, stop.” He squeezes his eyes shut and holds his hand up. “Please just stop for now.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Did I say something wrong?”

“You said everything wrong.” The answer burst out of him in a harsh breath. Then he inhaled deeply. “It doesn’t matter what I said or thought before. The minute your mother came home with you, you were my son. Period. I was not very good with kids and still have difficulty expressing my care to you. And your brother will testify that it was the same for him too, may God rest his soul. But I’ve always made a point to treat the two of you equally so you would know that you were in every way my son as he was.”

“You wanted me to be like him.”

“No,” he says. “I didn’t want you to be like him. I wanted you to be a better version of yourself. I became heavy-handed with it because you seemed to lack direction and didn’t care about anything. You stubbornly flitted from one thing to the next, aimlessly drifting through life. I didn’t want you to continue to waste your life like you’ve been doing. I thought this was a way to teach you responsibility, so you would put down some roots and wouldn’t keep going through life like you were.”

Ah. I see it now. So Carly was right. And I’m a little embarrassed that I didn’t see it before. Because my father was right. From the outside looking in, it did seem like most of my life, I had no ambition. Even with architecture, I’d given it up at the slightest push back from him.

I love it, but I don’t have enough resolve or drive to push through the hard parts.

Or didn’t. I do now. And now I see things better from his perspective.

“I get it, Dad,” I say. “Truly I do. But what I’m doing now, with my architecture firm, that is something I’ve wanted for a while. This is not me asking you for permission to do it, or for a handout. This is just me letting you know as my father, that this is what I’m going to do. I’m going to sell my Laketown shares to someone who can manage the place. And I’m going to pursue architecture full time.”

He stares at me for a minute, then nods. “If that’s what you want, then that’s fine.”

I nod at him too, and then it feels like an understanding has been reached between us.

“And as for your fiancée,” my father continues. “I was only hurt that you didn’t tell me Micah. I don’t disapprove of her. I don’t even know her really. But I would like to. If you would give me that chance.”

I bite my lip and then sigh. “That’s fine Dad. I think she would like to know you too. In fact...”

I turn and head out to the door, to call for Carly to come back.

But when I glance at the park, Carly’s gone.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CARLY

My head hurts.

That’s the first thought I have as consciousness returns in bits, along with the knowledge that the floor is somehow moving underneath me jaggedly in a rhythm that makes me sick. All my limbs are heavy and my head feels leaden and filled with fog. Eventually, I manage to pry my eyes open and try to make sense of my surroundings. Boxes are propped up in front of me, in front of a window with trees flying across. The ground is moving still. Where the hell am I? A car? I feel metal on my hand, and then a pillow under my head as though someone wants to make sure I am comfortable. It smells like grease and paint back here. The scent of paint is so strong that it worsens my headache and I want to throw up, but I don’t want to vomit all over myself.

So, I simply crane my head and peer up at the roof in wonder.

I’m in a van,I realize.And it’s moving.And then slowly I start to regain awareness of my body, noting that my hands are tied in front of me and so are my feet.

It takes a second for the alarm to kick, and for me to begin struggling to free my limbs. I groan as the struggle makes my head hurt worse, and then, suddenly, a low voice says, “Relax. You don’t want to hurt yourself and I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

I crane my neck toward the direction of the voice at the front of the van. It’s coming from the driver whose face I cannot see but who’s wearing familiar-looking boots.

There’s another man in the passenger seat. He turns to look at me and the second our eyes meet, recognition flashes.

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