Page 44 of If Love Had A Manual

And Tess—thank Christ—catches her before they both collapse into the grass in a fit of giggles.

Lena and I just stand there with our hands on our knees, slightly traumatized.

“You and your sister,” I pant, “are going to give me a heart attack. Vanilla never did this to me.”

She shoves me with a laugh and straightens. “Stick around, Turner. I’m just getting started.”

Fifteen

Lena

The truck’s parked in the driveway like a looming warning, where my father’s familiar work tools are scattered on the bed. Tess deflates beside me. All the carefree laughter from earlier fades and is replaced by anxious silence.

“It’ll be okay,” I tell her, but even I don’t believe my words.

She keeps her eyes trained on her knees. “Right.”

My stomach knots as I switch off the ignition. I haven’t stepped foot inside this house in over a year. It’s strange now, the place I used to live, feeling morelike a distant memory.

Taking a deep breath, I open the car door. “Come on. The sooner we go in, the sooner it’s over.”

Tess reluctantly follows, dragging her feet the entire way. She tests every ounce of my patience, but right now, all I want to do is shield her.

We haven’t even reached the porch when the front door swings open. Dad’s silhouette fills the frame, his shoulders rigid and eyes narrow. He’s aged more since I moved out. There’s gray creeping into his temples and deep lines etched across his forehead. But it’s his eyes that always gut me. They’re always so distant, so guarded.

Tess freezes at my side, eyes instantly flooding with tears. “Dad, I’m—”

“You had me worried,” he says roughly, but softens immediately as he steps forward and pulls her into a hug. He kisses the top of her head, a simple gesture that punches the air right out of my lungs. “You can’t just disappear like that, Tess.”

“Sorry, Dad,” she mumbles, leaning into his embrace.

I have to look away. My eyes burn hot, and a lump swells painfully in my throat. The ache of watching them is almost unbearable. It’s a bitter sting, because my fourteen-year-old self needed that hug too. Hell, even at twenty-five, I still desperately want my father’s comfort, and the realization feels raw.

Dad pulls back, studying her head to foot, scanning for any injuries. Satisfied she’s still in one piece, he tells her, “We’ll talk later. Inside. You have homework to do.”

She nods once, gives me one last glance over her shoulder, then disappears through the doorway. Dad waits until she’s safely inside before turning back tome. It’s when his expression cools again, I feel that old wound open.

“Dad,” I start and try to stop my voice from wavering. “She came to me because she needed someone to listen. She feels alone here.”

I shouldn’t be surprised when his expression remains unreadable, but it still stings. “She’s fine. Just dramatic. You always encouraged that.”

Really? I’m not even here anymore, and I’m the one to blame?

“It’s not drama. She’s fourteen and grieving a mom she never really knew. She needs someone to talk to.”

He lets out a humorless bark of laughter, shaking his head. “You think I don’t know my own daughter, Lena? You’re not around anymore.”

I swallow back the sting his words cause, trying to keep my tone steady. “You don’t let me be around. Ever since I moved out, you act like I betrayed you.”

“You left,” he snaps, eyes flaring with anger.

“I grew up.” I look down at my shoes just to give myself a second to gather my thoughts. When I glance up, I’m greeted with ice-cold eyes again. “We both know that I grew up long before I should have.”

“You have a convenient memory. You always played mother to her, but you arenother mother. Don’t try to lecture me about parenting my own child.”

My throat closes.

His words hit so deep I’ll never reach down far enough to claw them out.

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