Page 67 of Tainted Tempos

Dad hunches forward and pins me with his stare. “I want to know, Kenny. Then, I’ll do whatever I can to fix it. To be the dad I should’ve been years ago.”

Those stupid tears I’ve been trying to hold back surge forward. I’ve waited years for one of my parents to step up. To help me shoulder some of the burdens I’ve been drowning under.

Dad’s offer feels like an olive branch I’m desperate to accept. I’ve yearned for it. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned since Maverick Tate came into my life, it’s that sometimes, you need help. And it’s okay to accept it. It’s okay to be humbled by it. It’s okay to say yes.

“Okay,” I agree, blinking back tears. I open my mouth, and the story tumbles out. I tell Dad how lost I felt after he and Mom divorced. I confide in him about the party 1L year and Branson Burton. About the confusion that ensued. The trauma. The constant feeling of being apart and never clicking with law school students like I did with Allegra, Ivy, and Nova.

The financial hit at the start of my 3L year that nearly crippled me. That I moved in with Maverick Tate. How I agreed to be his fake girlfriend for financial gain. I sniffle as I share that I convinced him to marry me, drunk in Vegas. But when I woke up the following day, everything went to hell. That night rushedback. Things fell apart, came back together, only to collapse again. And now, I’m here. Avoiding Mav. The husband that I fell in love with. Hiding from Bran. And blocking out my life.

Dad remains quiet as I share my story. I note the horror that fills his expression when I speak about Bran. The way his hands tighten into fists. The agony that colors his eyes when he infers what truly happened that night. I spot how his knee jerks up and down, his foot restless. I see the disappointment that streaks across his expression about my financial position. And the heavy regret that rests on his shoulders when I finish.

“Mckenna, I am truly so sorry,” Dad whispers, his voice raspy. “I know that’s not enough. Nothing I do will ever be enough to erase what you’ve been through. And I had no idea. I can’t imagine the grit it took for you to make it in the world like you have.”

I snort, dragging the back of my hand over my nose. I wipe at the moisture in my eyes. Tossing a hand, I shake my head. “Made it? Dad, I’m in your guest room, practically crying because?—”

“You lived through hell. And came out on the other side.”

“I’m tired,” I admit, half defeated. Half hopeful.

“You should be.”

Dad passes me my mug of tea, and I wrap my hands around it. Take a tentative sip. Close my eyes, feeling lighter and more emotionally stable than I have in weeks. Each time I share my encounter with Bran, I breathe a little bit deeper.

“Branson Burton,” Dad growls, testing out Bran’s name. He taps his knees with his palms and hitches forward until he stands beside me. I glance up at him and take in his towering frame. “Leave this issue with me, Kenny. I’ll take care of him.”

He doesn’t look tired anymore. Instead, he’s the formidable badass his enemies know better than to cross. It’s a shift in theatmosphere. A change in his confidence. But once again, my dad is in charge.

I shake my head. “I need to sort this out on my own. I got in a fight with Maverick because he hired security detail for me without telling me.”

“He was trying to protect you,” Dad says, as if it’s obvious.

“I know that. But he should have told me. I should have been part of the conversation.”

Dad works a swallow. “He loves you. I’m not sticking up for him?—”

“Are you sure?”

Dad snorts. “I see your point. But I see his too, Kenny. That man would move mountains to keep you safe.”

“I know. I was just, hell, I was so angry.”

“Yeah. You get that from your mother.”

I narrow my eyes at Dad, and he smiles.

“I missed you, kid.”

“I missed you too, Dad.”

“I can take care of that scum, no questions asked,” he offers.

“Let me think about.”

“All right,” Dad agrees. He leans down and brushes a kiss over the crown of my head. “I’m glad you’re home, Kenny.”

Then, he leaves me with my thoughts. I drink my tea slowly and worry about the classes I’m missing even though I emailed my professors and explained my concussion.

On the nightstand, my phone rests silently. After talking with Dad, I’m finally ready to reply to Mav and my friends.

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