Page 70 of Wishing Hearts

“I…” Shit.

“Here. C’mon,” he says, leading me over to the wrought-iron bench that sits on the small patio square beside the back door. There are potted plants to either side of it, and my hand brushes the leaves of one as Sam guides me into the seat. He squats down in front of me, rubbing my thighs. “What just happened?”

I suck in an aching breath.

“I thought I was doing what was best for her,” I get out, rubbing my clammy hands on my pants. “I thought…” I shake my head, the motion making me dizzy. “But even my own daughter can tell I’ve been sad, Sam. I had no clue she saw that, and I…”

I can’t even finish my sentence, my thoughts as jumbled as they are. Even my own daughter could see I’ve been smiling more these past few weeks than I was before. Have I been a bad model of what I want for her? Have I been transferring my own unhappiness onto my kid?

Sam’s eyes are creased at the corners as he watches me, his gaze solid. “You’ve been sad?”

“I…” I swallow roughly, the sound loud to my own ears. “I think so. I haven’t been happy. Not really.”

He lifts his hands, thumbs flitting under my eyes. “I wanna make you happy, Harrison.”

“You do,” I answer a little wetly. That, at least, I’m sure of.

It’s everything else I’m suddenly very unsure about.

“What is it?” he asks gently, squeezing my thighs.

My heart thumps, the beat heavy and erratic.

“God, Sam,” I choke out. “Am I a terrible dad?”

Chapter 20

Sammy

“Am I a terrible dad?” Harrison asks.

My breath catches. “Of course not,” I say vehemently.

Harrison bends over again, shaking his head. He looks a little pale, and I glance over my shoulder, finding Winnie and Tigger digging around inside an empty grow frame for early season seedlings. Winnie’s knees are dirty, but the little girl doesn’t seem to care, and I know Harrison won’t either.

“C’mon,” I say, giving him a little tug. “Let’s get you somethin’ to drink.” As Harrison stands, I call out to Winnie. “Winifred, your dad and I are gonna be inside for a minute, all right?”

“Okay,” she calls back, not bothering to look our way.

Harrison is quiet as I lead him into the house, but he kicks off his boots inside the door. I do the same before guiding him into the kitchen. He lets me plop him into his customary chair, and I divert to the fridge to find something cool. I grab a pitcher of lemonade and pour a glass, figuring the sugar might help.

“Here,” I say, passing the drink Harrison’s way before taking a seat next to him where I can keep an eye out the window. Dutifully, he drinks a sip. “Harrison, you’re not a terrible dad. Why would you say that?”

He swallows roughly before looking at me, his pale eyes a little glassy. I wish it didn’t make him more beautiful, whatever this pain is, but I feel honored to see it. Honored Harrison is choosing to share it with me.

His vulnerability is stunning.

“What kind of role model am I if my own daughter can tell I’ve been struggling?” he finally says.

“A human one,” I answer.

That gives Harrison pause.

“Stud, it’s okay to be sad sometimes. It’s human nature. And I think it’s okay for kids to see that. To know it’s all right to show their own emotions. But if…” I think of how to word what I want to say, knowing it may not be my place. “But if it’s overwhelmin’, what you’re feelin’, it might not be a bad idea to talk to somebody about it.”

Harrison nods idly, but he doesn’t respond to my comment, so I switch gears.

“But just ’cause you’ve been strugglin’, that doesn’t make you a bad father,” I say. “Pretty sure all parents struggle.”

---