Page 135 of Playing Dirty
“If there’s one thing your father and I still agree on, it’s that we got one amazing thing out of the years we were together, and that’s you. Call it cliché if you want, but you were the glue that held us together, and without you there, it was like our last shred of love disappeared. And then…” Her shoulders lift in a little shrug. “Well, you see where we are now.”
“But that’s in no way your fault,” my father quickly adds, his voice cracking on the last couple words. “It was still my decision to pursue Carla when and how I did, and I’m not proud of it. I’m ashamed by the way I disrespected your mother and all the years we spent together. But, Theo… I’m not going to sit here and lie by saying I’m not grateful for what I’ve found with Carla.” There’s a somberness in his smile before he adds, “I know you’re still taking time to adjust to all this, and that’s okay. I just hope you can give space to both of those truths at once, no matter how contradictory they may seem.”
His words take me back to the conversation Madden and I had, and I know they’re as true now as they were then. But with him, it feels…different.Like there’s something I’m missing.
“Why are you telling me this? Why now, after all this time, would you—”
“Because this apology has been a long time coming, and I wish I would’ve done it sooner.” He pauses and clears his throat. “And because I never want you to stop yourself from chasing something that makes you happy. Especially because of what someone else might think.”
Just like that, the pieces come together.
A knot forms in my throat, stealing my ability to speak, so all I do is nod instead. His attention remains locked with mine, countless unspoken words and emotions passing between us in a single moment. The hand resting on my shoulder feels like it weighs a million pounds, and the feeling intensifies when he gives it a gentle squeeze. But the strangest thing happens when he releases me.
All the pressure and frustration disappears, almost like he plucked it right out of me.
“I’m gonna go check on Carla and Madden, but I’ll be back in a bit,” he states before looking at my mom. “Becca, let me know if either of you need anything.”
Mom nods, and he heads out the door, disappearing as soon as he turns down the hall.
I stare at the opening long after he’s left, not sure of what I’m feeling anymore.
Lighter, for sure, and I’m not as angry as I was before, yet it’s stilllingering there, simmering under the surface. But I know it’s not because the apology lacked sincerity on his part. It’s me. My willingness to let go and forgive him for the choices he made. And…I think that’s a battle I need to fight within myself now.
Releasing a long sigh, I turn and look at my mom. “I really need to go to therapy.”
To her credit, my mom does her best to stifle any smile or laughter, but she fails. Miserably, I might add.
“I’m sorry. It’s not funny, I just wasn’t expecting you to say that.”
Yeah, me neither.
But since my distinct dislike for needles takes tattoo therapy off the table, I should probably try Madden’s other suggestion.
She shifts on the bed, sliding up beside me in the spot Madden occupied less than an hour ago. Like him, she wraps me in her embrace and traces her fingers up and down my arm in the way she always did when I was a little kid.
It’s calming. Soothing.
And it allows me to finally relax—though that might also be in part from the pain meds.
“You’re an adult now, and I’m not planning to tell you what to do—”
“And yet you’re going to anyway,” I say with a little chuckle, and she aims for the best menacing glare she can muster.
“When did you get so mouthy?”
I arch a brow. “Where do you think I got it from?”
“Your father, obviously,” she jokes lightly, drawing another laugh from both of us.
It’s the best feeling in the world, seeing her so happy and carefree again. Almost as if all the pain and bullshit from earlier this year isso far behind her, it’s not even in the rearview mirror anymore. And if she can manage that in such a short amount of time, I’ve gotta have faith I’ll be able to do the same.
She rests her cheek on the top of my head and hums a little once we both regain our composure.
“Sometimes, when you’re in the thick of all these big feelings and changes and decisions, you’re not able to see things clearly. But then you get to the other side, and it all makes sense,” she says gently. “Your father has his faults, and I’m not going to defend what he did. That’s a cross he has to bear. But he does deserve to be happy.”
“So do you,” I point out.
She pulls back, and I find her smile is bright and as resilient as ever; a true beacon of light through the darkness.
