Page 53 of The Inn Dilemma

“You two have fought enough anyway. I am so sick of it. My entire life—” I stop myself. Maybe I should try and take the words back, but I won’t. Their fighting is one of the reasons I left and it’s time they know it.

Holt drags a chair over and sits on my other side, giving me the impression that we’re becoming a united front against my parents.

“You’re right.” Dad hangs his head, and I can’t stop my sharp gasp. “I’m sorry.”

My eyes shift over to Holt, checking to see if my dad just said what I think he said or if maybe it was a hallucination. But the expression on Holt’s face makes me realize the words were actually spoken and not just a figment of my hopeful imagination.

Dad walks over to another chair and sits down, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward, gripping his head in both hands.

Mom is the one to break the silence. “What did you just say?”

Dad slowly lifts his head. “I said I’m sorry.”

Mom blinks at him in what I assume is surprise.“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say those two words.”

When Dad’s eyes close, I speak up. “Mom.” She looks at me, and I shake my head. “Don’t push it,” I mouth.

She dips her chin in understanding. “I’m sorry too, Kent.”

Dad looks over at her cautiously. “You are?”

“I am,” Mom says before tilting her head up.

Something shifts in my dad’s expression.

“Not just for now but for what you saw at the restaurant. I know it looked bad, and it may havedeveloped into something worse if it continued, but I stopped it. I broke things off with Trevor.”

My heart pounds so hard I’m sure it shows on my heart monitor.

“So you two never…”

Mom vehemently shakes her head. “No.”

Dad’s shoulders relax, and my parents stare at each other for a long minute. Neither one breaks eye contact. There’s no derision or hostility in either of their eyes, but there is something tender. Almost sweet.

I glance over at Holt, who appears to be as dumbfounded as me.

“Can I get you a cup of coffee?” Dad asks Mom, sounding shy.

Mom’s lips lift in a soft smile. “I’d like that.” Her attention swivels to me. “Once we talk to the doctor about what Nova needs.”

Mom stands and motions for Dad to come take her spot by me. He does.

“You’ll move home and I’ll provide everything you need,” Dad tells me. He awkwardly runs his hand down my arm, and something warm and hopeful fills my chest.

For the first time in my life, Dad is showing concern for me. He’s being affectionate in a way that shows love. And not just because he wants something from me or is putting on a show to look like a doting father. But because he is looking out for my well-being. The mere thought has tears spilling down my cheeks. It’s painful and healing all at the same time.

Dad looks down at me, his eyes searching mine, before a lone tear spills down his cheek. Then he grabs my hand and kisses it just below my IV.

“I’m going to be better. Do better for you. My littlestar, sorry doesn't even come close to how I feel right now. But I’ll start with that. I’m sorry for all I put you through. I’m sorry you thought running away would make your life better. And I’m sorry for the expectations I put on you to look and act perfect.” Dad kisses my hand again, then curls my fingers into a fist and rests his head on it. The strain this is putting on my IV is uncomfortable, but the minor discomfort is worth it for this moment of necessary emotional healing.

We sit like that for I don’t know how long. My focus is fully on Dad as the weight of this moment washes over me. The weight of expectations slides off me, and it feels as though I can take a deep breath for the first time in my life.

Eventually, an older nurse walks in and breaks the silence.

“Hi there, pumpkin. How are you feeling?” She doesn’t look at me but immediately checks over my vitals and my IV fluids.

As she focuses on me, sympathy fills her expression. “Are you in pain?” Something about her Southern accent is comforting.

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