Page 16 of Tainted Tempos

“Would you have flown to Vegas to stop me?” I snap, surprising myself with my boldness. But it feels good to feel a spark of anger after days of oscillating between numbness and agony.

Dad sucks in a breath. “You could have at least called afterwards, Mckenna. I heard about it from Jeannie. She saw it on the front page of one of those fake magazines in the checkout aisle at the grocery store.”

“Good thing Jeannie buys her own groceries,” I mutter.

“She says congratulations, by the way,” Dad huffs. “I… Are you happy?”

I pause because he sounds…worried. Sincere. “Thank you.” I temper my emotions. “And…” I trail off, not knowing what to say next. I know he’s asking about Mav, but right now, I’m drowning. I’m suffocating. I’m hurting. “I’m doing okay.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

I roll my lips together, trying to collect my thoughts. The fact that Dad called at all is surprising and yet, I know he’ll do whatever he can to help me.

But I don’t know what type of help to ask for. I don’t know what I need right now. I just want it all to stop.

The sliced-up memories and the sounds of Bran’s voice.

The scent of the bonfire and the brown of the couch.

It all haunts me.

I open and close my mouth a few times, trying to articulate…what? Even my thoughts don’t make sense.

“Do you want out of this marriage?” he presses. “I can make it disappear like it never happened or?—”

I sigh, recalling my Vegas performance. “There are photos, Dad. Videos. Of me?—”

“A sex tape?” he gasps.

If I wasn’t so broken, I’d probably laugh. “Singing karaoke,” I clarify. “Telling everyone how much I love Maverick Tate. It could hardly be annulled.”

“Oh.” He breathes a sigh of relief.

I sit down in a chair and glance out the window to the lush greenery. Surprisingly, I confide in my dad. “I care a lot for Maverick. More than I have for any other man in my life. We’re figuring this out.”

Dad sighs. “I wish you told me, Kenny. I wish I knew, or at the very least, met the man you married.”

I’m about to tell him that it’s his own fault when he surprises the hell out of me by admitting it.

“But that’s on me. I’m sorry, Mckenna.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“If you need anything, any help navigating what comes next, call me. I mean it.”

“Okay. I will,” I reply, meaning it too. If anyone knows the name of a good divorce lawyer, it’s my father.

“And when you and Maverick are home, Jeannie and I would love to take you to dinner.”

“Really?” I can’t hide the shock from my tone. It’s followed by a pang of sadness since I know that will never happen. My husband and I are barely on speaking terms; the last thing we’re going to do is dine with Dad and his new girlfriend. But the fact that Dad offers means something to me.

“Really,” Dad says, his voice as sad as I feel.

“Okay. Thanks, Dad.”

“Enjoy your honeymoon, Kenny.” He clicks off and I stare at my phone, wondering if that really happened.

Or am I hallucinating scenarios with my parents now?

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