Page 162 of Redemption
So even though I’m shaking, I lift my hands and wipe the tears away from my dad’s cheeks. His ice-blue eyes are watery as he stares back at me.
Love.
Fear.
Pride.
That’s what shines back at me in his stare.
“I forgive you, Daddy.”
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After crying in my dad’s arms, I explained what Hayes had said. I’d tried calling Bella’s mom, but she hadn’t answered, so now we are heading to her house.
Maybe Tanner is with her.
“Why do you think the kid ran away?”
My dad is driving, and I’m sitting in the passenger seat of his luxury car.
Country music croons through the radio, making me realize that I’ve placed labels on him, too. I wanted to place him within the lines of my expectations of what a parent should be.
He may always be a Dad who works too much, but it doesn’t mean I can’t have a relationship with him.
We just have to learn to accept each other for who we are—flaws and all.
“I don’t know, Dad. But I know what it’s like to need to get away from the crushing weight of a life gone wrong. Maybe escape was all he could see.”
“Is that how you felt?” There’s so much vulnerability in the question that it makes me sad, but I won’t lie to him.
Honesty is the only way we’ll ever see each other for who we are.
“Yeah, it was. I thought if I left, my problems wouldn’t follow me. But that’s not how it works. You can’t run from the demons inside.”
His eyes stay on the road when he says, “No, honey, we can’t. I tried.”
Trees pass by the window, and within minutes, we pull into Bella’s house.
Her mom’s car sits outside in the driveway. Hopefully, that means Bella is home, too.
I take in a shaky breath, trying to calm my nerves.
A warm hand envelops mine, drawing my attention to my dad.
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“You don’t have to,” I say, but my voice gives me away.
All my life, I’ve wanted him to stand by my side while I face the hard.
“And you don’t have to face anything alone again.”
With one more squeeze of my hand, he turns to open his door, but my hand shoots out, grabbing onto the hem of his sleeve.
“Daddy—” The word is a broken plea from a little girl who needed her dad so many years before, even though she tried desperately not to. He turns back to me with an openness I’m not used to. “Will you pray with me?”
“Oh, honey, it would be my honor.”
