Page 16 of Accidentally Marrying the Prisoner
Dad doesn’t look up when Mom says, “Tripp. Tripp, honey, look who’s here!”
He takes his time flipping the steaks and barbecue chicken thighs before he finally meets my eyes, staring down his strong nose at me, a few inches taller but just as fit. “Conrad,” Dad says, giving me a short nod.
I knew not to expect much, since he only visited me once to tell me it would be the one and only time he would, but it doesn’t hurt any less when he flicks his gaze away dismissively. “This the wife?” he asks, motioning to Mirabeth.
“Yes! Isn’t she just lovely?” Mom says, beaming twice as hard to make up for Dad’s lack of enthusiasm.
He grunts, his thinning brown hair cut to military precision, only a few years from retirement as a local recruiter for the Marines. “Sure.” He sucks his teeth, and though he’s speaking to Mirabeth, he finally looks straight at me when he says, “Be careful with this one.”
“Oh, Tripp,” Mom says softly.
“Why?” Mirabeth asks hesitantly.
Dad looks away, disgusted when he says, “Can’t trust a word that comes out of his mouth.”
“Tripp!” Mom exclaims, her face falling.
With my heart shredded to ribbons, as I knew it would be, I manage to keep from running when I drop Mirabeth's hand, turn back toward the house, and wind my way through the guests, past the open kitchen, and down the hall.
CHAPTER
SIX
MIRABETH
I slip inside the hall bathroom before Conrad can shut the door, then lock it and press my back to it as he turns from me, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Are you ok?” I ask, though, of course, I know the answer isno.
“Yeah. Just need to use the John.”
I push off the door, watching his profile in the wide vanity mirror. His back is hunched when I lay my hand on it. “Want to talk about it?”
“Nothing to talk about.” He finally turns and nods his head toward the door, unfastening his belt and rolling down his zipper. “Can you give me a minute?”
“Do you really need to use the restroom, or are you trying to get rid of me?”
It’s like the last bit of energy abandons him, and his hands drop to his sides, his chin tucked to his chest. At his first sniffle, I wrap my arms around his waist and hug him, squeezing him extra tight. I lived and breathed my dad’s love and approval, which always flowed freely in our house. I know how much it means to a kid, even if said kid is approaching forty years old.
“You haven’t told him that you took full responsibility to keep your brother out of prison?” I ask, rubbing his back.
“Worse,” Conrad says, laying his cheek on my shoulder while he crowds me against the scalloped-edge, white vanity, his arms wound around me like I’m a life preserver. “I did, but he didn’t believe me. He said he lost the last shred of respect for me when I tried to ‘shirk accountability and pin it all on my brother, who wasn’t here to defend himself against such vile accusations’.”
“That’s awful,” I say. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’ll learn to live with it,” he says with a shrug, even as he tightens his arms around me. “Eventually.”
“I wish there was something I could do or say or…”
“Mom’s tried, over the years, but he won’t hear a word of it.”
Since sayingI’m sorryagain won’t be of any help, I remain quiet, letting Conrad silently work through his feelings until he can gather himself.
“I really am glad you’re here,” he finally says, playing with the ends of my hair, sliding his fingertips beneath my crisscrossing straps to rest his warm hand at the small of my back. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to keep thanking me. I would do it for any randomly-assigned husband I’ve only known for nineteen hours.”
Conrad snorts, and his chest shakes with laughter that grows stronger. “Best randomly-assigned wife ever,” he says next to my ear, now toying with the knot at the top of my ass where my straps are tied together.
“I really am, aren’t I?”
