Page 15 of Unruly

Dad’s jaw tightens. “I understand what you both went through was traumatic, but, Halle girl…running can not be your go-to in this. Don’t be like her.”

The words land like a slap. Her. My mother.

“You don’t know everything, Dad.”

I was married to Zach for almost eight years—college sweethearts. He was the epitome of every girl’s dream. He gave me everything I ever asked for in the beginning. It was truly a whirlwind romance. But over the years, I felt myself shrinking to fit whatever version of a wife Zach began to need. His career, his aspirations, all came before my own.

It wasn’t until after we lost the baby that I began to see how little I mattered in Zach’s life. How small I actually was in comparison to him.

I can’t have this conversation right now, though. Not when the wound from the miscarriage is still raw and the school ripped it wide open again.

“Dad…I stayed as long as I could. I can’t anymore.”

Sloane nods, listening the way she always does. Giving me the opportunity to be heard before any judgment. I love her for it. Still, I can see Dad turning something over in his head, the same way he does when he’s worried about one of us running headfirst into trouble.

Dad leans back. “I don’t want you making rash decisions in your grief. Your mother left without a care for anyone, and look how she ended up—still fucking miserable.”

I stare at the half-eaten sandwich, throat tight. “You think I’m running away without thinking about anyone else?”

“I think you’re trying to rebuild yourself so that you don’t have to hurt anymore,” he corrects. “But I also know what it looks like when someone leaves pieces of themselves behind and pretends it’s freedom. I don’t want that for you.”

I feel my throat tighten as tears threaten to spill from my eyes. “I’m not running, Dad. I came home…Zach cheated on me with a girl named Melissa, at work. Has been for almost a year now. He left me at that hospital by myself, and I will not stay with someone who doesn’t care. As for the school, seeing those kids was far too soon. I’m not ready to go back to all of that yet, and I don’t think this is a conversation I can have right now. I’m making grandma’s house, my house—a place to call home. I’m working at The Bar and giving myself time to figure out what I want, not what Zach wanted in a wife. That’s not running from people who love me, it’s running to them. I am not her.”

For a second, the only sound is the old kitchen clock ticking on the wall. Then his face changes—jaw tightens, eyes flashing with that protective angry look I remember from when I was little and someone hurt my feelings.

“He what?” My dad’s voice drops. “He cheated on you? That son of a bitch. I’ll kill him. I swear to God, Halle. If I ever see that sorry excuse for a man again⁠—”

“Jack,” Sloane says softly, but Dad’s not done.

“No. No, this is bullshit.” His free hand clenches into a fist on the table. “You’re my daughter. He was supposed to take care of you. He was supposed to be there. And instead he was off screwing around while you were—” He cuts himself off, breathing hard through his nose. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because you never asked, Dad! You just compared me to Mom when I said I was leaving. Every single fucking time I fuck up, you say I’m just like her. That’s not fair to me!” I shout at him.

Dad stares at me, the protective rage shifting into guilt. He opens his mouth, then closes it again.

Sloane cuts in gently, placing her hand over Dad’s. “Jack, she just said this isn’t something she wants to talk about, and she is not Anna. Halle is going to make the best choices for her, and we are going to support that.”

Her tone brokers no room for argument.

“I’m not trying to hurt anyone, Dad. I’m trying to heal. There’s no salvaging that marriage.”

Dad exhales heavily, rubbing a hand down his face. “There’s no coming back from what he did. I just want to make sure you’re doing what’s best for you. I’m happy you’re back in Cedarbrook…but hell if it doesn’t hurt to see you like this. I’m sorry, kiddo.”

I don’t say anything.

Sloane smiles softly and keeps her hand over Dad’s, gently steering the conversation. “We love you, and we want to be here for you. You don’t have to do this alone.” She pauses, then adds, “I can give you the number for a great therapist in town, whenever you’re ready. She does individual sessions. No pressure…just…when you want it.”

Dad nods, clearly relieved by the suggestion.

Sloane continues, shifting the mood with practiced ease. “And it wouldn’t hurt you to come spend some time at our new house. It’s turning into my little paradise, and I’ve got a wine fridge that’s dying to be broken in.”

I laugh, the tension cracking as a lone tear slips down my cheek. Ignoring the comment about a therapist, I say, “Tempting on the wine, but I like the mess. It matches my brain right now.” Wiping the tear away I add, “Plus, I can raid Aunt Aria’s tequila stash. Let me drink her dry before I start with the wine.”

We talk longer after that—lighter things even when the tension lingers. Like whether the original hardwood is salvageable in all parts of the house. Sloane talks about the renovations for their little ranch home they bought in Linden. My father has spent the last year doing renovations to make it into their perfect retirement home.

Eventually, the conversation drifts to Colt.

“How’s your brother doing?” Dad asks. “He’s been avoiding our calls like the plague.”